Bela Lugosi: “Let’s Get the Old Gang Together and Remake ‘Twilight’ the Right Way!”

Commentary by Carbolic Smoke Ball Guest Critic Bela Lugosi

The pea-brained, estrogen-poisoned teenage girls of America flocked to see an abomination called “Twilight” the last two weekends because they were deluded into thinking “Twilight” is a vampire flick.

“Twilight” is not a vampire flick.

I cannot write exactly what “Twilight” is, because this is a family news outlet but suffice it to say that “Twilight” is the worst motion picture ever produced. The film from an ATM surveillance camera is better than this drek. “Twilight” is an open sewer, a damnable pit of putrefaction, an atrocity, a slimy gathering of all that is rotten and putrid in the debris of human depravity.

And in the center of all this waste and stench, besmearing himself with the foulest defilement, splashes, leaps, cavorts and wallows a rancid specimen, a wimpy little “cute” boy who responds to the name of Robert Pattinson. I say “cute” only because that’s what the teenage girls think. Me, I don’t think he’s “cute” — I mean, it’s not as if I’m gay or anything — so what if he has drop-dead gorgeous eyes and pouty lips and a killer bod (when he finally got a around to removing his shirt! Wheee!). I bet he has a tiny little pen*s, like a little boy. Not that i would know about that, mind you. If I were on that set, I would have broken the punk’s arms and shoved them up his “cute” little ass just to show him how a real movie vampire is supposed to act.

But I digress. I literally became ill watching this drek: vampires attending biology class; vampires going to the prom; vampires playing baseball — in daylight, no less. My head spins! And it all was set in dreary Oregon, about as far from fabulous Transylvania as is possible. I swear, they made this film to mock me!

There is only one way to salvage “Twilight”: As soon as I’m finished with this review, I’m going to call Dwight Frye and Helen Chandler and Eddie Van Sloane and see if we can’t get the old gang together and put out a real Vampire flick. You know, one with lots of shots of me hissing and over-acting and climbing up walls and so forth and so on. With lots of fog and wolves howling and old guys with monocles.

For God’s sake, did you see even one man wearing a monocle in “Twilight”? Neither did I! I want to hear just one faux Brit accent, in the stuffiest voice he can muster, exclaim: “Now you see here, old man!” That’s a vampire flick!

We’ll let Dwight “Renfield” Frye show off his world-class groveling and bug-eating talents! And since the Hays code is no longer enforced, we’ll let Helen “Mina” Chandler show off a little more flesh this time. I’D LIKE THAT — because I’m a heterosexual male! Show me some female tits and ass, please! I AM NOT GAY! Believe me folks, Helen looks as gorgeous today as she did when she was “raising the dead” (if you know what I mean) back when we did “Dracula” in 1931.

Children of the Night! Listen to me! I am calling! We will avenge the insipid cinematic portrayal of our accursed eternal existence currently defaming and defiling us in multiplexes across this wretched land! We will remake “Twilight,” and this time it will be a movie that everyone — vampires and gays and heteros like me — can all appreciate and enjoy, or my name isn’t Bela Lugosi!

Dec 3

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