Twilight's "werewolf loves baby" storyline just got creepier

Twilight: ewwwww.

Twilight, the vampire-werewolf-phenomenon, has always had some questionable elements. The entire plot of the first film, for instance, is basically "I love you but we can't sleep together because I'm a Christian and we're not married you're a vampire and your super vampire strength means you may accidentally kill me in the passion of the moment".

A few films in and the main character, Bella, and her vampire boyfriend Edward have got married and done the dirty. Unfortunately, Bella insisted on having sex once as a human before Edward completed the vampire wedding ritual, which of course means that she gets super-pregnant with a vampire baby which eats its way out of her womb after coming to full term after just a week or so.

We aren't even on the weird stuff yet.

All caught up? Enter Jacob. Jacob is a werewolf who's also totally in to Bella, creating a tense love-triangle dynamic (or so I've been told). What you have to know about werewolves is that they "imprint" on people: when one of them sees their soul-mate, they know immediately that they are destined to be together. So naturally, Jacob imprints on Edward and Bella's baby daughter, Renesmee.

Now, they refer to it as imprinting throughout the series, but whenever you see any other "imprinted" werewolf, it's all couples who are snuggling together and kissing a lot. And, at least in the film, Jacob's imprinting is followed by a flash-forward where he talks about how he'd do anything for Renesmee because he's so in love. With a baby.

Today, the set photos from Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part Two came out. Now that you are fully caught up, I hope you will agree that the following photo, of Taylor Lautner as Jacob and 11-year-old Mackenzie Foy as his love interest Renesmee, is the creepiest thing ever.

Twilight: The teaser poster for Breaking Dawn Part Two

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

BBC/Chris Christodoulou
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Proms 2016: Violinist Ray Chen was the star of a varied show

The orchestra soaked up his energy in Bruch's first violin concerto to end on a triumphal note. 

Music matters, but so does its execution. This was the lesson of a BBC Symphony Orchestra and BBC Symphony Chorus programme which combined both a premiere of a composition and a young violinist’s first performance at the Proms. 

The concert, conducted by Sir Andrew Davis, opened with Tchaikovsky’s symphonic fantasy The Tempest, a lesser-known sibling to his Romeo and Juliet overture. The orchestra got off to a fidgety start, with some delayed entries, but fell into line in time for the frenetic chromatic runs that drive the piece. The end, a muted pizzicato, was suitably dramatic. 

Another nature-inspired piece followed – Anthony Payne’s composition for chorus and orchestra, Of Land, Sea and Sky. Payne drew on his memory of watching of white horses appearing to run across water, as well as other visual illusions. At the world premiere, the piece began promisingly. The chorus rolled back and forth slowly over scurrying strings with an eerie singing of “horses”. But the piece seemed to sink in the middle, and not even the curiosity of spoken word verse was enough to get the sinister mood back. 

No doubt much of the audience were drawn to this programme by the promise of Bruch violin concerto no. 1, but it was Ray Chen’s playing that proved to be most magnetic. The young Taiwanese-Australian soloist steered clear of melodrama in favour of a clean and animated sound. More subtle was his attention to the orchestra. The performance moved from furious cadenza to swelling sound, as if all players shared the same chain of thought. Between movements, someone coughed. I hated them. 

Ray Chen in performance. Photo: BBC/Chris Christodoulou

Chen’s playing had many audience members on their feet, and only an encore appeased them. It was his first time at the Proms, but he'll be back. 

The orchestra seemed to retain some of his energy for Vaughan Williams’ Toward the Unknown Region. Composed between 1904 and 1906, this is a setting of lines by the US poet Walt Whitman on death, and the idea of rebirth.

The orchestra and chorus blended beautifully in the delicate, dark opening. By the end, this had transformed into a triumphal arc of sound, in keeping with the joyful optimism of Whitman’s final verse: “We float/In Time and Space.” 

This movement from hesitancy to confident march seemed in many ways to capture the spirit of the concert. The programme had something for everyone. But it was Chen’s commanding performance that defined it.