Breaking down

Stephenie Meyer, the queen of supernatural teen romance, wasfaced with a rebellion in her kingdom when “Breaking Dawn,” the finalinstallment of her phenomenally successful “Twilight” series, was published in2008. Many readers were dissatisfied with the wrap-up of the love trianglebetween mortal Bella Swan, vampire Edward Cullen and werewolf Jacob Black, andthey took their complaints to Facebook, Twitter and fan sites.

Three years later, the griping can begin anew with “TheTwilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part One,” which quickly vanquishes whatever goodwill might have been built up by the earlier films in the series. Sour, clunkyand sometimes unintentionally hilarious, the cinematic “Dawn” drives asplintery stake straight through the heart of the franchise.

The movie gets off to a wobbly start with the wedding ofEdward and Bella, a ceremony in which the bride wears white and many of theattendees are pasty-faced; that’s the downside of having so many blood-drinkerson your guest list. What should have been a swooningly romantic sequence —“I’ve been waiting a century to marry you, Miss Swan,” Edward says, and thoseof us who sat through the first three chapters can vouch for that — insteadfeels rushed and uninspired, like a chore the filmmakers had to check off theirto-do lists. Whatever sparks once flew between Kristen Stewart’s Bella andRobert Pattinson’s Edward apparently burned out some time ago, and the two nowlook at each other as if they were two exhausted strangers waiting for the samebus.

That’s sadly appropriate, since Meyer (who is credited as aproducer) and screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg are no longer interested incelebrating the mysteries of love: They’ve got a cautionary tale to ram downyour throat. The message of “Dawn,” which is spelled out in such hystericallyover-the-top detail that it would embarrass the operators of one of thosemoralistic Christian “horror houses,” is that sex leads to disaster. Even ifyou hold out until after that walk down the aisle, a taste of carnal knowledgewill leave you feeling 17 different kinds of sorry.

The still-virginal Bella and Edward jet off to an island offthe coast of Rio for a honeymoon full of moonlight skinnydipping and daylightfrolics in waterfalls. Unfortunately, they also consummate their passion(mostly off-screen) — and oh, how they pay the price for that.

In addition to leaving Bella looking like she’s ready to auditionfor a remake of “The Burning Bed,” their first tryst leaves Edward feeling glumand guilty. You know, ladies, even if they’re technically no longer human, guysjust can’t control themselves.

Bella immediately winds up heavy with child, and this is noblessed event. She quickly becomes nauseous, frail and ill. That’ll teach youto run around in a white bikini and black lingerie, girly!

While Edward’s sisters bicker over the proper politicallycorrect terminology — Alice (Ashley Greene) calls Bella’s burden a fetus, whileRosalie (Nikki Reed) insists it’s a baby — Bella wonders if she’s heading formaternity or the mortuary. Meanwhile, the chronically shirtless Jacob (the buffbut blas Taylor Lautner) spends most of the movie posing sullenly at the sideof Bella’s sick bed, wearing a “told ya so” look and carrying a torch so largeit’s a miracle it doesn’t set off the theater’s sprinkler system.

“Would you just get over it?” Jacob’s friend Leah (JuliaJones) snarls, perfectly vocalizing the sentiments of the audience. “It’s notlike you’ve imprinted on her!”

Yes, Lautner seems like James Dean reincarnated as anandroid programmed to speak nothing but Macho Monotone, and Pattinson andStewart appear bored to the point of catatonia by the supposedly high-stakesdrama swirling around them. But before we condemn the performers, let’s take amoment to consider how difficult it would be to speak Rosenberg’soften-ridiculous words with any sort of conviction. Even Helen Mirren mighthave a tough time selling “It’s not like you’ve imprinted on her!”

If any of this sounds remotely involving or exciting, beaware that director Bill Condon allows nearly every scene to proceed as if itwas being carried by pallbearers moving through a swamp. The absurd amount oflingering close-ups of Stewart recalls the self-adoring heyday of Kevin Costner(there was a reason why so many of his movies were three hours long), and thepainfully padded plot collapses into campiness.

When Jacob shape-shifts into his wolf form and gets in araucous argument with a pack of fellow canines, “Dawn” suddenly becomessomething like an acid-soaked Jack London adaptation or a demented Disneyflick. Even the most devout “Twilight” cultists will have difficultysuppressing the giggles.

The single bright moment in “Dawn” comes early on, whenEdward confesses his sins to Bella, triggering a flashback to 1935, when hestalked already spooked movie patrons during a showing of “The Bride ofFrankenstein.” As a few brief glimpses of Colin Clive and Elsa Lanchester fillthe screen, we’re actually watching a terrific movie for a few seconds. Then,alas, it’s “Twilight” time again.