Twilight Meets Toilet Humor—Literally
If cinema had a digestive tract, Breaking Wind would be the loud, uncomfortable noise it makes after a bad meal. Directed by Craig Moss—the auteur responsible for The 41-Year-Old Virgin Who Knocked Up Sarah Marshall and Felt Superbad About It (yes, that’s a real movie)—this 2012 parody film tries to skewer Twilight: Eclipse. Instead, it skewers comedy itself, leaving the audience with 82 minutes of secondhand embarrassment and the haunting question: why was this made?
You’d think that spoofing Twilight—a series already dripping with melodrama, sparkles, and awkward pauses—would be easy. The material is basically a parody of itself. But Breaking Wind somehow manages to take a golden opportunity for satire and drown it in fart jokes. Imagine Scary Movie with all the wit removed and replaced with flatulence, and you’ve got the gist.
The Plot (or Something That Vaguely Resembles It)
Let’s get this out of the way: the movie opens with a man being bitten on the buttocks and turning into a vampire. That’s not the punchline—that’s the setup. From there, the film devolves into a series of gags that make you wish for the sweet release of dawn.
Our heroine, Bella (Heather Ann Davis), wants her undead boyfriend Edward Colon (yes, “Colon,” because subtlety died long before this script was written) to turn her into a vampire. He refuses, demanding marriage first. Meanwhile, Jacob—the shirtless werewolf stand-in—belongs to a pack of overweight, flatulent werewolves who never actually transform. It’s as if someone looked at Team Jacob and thought, “What if we replaced abs with gas?”
There are subplots, of course—something about rogue vampires, an ancient curse, and Danny Trejo collecting a paycheck—but they all serve the same purpose: to drag out the movie until even your remote control gives up.
The Humor (or Lack Thereof)
If Breaking Wind were a person, it’d be the guy at a party who keeps making fart noises with his armpit and saying, “Get it?” The film’s entire comedic arsenal consists of bodily functions, cheap sexual innuendos, and the word “Colon.”
The movie doesn’t just lean on toilet humor—it sits on it, rolls around in it, and then sets it on fire. Every joke lands with the grace of a wet sponge. Characters constantly fart, burp, or discuss bodily fluids, as if Craig Moss discovered that humor stops evolving at age 12.
At one point, Jacob uses his flatulence to mask Bella’s scent from vampires. That’s the punchline. That’s also the plot resolution. Somewhere, Shakespeare weeps.
Even the few references to Twilight fandom—like poking fun at “Twi-Hards” and YouTube reaction videos—feel lazy, like jokes stolen from a comment section.
The Acting: A Crime Scene
Heather Ann Davis’s Bella has all the emotional range of a sedated houseplant. She alternates between blank staring and nasal whining, which I suppose is faithful to Kristen Stewart’s performance—but at least Stewart had dignity.
Eric Callero’s Edward Colon tries his best to channel Robert Pattinson, but ends up looking like a man who’s deeply regretting his agent’s advice. He delivers lines like, “I’m a 117-year-old virgin!” with the enthusiasm of someone reading a parking ticket.
Frank Pacheco’s Jacob provides comic relief by… farting. A lot. His entire character arc can be summarized as: eats, farts, dies. It’s tragic, not because it’s sad, but because someone had to memorize those lines.
Danny Trejo, ever the professional, shows up as Jacob’s grandfather to narrate a flashback about Johnny Depp’s acting choices. Trejo looks tired, but he cashes the check. We can’t blame him. If we were offered money to say nonsense in front of a camera for a day, we’d do it too.
The Direction: Craig Moss Strikes Again
Craig Moss directs the film as if he’s allergic to pacing. Every scene goes on about 20 seconds longer than it should, stretching punchlines until they wheeze. The editing feels like it was done by someone using scissors and regret.
There’s no rhythm to the jokes, no escalation, no timing. Just a constant barrage of gags that feel like outtakes from a YouTube sketch circa 2006. Even the camera seems embarrassed—it keeps wandering off, as if trying to find a better movie to film.
The lighting is harsh, the sets are cheap, and the cinematography screams “student project.” The only 3D element here is the depth of your disappointment.
The Writing: Dead on Arrival
Comedy parodies live and die by their writing. The Airplane! and Naked Gun films worked because they were absurd andclever. Breaking Wind, on the other hand, plays like it was written during a lunch break at Taco Bell.
The screenplay has no idea what it wants to mock. Is it Twilight? Is it Hollywood? Is it human decency? It’s all of the above, done badly. The jokes about Johnny Depp, Gary Coleman, and “newborn noobs” feel stapled in from other rejected scripts.
There’s even an extended scene where Bella’s father brags about his sexual escapades in graphic detail—a moment so unfunny it could be used as psychological warfare.
And the grand finale? Bella gets pregnant by a miniaturized clone of Edward. It’s supposed to be shocking. It’s just weird. Even the film seems confused about its own punchline, cutting abruptly to fake YouTube reactions as if to remind you: “Hey, this was a parody!”
The Soundtrack: A Symphony of Regret
The music alternates between generic spooky cues and bargain-bin pop tracks that sound like they were rejected from early 2000s deodorant commercials. It’s as if the composer was told, “Make it sound like Twilight, but cheaper and sadder.” Mission accomplished.
Sound effects, however, are the film’s true obsession. There are more fart noises per minute than in an entire South Parkseason. They echo, they layer, they crescendo. By the end, you’re no longer sure whether the sound is coming from the movie or your soul escaping your body.
The Legacy (Or Lack Thereof)
Breaking Wind never got a theatrical release. Lionsgate quietly buried it on DVD like a shameful family secret. You can almost imagine an executive whispering, “No one must ever know.”
It failed to generate controversy, laughter, or even hatred—it simply existed, like a bad smell in a closed room. It didn’t so much bomb as it dissipated. Even Twilight fans, who love irony almost as much as vampires, stayed away.
The film’s IMDb page reads like a cry for help, with reviews ranging from “I laughed once” to “I need therapy.”
Final Verdict: 0.5 Stars Out of 10 (and That’s Generous)
Breaking Wind is a cinematic dumpster fire, fueled by desperation and bad digestion. It’s not scary, not funny, and not even offensively bad—it’s just… exhausting.
If laughter is the best medicine, this movie is the disease. Watching it feels like being trapped in detention with a room full of 13-year-olds who just discovered what “fart” means.
Craig Moss set out to make a parody of Twilight. What he made instead was a parody of filmmaking itself.
Save yourself the agony. Skip Breaking Wind and just open a window instead. The smell will be better, and so will the experience.
