MOVIE REVIEWS
Snakes on a Plane
Jay Perry
When talking about 8 Mile (on those days when you have nothing else to discuss), there’s one scene that is always brought up: when Eminem’s character steps up to the mic during the final emcee battle, he spends the entire time pointing out his own flaws. He’s white-trash, has stupid friends, etc. This self-ridiculing approach works in his favor, as the opposing emcee has nothing to say since Eminem already put it all on the table. To be successful in making fun of others, you have to point out the flaws that they try to cover up or deny. If they embrace their flaws and show no signs of insecurity, then what is there to mock?
That logic applies perfectly to Snakes on a Plane.
As the final credits rolled, I was overcome with a feeling of confusion. It was like I just had sex with the most beautiful woman in the world, and when it was all over, I discovered that she was a man (transsexuals are crafty like that). Sure, it was the best sex I’d ever had, but only because of some surgical rearrangement of his(her?) cash and prizes.
At its core, Snakes on a Plane is a cinematic lobotomy. It takes everything we know, and love, about movies and destroys them. The acting is atrocious (Nathan Phillips’ performance has to be seen to be believed), the musical score is painfully generic, people are spontaneously combusting in theaters due to the poor CG: you name it, Snakes does it terribly. But, the film knows it’s ridiculously stupid and runs with it, causing the whole cinematic experience to be so bad, that it’s…good?
Huh? How can a movie that fails on ALL fronts be a success? What the fuck is going on with the world? Next thing you know, women will be finding the unibrow sexy. Acne will be labeled a new fashion accessory. Dogs will be fucking cats. It’ll be complete chaos.
If you can’t figure out at least half of this movie’s plot, then do us all a favor: drink a bottle of Drano because it supposedly enhances one’s ability to be perceptive. In an effort to eliminate the key witness from testifying against him, crimelord Eddie Kim (Byron Lawson) concocts a plan to release hundreds of snakes on a commercial flight that is transporting the witness from Hawaii to Los Angeles. When the plan goes into motion, it’s up to FBI Agent Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson) to protect the passengers on board from the venomous snakes. Flynn will have his hands full, though, because not only are these snakes great in numbers, they’re friggin’ pissed! The Crocodile Hunter himself would shit his Aussie pants at the sight of these ill-tempered, legless reptiles.
Fans of Samuel L. Jackson will be in Heaven for the duration of the film. While it’s not an inspired performance (sometimes it feels like he’s reading off a cue card), Sammy J still emit’s the bad ass aura that we’ve all come to know. He’s yelling (very loudly, I might add), swearing, zapping snakes with a taser: you know, typical Jackson. He even finds time to let the Pimp-flag fly as he puts the moves on the flight attendants. Even in the face of danger, Samuel L. Jackson will do whatever it takes to please that booty. What a stand-up gentleman.
The real stars of the show, however, are the snakes. Once their poorly-rendered bodies slither across the screen, you can’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of impending doom. I’m kidding, of course: chances are, you will be laughing hysterically. One thing is for sure; these snakes are certified shit-ruiners. Dogs, cats, women, old people, kids (any film that has kids getting attacked gets a point in my book): they’re all fodder for our favorite serpents.
Are you looking for some blood and gore? Luckily for you, Snakes on a Plane delivers a decent proportion. With a large group of people trapped in a confined space, you can expect plenty of on-screen carnage. Bites to the jugular, eyes, tongue, and ass are fairly common. I’m not going to spoil all of the deaths for you, but let’s just say there is one death in particular that every male will agree is easily the worst way to die. Most of the blood effects aren’t that over the top, but it will still satisfy your thirst for cinematic blood.
As I stated before, I could easily point out all of the film’s faults, but why bother? Would it really be that shocking if I said the plot is one-dimensional or that the dialogue has the sophistication of a Lil’ Jon song? Director David Ellis knew this was the case when he filmed it. Samuel L. Jackson and the rest of the cast understand it. New Line Cinema certainly understands it as they campaigned this film to be an abomination. Everyone associated with Snakes on a Plane embraced its crappiness (heck, even the theme song “Snakes on a Plane (Bring It!)” performed by Cobra Starship is comparable to receiving a sonic rape). And to everyone’s credit, even though everything about this movie is technically awful, they took the correct route: none of it is taken seriously.
Snakes on a Plane isn’t just a movie: it’s an event. Chances are, if you see this film, you will be amongst a group of people who will be laughing at almost every scene, hollering at the screen and making jokes of their own. It has been a long time since the commentary from the audience in attendance actually enhances the movie (the last one I can think of is The Rocky Horror Picture Show). While this movie may not possess the qualities to meet the conventional standards of a good film, at the same time, it defines exactly why we go to the movies: to be entertained.
