Snakes on a Plane

Snakes on a Plane
Directed by: David R. Ellis & Lex Halaby
Rated R
105 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza




Okay, so the premise of Snakes on a Plane is very simple. It's a basic cocktail for what promises to be trashy fun. There are snakes, a plane, mayhem, and Samuel L. Jackson. Shake well, and then one is supposed to enjoy. However, there is one vital ingredient missing: entertainment. This is a soulless, eye-rolling, sigh-inducing mockery of ridiculous cinema. This movie is all smoke and mirrors, using internet buzz and a cool-looking logo to entice audiences into shelling out money to watch this drivel. It is fitting that the subjects of the movie are snakes, because it brings to mind an old concept. Over a century ago, snake oil salesmen roamed the countryside and used guile and charm to coerce money in exchange for empty promises. The term "snake oil" itself came to be a synonym for a hoax, a fraudulent product distinguished by hyperbole marketing and empty promises. I believe we now have the 21^st century equivalent in Snakes on a Plane. This is one of the singularly worst movies I've seen in years. It is a direct-to-video piece of garbage masquerading as a Hollywood B-movie. That's right, it aspires to "B-movie" status, but fails miserably. The appropriate letter is much further down the alphabet. Clearly meant to be trashy yet endearing, it is far too mean-spirited, juvenile and stupid to even qualify as a guilty pleasure or "awesomely bad" movie. Snakes on a Plane shares the same characteristic as its serpentine villains in that it bites… hard.

Clearly, this film got made because of two things, a great title and a great logo. The name itself is direct and to the point. By no means does it evoke thoughts of Academy Awards, but it does sound exciting. Alas, this is not the case. No excitement is to be found, just cheap thrills and infantile humor. Regrettably, the audience was not the only one duped by the allure of the movie's name. Samuel L. Jackson was also bamboozled into this mess, supposedly committing to this project based on the title alone. Note to Sam, next time read the script; there was no reason for you to be in this film. Leave roles like this to the real direct-to-video actors like Kevin Sorbo or Casper Van Dien. The film's logo shows the only other sign of inventiveness. That emblem, a perversion of a caduceus, is visually "cool" and was adorned on posters and shirts months in advance of the film's release. But a clever graphic design does not a movie make.

A plane full of snakes needs a ripe group of passengers to prey on, and one would hope that these characters would hold interest. Again, the answer is no. All of the passengers are ridiculous caricatures of either celebrities or stereotype. They are introduced in rapid, eye-rolling succession, and the presentation of their character label is as subtle as a rattlesnake's warning. You have a fake Paris Hilton (complete with dog in purse), a fake P. Diddy and his entourage, a hypochondriac, a single mom, a homosexual, a horny flight attendant, a douchebag businessman, and two plucky kids traveling alone. Oh yeah, and there's some Pac Sun clad witness for the prosecution that is the target of this slithery assassination attempt. Even Julianna Margulies (a loooong way from the glory days of "ER") shows up as a flight attendant with a tolerant heart of gold and McGyver's resourcefulness. Under normal circumstances (i.e.- in a real morality re-inforcing horror movie), these would be divided into sympathetic characters and sinners worthy to die by snakebite. Here, they just seem to be an obnoxious reflection of the filmmaker's attitude, and you want all them to die. But one doesn't exactly root for the snakes either. Even the snakes would be offended, if they could vocalize opinion. Surely they would hiss their portrayal as computer-generated, pheromone-crazed snakes on crack.

And what horrendous computer effects they are. These snakes look like cast-offs from a discarded X-Box game, with day-glow colors and exaggerated movement. Worse, the snakes are then portrayed as assassins rather than wild animals. While sitting in their viper nest onboard the plane, they are must have completed some SAS combat training, for they knock out the plane's navigation system in addition to knowing to strike every vital point on the human body. Passengers are attacked with strikes to the heart and jugular. But some of the snakes go a step further. These snakes are all horned up and attack mammary glands and reproductive organs alike. The only female seemingly immune to the fury of the snake attacks is Margulies, likely because the "plot" (and I use that term loosely) requires her to be the only one to help Jackson. Then again, perhaps these anacondas don't want none unless you've got buns, hon.

Snakes is a movie made in incredibly bad taste. The stereotypes are overbearing, and the clichés choke the story tighter than a boa constrictor. Even its lame use of naughty humor is so stupid it would bore nine-year-old boys. I can't think of a way this film could be more condescending or offensive to a prospective audience. Oddly, the filmmakers tried to placate the internet fans who first gave this project some buzz. It was widely reported to have used dialogue recommended by bloggers and netizens for reshoots laced with expletive-filled lines by Samuel L. Jackson. Why they would want to appease them is also beyond my comprehension. The brand of netizen that rants about a pre-released film rarely peels himself away from World of Warcraft to actually stroll into a movie theater. They're more likely to download it than buy a ticket. That being said, I'm not quite certain what demographic this movie was made for. Perhaps this is the type of movie made for those "opening weekend rats," the tweens and teens who flock to multiplexes with cell phone in hand. You know, those that feel the need to shout advice or comments at the screen in hopes of displaying how clever or obnoxious they are. They at least would maintain the ambiance of repugnance the film provides.

It appears that the only reason to see the film would be to await the famous expletive-filled line by Samuel L. Jackson. Everything else is just an unnecessary waste of time. Throughout the film, I just wished a spitting cobra would blind me and prevent me from viewing another frame of this movie. Sitting through this film is like conceding that one has been shammed; and anyone who pays money to see this has purchased this millennium's new snake oil. To underline the fact that this is more marketing experiment rather than an actual movie, the end credits share time not with the typical outtakes one may expect, but with a music video. That's right, a music video. And it's atrocious. It's the final straw in this new version of snake oil salesmanship. Snakes on a Plane is a new cautionary tale in cinematic swindle. It's a fraud, a farce, a terrible excuse for entertainment. I, for one, do not want to ever hear about these motherf#$%ing snakes on this motherf#$%ing plane again. This film sucksssss, and everyone involved can kissssss my asp.

V For Vendetta

V For Vendetta
Directed by: James McTeigue
Rated PG
132 Minutes

Review by Giraldo Barraza




I’ll start by saying this; V For Vendetta has gargantuan balls. It seems studio pictures are capable of surprising me, after all. Before it was filmed, I imagine this film was intended to be another exploitation of comic book property, milking the counter-culture crowd. I thought it was likely made in hopes that we view it as a mere “popcorn” action movie and that we’ll flock to buy shirts at Hot Topic. Perhaps the studio hoped that we would wear this fictional revolutionary the way millions had been made on Che Guevara merchandise. But a funny thing happened on the way to the mall cineplex; a truly groundbreaking film was made, one that is entertaining and genuinely thought-provoking. In much the same way that Fight Club blew me away several years ago, V For Vendetta is a achievement. The film is entertainment that seems dangerous. This tale leads us into the underground of a subjugated Britain, and presses all the right buttons along the way. Many will label this film irresponsible, perhaps a few will find it deplorable, but the fact remains that this will illicit a response. As powerful as Sex Pistols lyrics, Vendetta is an open call for reform by way of anarchy.

A great deal of debate will be centered on the allegory of the future society depicted in the film. Many will see it as a thinly veiled attack on the current brand of injustice personified by the Bush administration, but the truth is this story was written over 20 years ago. It is a comic book adaptation by acclaimed writer Alan Moore, and the inspiration clearly lies in Orwellian themes and Nazi Germany. The totalitarian government has corrupted its power by promising security, and exploits the media’s credibility to broadcast the “official version” of the truth. It is spooky to think that this work of fiction can be so easily applied to parallels in our own society. It is not a true allegory for these troubled times we live in, but as they say, “If the shoe fits...” And it is this parallel that makes the story fascinating and frightening.

Vendetta is a comic book movie in that it has a bleak view of the future, a heroine, and a masked crusader. But here, the crusader (known only as “V”) doesn’t just hope to strike fear in criminals. He wants to save the world by burning it to the ground. To those with pre-existing anti-social tendencies, this is an easy sell. But what makes the film seem dangerous is that to the rest of the audience, V makes a damn convincing argument for his cause. His charm is disarming and even seductive when compared to the destruction and horror he is capable of. V is played by Hugo Weaving in a performance that is virtually faceless. Although the mask renders him devoid of facial expressions, Weaving’s body language and vocal inflection infuse the character with rich character and emotion. We can see how passionate he is, and we get glimpses of how crazy he just may be. V is methodical, intelligent, and hungry to correct the injustices of a corrupt government. Like Bruce Wayne in last year’s Batman Begins, V realizes that the visage is but a symbol, and his theatrical campaign of violence speaks louder than words. In many ways, the film is a propaganda poster, and V wants you for his revolution.

The film also reaffirms that Natalie Portman is the single best young actress working today. I admit it was odd at first seeing her with a British accent in a role that seemed so pedestrian. More than once, the thought occurred to me that the producers should have just cast Keira Knightly and saved themselves the trouble. But halfway into the story, Portman’s character suffers dehumanizing and brutal trials that strip her of everything but her indignation. And once the makeup is gone and the hair is shaved, Portman is free to give a heartbreakingly human performance. When she emerges from her hell to be baptized by raindrops, we believe her metamorphosis.

In opposition to our renegade crusader, the other masked entity in this tale is the very government that draws V’s ire. Hiding behind words like “valor” and “unity,” this dictatorship is just as horrific as the “terrorist” they seek to apprehend. John Hurt plays the chancellor as a frightened, neo-conservative egomaniac who is only capable of knee-jerk reactions in times of crisis. Alas, the tragedy is that this “decision-making” style likely brought his regime to power to begin with. Clearly, the focus of their will is not the welfare of the people, but the preservation of their grip on power. Freedoms give way to a safe society, and choice is taken away because those that deviate from the norm are not just ostracized, but forbidden. The Hitler metaphor with the chancellor is apparent, from Hurt’s hairstyle to the expressive political speeches draped in ebony and scarlet. Subtle touches like manically dilated pupils hint at a far more disturbed individual behind his mask of normalcy. His paranoia and fear trickle into the bloodstream of the body of government. Cover ups are the norm, conspiracy a part of daily life. Their fear runs so deep that they continuously try to suppress the investigation of one of their own. As a jaded investigator enlisted to find the “terrorist,” Stephen Rea is perfectly cast, and we see the unraveling mystery through his eyes.

V’s balance between righteousness and madness is a fine line with no clear border. When we first meet him and witness his hand at destruction, it is truly unnerving and appalling. But we learn that V’s mission is not just a vendetta against those who personally wronged him, but to wake us from our slumber. He hopes to slap us from our sedated state, one devoid of choice and obedient to those we entrust. The film pulls no punches, and even contains a sequence where V uses a television broadcast by to chastise them for succumbing to fear. His scolds ring true. The common denominator in any free society that yields to totalitarian is that they willfully traded real freedoms for a false sense of security. Feeling frustration with this system, the public is manipulated by tools of opposing forces. Their instruments are guile and language, V’s is simply violence. The film cautiously reminds us that eventually, all the dominos will fall.

Vendetta is an orchestra of mayhem. It builds to a crescendo of Tchaikovsky-inspired destruction. The dichotomy of the violence (and the film itself) is overwhelming, both appalling and beautifully liberating. It is chilling and yet inspiring to think that one violent act can change the world. Tragedy is not limited to any one polarizing event, but is encompassed by the cycle of fear that continuously feeds it. Terrorism is but a label used by those who are at a loss to explain any action that is contrary, yet validated. In times of fear, people will harden their hearts in a shell, and entire societies can encase their liberties inside a locked box to protect it from harm. In the end, our souls and our freedoms are also inside this box, and the crime is to not release it. It is up to us to decide whether to unlock it with our heart’s key, or blow it all to hell.