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 21st 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.
