| Psst: Check out an accidental report ("adult" language) on the premiere... |
Beasts + Preposition + Inappropriate Setting = Gold.
Snakes on a Plane ratchets up formula for fiendish fun.
BY GREGORY
The Serpent is the primal, the sensuous, the free and intuitive. As a symbol, it represents everything that commercial air-
travel -- especially nowadays -- does not. For this reason alone I’ve got to applaud screenwriters John Heffernan and
Sebastian Gutierrez (as well as co-story-writer David Dalessandro), for, with Snakes on a Plane, they have delivered
contemporary spiritual metaphor in the guise of a disaster flick. Seldom do High Concept, Underlying Theme and
Shameless Formula merge with such rousing success. Dig:
ABSURDITY:
Is this movie absurd? As its compassionate Tennessean FBI protagonist Nelville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson) might say:
“Oh, hell yeah.” But even beyond the obvious premise (surely flogged to death in other writings, so I'll allow you to
puzzle it out), consider the mad concept of olive oil being routinely available to passengers on any airline. I have asked
for olive oil. On planes. Many times. They don’t have it. Absurd!
CATCH-PHRASES:
Not since "Where’s the beef?!” has anything so utterly bizarre entered pop parlance. I’m talking not just about this
movie’s admittedly brilliant title (shouted ad nauseam throughout the trailers and the movie’s first act by the fat guy
sitting a few seats over), nor about that almost-matching pickup close-up of Mr. Jackson yelling the already-classic
muthafuckin’-squared line. But let us also see if the equally genius but comparatively underrated, “Accidents happen. You
think I didn’t exhaust every other option?” instills itself in the Great Unconscious. Yes, somehow transporting hundreds
of exotic killer snakes from California (Vancouver) to Hawai’i (Vancouver) just so they can then fly back to California
(Vancouver) and kill a bunch of people -- hey, what other options could there be? The next time I accidentally melt down
a parking-Nazi’s little municipal-extortion cart with a flame-thrower, I intend to use this line.
ASTOUNDING DIALOGUE:
The intentionally funny lines (“Fucking dog, fucking coach, fucking Americans!” / “Ever heard of email, dickwad?” / And
especially: “Sporks.”) are swell, but the minor roles get the preposterously juicy bits. For example the doomed
prosecuting attorney hanging upside down at the beginning, awaiting execution from the main mobster who couldn’t act
his way out of a box of flowers, who, in casual conversation with the man about to kill him with a baseball bat (who,
incidentally, notes aloud, apropos of nothing, that he was raised by a single mother; a nice touch), addresses him as
“Eddie Kim” (I’ll bet Genghis Khan’s foes simply called him “Genghis,” or even just plain ol’ “Genghie.”) Okay, got his
name, thanks: CLUNK! Or the nefarious Eddie Kim’s henchman, who enthusiastically announces, “Yes sir, I’m soaking
the leaves with it! The pheromone will make these guys go fucking crazy!” A big thank you on behalf of all the dumb
people in the audience (and incidentally, henchman, do you mean petals?): CLUNK! And the young newlywed who
assures her nervous husband that the plane (and the cast!) are somewhat sparse in terms of passengers because “it’s the
red-eye!” Oh yeah, I almost forgot, planes at night are always half-empty: CLUNK! Personal fave, though, was uttered
by Dr. Price (Todd Louiso), this particular movie’s brilliant snakeologist, who exclaims, “Only one guy could arrange
this many lethal snakes! He lives out in the desert!” Oh! [Cinema critic slaps forehead.] How obvious! That guy! The one
out in the desert! EXPOSITION CLUNK-O-RAMA!
FEARS:
Of course we all know that the people of this world are only really scared of four things: Snakes; Sex; Flying; and
Negroes. This movie deals quite competently with all of them.
CARICATURE CARNAGE:
If you’re a Frightened Child, a Hypochondriac Rapper, an Apparent Fag or especially a Main Character, there is nothing
for you to fear on Flight 121. If, however, you happen to be a Hyper-Pompous Brit, a Young Couple In Love, an Actual
Pilot or a Middle-Aged Woman, this movie’s producers have it in for you and you’d be better off swimming the Pacific
from Vancouver to Vancouver. (Astoundingly, the Catholic woman – who incidentally can magically transform her
earring into a snake-poison-boil-lancing razor-blade to accompany that fanciful aforementioned airline olive oil -- is not
sacrificed on Hollywood’s altar.)
PETS:
If you happen to be a doggie or a kitty, forget it, you’re doomed.
MUSIC:
You know that ghastly nouveau-stoner-style song that opens the movie and the faux-glam song that ends it? I don’t like
them. As for Trevor Rabin’s score, I enjoyed the almost-Jaws lift, hated the brass, loved the strings.
SOUND-DESIGN:
The plane suddenly becomes ridiculously quiet in service of moments of suspense and/or whacked dialogue, which
doesn’t exactly play. Since snakes are almost deaf, though, I appreciated their POV shots featuring muted sound or
merely stylized hissing. Speaking of which…
SNAKE-O-VISION:
I have some doubts that snakes see the world as an almost uselessly blurry bright-green version of a consumer video-
camera’s “Night Vision” mode, however I am truly and deeply pleased that director David R. Ellis and his impressive
design crew ran with this pleasing stylistic choice.
THE PRODUCERS:
I actually used to work alongside one of this movie's producers, at a different studio, years ago. (Note to Self: Man, I
really oughtta make a craptastic movie too, so I can eat regularly.)
THE SNAKES:
They looked totally great to me. I particularly enjoyed the sidewinder and that yellow one with the furry head.
FURTHER THOUGHTS REGARDING THE SNAKES:
Why didn’t the filmmakers take into account the needs and feelings of these sensitive animals?
SPEAKING OF SENSITIVE:
Ostensibly, this movie is about Samuel L. Jackson getting angry and doing that totally awesome yelling thing he does.
Except it isn’t! He spends the majority of the movie being helpful and comforting! Weird! He’s pretty good at this,
though, and that bit where he mourns the death of his “tough son of a bitch” partner (who basically wets his pants,
defines Snakeophobia and promptly croaks -- pretty tough!) is making me feel tender even now as I type this.
MOVIE THINGS:
Opening-title foreground-boobage: check. I also laughed a lot at yet more of those smoky rooms where smoke ought not
to be. I enjoyed the concept of Beverage Cart as potentially lethal assailant. The big swoop over the ocean and the tower
guy going "Holy fuck!" was primo Movie.
EDITING THINGS:
One pro, one con: First off, Howard E. Smith, you rock, this film literally flies, and I hope you work a lot and can afford
to buy a house. Second, you know that shot with the newlywed couple on the floor and the guy holding his eyes and
then whipped cream comes squirting out of them? First his hands are clean, next shot eye-goo creaming out, then next
shot they're clean again. Whoops. I figure that the DVDs are already pressed, but if not, it's worth a fix.
RACIAL ISSUEZ:
“Stay black!” says the Hypochondriac Rapper to the Neophyte Wigger. Meanwhile, just to reveal that all Asians are not
vicious murderers, one is put on the plane to function in heroic mode. But whatever happened to that cute Indian girl
listening to her iPod? In her absence, I tried to take solace in the surprising revelation that black men and dumb blondes
wanna sex each other. News!
ROMANCE:
Julianna Margulies’ man-like smoker’s voice and apparently CG’ed eyebrows disturb me more than these measley
snakes, but of course it makes nothing but pure sense that a bitchy flight attendant and an FBI agent who effortlessly
brings death would hit it off swimmingly. Likewise those younger flight attendants who get to wear actual skirts instead
of slacks, who note -- and who wouldn’t? -- that being a witness for the prosecution is “hot.”
INCIDENTALLY, THE PLOT:
Some jerk who looks like what commercial casting directors sniff out every time they request either “edgy” or “extreme”
(Nathan Phillips) witnesses the aforementioned mega-mobster Eddie Kim (Byron Lawson) killing that other guy, and
therefore as he's flying from Vancouver to Vancouver with Agent Flynn, a bunch of exotic snakes are made severely
horny and put on a big fancy aeroplane to kill him. You know, the usual.
THE POINT:
The entire point of Snakes on a Plane seems to be that by heroically saving people from vicious reptiles, Samuel L.
Jackson (or his body-double) suddenly learns how to surf rather well.
THE COCKPIT? WHAT IS IT?:
It’s the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit. But that’s not important right now.
MAKING UP FUNNY SEQUEL-TITLES:
I'm really not programmed to make such obvious jokes. However, were I to make the sequel, I'd call it something like
Borzoi on a Pogo-stick.
THE BAD NEWS:
As with too many movies -- kidz' fave Wedding Crashers leaps to mind -- the rockin’ first and second acts give way,
rather sickeningly, to a sudden and very unwelcome influx of sentiment and sincerity. No! The denouement of this movie
nearly made me barf. Once you start being hyper-obnoxious, please continue being hyper-obnoxious!
THE GOOD NEWS:
Snakes on a Plane really is inspired moviemaking, from the company that brought you Freddy Krueger, the Friday
movies, Dumb & Dumber and its vital prequel, the unabashedly amusing Final Destination movies and The Lord of the
Rings. Somehow, here, they have managed to focus their collective talents to deliver one of the most satisfying thrill-
rides the cinema has ever seen. Really. It is strange indeed that the movie did not screen for anybody early, because I’d
give this thing a Best Picture Oscar way the hell ahead of A Beautiful Mind or Chicago. Not precisely my cup of tea, but
entertainment-wise, it's the real deal. There’s something here for everyone, from women who hate men and would love
to see a high-heel gouged through a man’s eardrum, to obese kids who mistakenly think that their accumulated
videogame skills are for naught. New Line’s founder’s sister, Lin Shaye, even gets to play a selfless matriarch in a scene
that is somehow neither funny nor nauseating but actually works as touching melodrama, even in the midst of the
hideous-hilarious carnage. I quite shamelessly recommend Snakes on a Plane as I would recommend a trip to the circus
or even to the Colosseum. Truly, this is the greatest movie about snakes on a plane ever made so far!
Snakes on a Plane
Entertainment Value: 12/13
Style: 11/13
Philosophical Insight: As if.
-Gregory Weinkauf, 20 August, 2006 (I went not opening night but when it was convenient for me. I’m just not a tool.)
Snakes on a Plane ratchets up formula for fiendish fun.
BY GREGORY
The Serpent is the primal, the sensuous, the free and intuitive. As a symbol, it represents everything that commercial air-
travel -- especially nowadays -- does not. For this reason alone I’ve got to applaud screenwriters John Heffernan and
Sebastian Gutierrez (as well as co-story-writer David Dalessandro), for, with Snakes on a Plane, they have delivered
contemporary spiritual metaphor in the guise of a disaster flick. Seldom do High Concept, Underlying Theme and
Shameless Formula merge with such rousing success. Dig:
ABSURDITY:
Is this movie absurd? As its compassionate Tennessean FBI protagonist Nelville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson) might say:
“Oh, hell yeah.” But even beyond the obvious premise (surely flogged to death in other writings, so I'll allow you to
puzzle it out), consider the mad concept of olive oil being routinely available to passengers on any airline. I have asked
for olive oil. On planes. Many times. They don’t have it. Absurd!
CATCH-PHRASES:
Not since "Where’s the beef?!” has anything so utterly bizarre entered pop parlance. I’m talking not just about this
movie’s admittedly brilliant title (shouted ad nauseam throughout the trailers and the movie’s first act by the fat guy
sitting a few seats over), nor about that almost-matching pickup close-up of Mr. Jackson yelling the already-classic
muthafuckin’-squared line. But let us also see if the equally genius but comparatively underrated, “Accidents happen. You
think I didn’t exhaust every other option?” instills itself in the Great Unconscious. Yes, somehow transporting hundreds
of exotic killer snakes from California (Vancouver) to Hawai’i (Vancouver) just so they can then fly back to California
(Vancouver) and kill a bunch of people -- hey, what other options could there be? The next time I accidentally melt down
a parking-Nazi’s little municipal-extortion cart with a flame-thrower, I intend to use this line.
ASTOUNDING DIALOGUE:
The intentionally funny lines (“Fucking dog, fucking coach, fucking Americans!” / “Ever heard of email, dickwad?” / And
especially: “Sporks.”) are swell, but the minor roles get the preposterously juicy bits. For example the doomed
prosecuting attorney hanging upside down at the beginning, awaiting execution from the main mobster who couldn’t act
his way out of a box of flowers, who, in casual conversation with the man about to kill him with a baseball bat (who,
incidentally, notes aloud, apropos of nothing, that he was raised by a single mother; a nice touch), addresses him as
“Eddie Kim” (I’ll bet Genghis Khan’s foes simply called him “Genghis,” or even just plain ol’ “Genghie.”) Okay, got his
name, thanks: CLUNK! Or the nefarious Eddie Kim’s henchman, who enthusiastically announces, “Yes sir, I’m soaking
the leaves with it! The pheromone will make these guys go fucking crazy!” A big thank you on behalf of all the dumb
people in the audience (and incidentally, henchman, do you mean petals?): CLUNK! And the young newlywed who
assures her nervous husband that the plane (and the cast!) are somewhat sparse in terms of passengers because “it’s the
red-eye!” Oh yeah, I almost forgot, planes at night are always half-empty: CLUNK! Personal fave, though, was uttered
by Dr. Price (Todd Louiso), this particular movie’s brilliant snakeologist, who exclaims, “Only one guy could arrange
this many lethal snakes! He lives out in the desert!” Oh! [Cinema critic slaps forehead.] How obvious! That guy! The one
out in the desert! EXPOSITION CLUNK-O-RAMA!
FEARS:
Of course we all know that the people of this world are only really scared of four things: Snakes; Sex; Flying; and
Negroes. This movie deals quite competently with all of them.
CARICATURE CARNAGE:
If you’re a Frightened Child, a Hypochondriac Rapper, an Apparent Fag or especially a Main Character, there is nothing
for you to fear on Flight 121. If, however, you happen to be a Hyper-Pompous Brit, a Young Couple In Love, an Actual
Pilot or a Middle-Aged Woman, this movie’s producers have it in for you and you’d be better off swimming the Pacific
from Vancouver to Vancouver. (Astoundingly, the Catholic woman – who incidentally can magically transform her
earring into a snake-poison-boil-lancing razor-blade to accompany that fanciful aforementioned airline olive oil -- is not
sacrificed on Hollywood’s altar.)
PETS:
If you happen to be a doggie or a kitty, forget it, you’re doomed.
MUSIC:
You know that ghastly nouveau-stoner-style song that opens the movie and the faux-glam song that ends it? I don’t like
them. As for Trevor Rabin’s score, I enjoyed the almost-Jaws lift, hated the brass, loved the strings.
SOUND-DESIGN:
The plane suddenly becomes ridiculously quiet in service of moments of suspense and/or whacked dialogue, which
doesn’t exactly play. Since snakes are almost deaf, though, I appreciated their POV shots featuring muted sound or
merely stylized hissing. Speaking of which…
SNAKE-O-VISION:
I have some doubts that snakes see the world as an almost uselessly blurry bright-green version of a consumer video-
camera’s “Night Vision” mode, however I am truly and deeply pleased that director David R. Ellis and his impressive
design crew ran with this pleasing stylistic choice.
THE PRODUCERS:
I actually used to work alongside one of this movie's producers, at a different studio, years ago. (Note to Self: Man, I
really oughtta make a craptastic movie too, so I can eat regularly.)
THE SNAKES:
They looked totally great to me. I particularly enjoyed the sidewinder and that yellow one with the furry head.
FURTHER THOUGHTS REGARDING THE SNAKES:
Why didn’t the filmmakers take into account the needs and feelings of these sensitive animals?
SPEAKING OF SENSITIVE:
Ostensibly, this movie is about Samuel L. Jackson getting angry and doing that totally awesome yelling thing he does.
Except it isn’t! He spends the majority of the movie being helpful and comforting! Weird! He’s pretty good at this,
though, and that bit where he mourns the death of his “tough son of a bitch” partner (who basically wets his pants,
defines Snakeophobia and promptly croaks -- pretty tough!) is making me feel tender even now as I type this.
MOVIE THINGS:
Opening-title foreground-boobage: check. I also laughed a lot at yet more of those smoky rooms where smoke ought not
to be. I enjoyed the concept of Beverage Cart as potentially lethal assailant. The big swoop over the ocean and the tower
guy going "Holy fuck!" was primo Movie.
EDITING THINGS:
One pro, one con: First off, Howard E. Smith, you rock, this film literally flies, and I hope you work a lot and can afford
to buy a house. Second, you know that shot with the newlywed couple on the floor and the guy holding his eyes and
then whipped cream comes squirting out of them? First his hands are clean, next shot eye-goo creaming out, then next
shot they're clean again. Whoops. I figure that the DVDs are already pressed, but if not, it's worth a fix.
RACIAL ISSUEZ:
“Stay black!” says the Hypochondriac Rapper to the Neophyte Wigger. Meanwhile, just to reveal that all Asians are not
vicious murderers, one is put on the plane to function in heroic mode. But whatever happened to that cute Indian girl
listening to her iPod? In her absence, I tried to take solace in the surprising revelation that black men and dumb blondes
wanna sex each other. News!
ROMANCE:
Julianna Margulies’ man-like smoker’s voice and apparently CG’ed eyebrows disturb me more than these measley
snakes, but of course it makes nothing but pure sense that a bitchy flight attendant and an FBI agent who effortlessly
brings death would hit it off swimmingly. Likewise those younger flight attendants who get to wear actual skirts instead
of slacks, who note -- and who wouldn’t? -- that being a witness for the prosecution is “hot.”
INCIDENTALLY, THE PLOT:
Some jerk who looks like what commercial casting directors sniff out every time they request either “edgy” or “extreme”
(Nathan Phillips) witnesses the aforementioned mega-mobster Eddie Kim (Byron Lawson) killing that other guy, and
therefore as he's flying from Vancouver to Vancouver with Agent Flynn, a bunch of exotic snakes are made severely
horny and put on a big fancy aeroplane to kill him. You know, the usual.
THE POINT:
The entire point of Snakes on a Plane seems to be that by heroically saving people from vicious reptiles, Samuel L.
Jackson (or his body-double) suddenly learns how to surf rather well.
THE COCKPIT? WHAT IS IT?:
It’s the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit. But that’s not important right now.
MAKING UP FUNNY SEQUEL-TITLES:
I'm really not programmed to make such obvious jokes. However, were I to make the sequel, I'd call it something like
Borzoi on a Pogo-stick.
THE BAD NEWS:
As with too many movies -- kidz' fave Wedding Crashers leaps to mind -- the rockin’ first and second acts give way,
rather sickeningly, to a sudden and very unwelcome influx of sentiment and sincerity. No! The denouement of this movie
nearly made me barf. Once you start being hyper-obnoxious, please continue being hyper-obnoxious!
THE GOOD NEWS:
Snakes on a Plane really is inspired moviemaking, from the company that brought you Freddy Krueger, the Friday
movies, Dumb & Dumber and its vital prequel, the unabashedly amusing Final Destination movies and The Lord of the
Rings. Somehow, here, they have managed to focus their collective talents to deliver one of the most satisfying thrill-
rides the cinema has ever seen. Really. It is strange indeed that the movie did not screen for anybody early, because I’d
give this thing a Best Picture Oscar way the hell ahead of A Beautiful Mind or Chicago. Not precisely my cup of tea, but
entertainment-wise, it's the real deal. There’s something here for everyone, from women who hate men and would love
to see a high-heel gouged through a man’s eardrum, to obese kids who mistakenly think that their accumulated
videogame skills are for naught. New Line’s founder’s sister, Lin Shaye, even gets to play a selfless matriarch in a scene
that is somehow neither funny nor nauseating but actually works as touching melodrama, even in the midst of the
hideous-hilarious carnage. I quite shamelessly recommend Snakes on a Plane as I would recommend a trip to the circus
or even to the Colosseum. Truly, this is the greatest movie about snakes on a plane ever made so far!
Snakes on a Plane
Entertainment Value: 12/13
Style: 11/13
Philosophical Insight: As if.
-Gregory Weinkauf, 20 August, 2006 (I went not opening night but when it was convenient for me. I’m just not a tool.)
| REVIEWS |
| ÜberCiné |
™
| All Material Here © ÜberCiné (unless otherwise noted) - All Rights Reserved. |
 | |  |
| "Don't make me do no Harrison Ford on yo' ass." © 2006 New Line |