Snakes gone wild

Noel Vera

It's not exactly the kind of motion picture meant to extend or
develop the potentialities of cinema as a medium of artistic
expression; instead, it's an expression of an extremely literal
sort: most of the movie takes place on a plane, and there are plenty
of snakes on board.

You know the story of course--or you would if you have haven't spent
the past year of your life in a cave or desert isle: how the star,
Samuel Jackson, signed on for the picture; how the filmmakers wanted
to change the title into something less laugh-inducing ("Snakes! On
a plane!"); how Jackson objected, and insisted not only that they
keep the title, but that they pump up the gore and reptile-induced
violence, and maybe even throw in a juicy nipple or two for the
toothy villains to nip at; how his efforts inspired a web-based
campaign to make this movie the single biggest moneymaker this
summer of 2006.

Ah ha, ha. Well, it didn't exactly turn out that way. But "Snake on
a Plane's" saga, from B-movie roots to mushrooming online cultural
phenomenon could easily have been the result of an extremely
elaborate, extravagantly expensive Andy Kaufman joke (if Kaufman
enjoyed limitless resources of cash and influence, and isn't
inconveniently dead (or is he?)), complete with the ironic punchline
that the film earned a piddling $13 million on its opening weekend
instead of the tremendous $30 million predicted (so much for the
power of the internet). As for the movie itself--well, it doesn't
live up to the hype. But what movie could?

It has its moments--oxygen masks dropping down from their overhead
bins, some of which attack the passengers; a Chihuahua sacrificed to
slow down a monster python (which promptly scarfs it down--no
nonsense here about pet dogs surviving a movie); passengers swelling
up to obscene sizes and oozing foamy fluids of all colors; so on and
so forth. Of course, much of the picture's appeal--or repulsiveness,
if you will--depends on whether you're afraid of the slithery
creatures or you like them (I do; breaded and deep-fried and served
with plenty of malt vinegar and smashed garlic cloves, they're fine
eats); if they don't quite make you shiver with fear then what's
left, essentially, is what camp value and humor you can find in the
script.

Ingmar Bergman this ain't; it ain't even good Larry Cohen, who
despite his B-movie budgets and often pulpy sensibility can be
counted on to stuff half a dozen brilliant ideas in the horror and
science-fiction genre into movies only half that size ("Snakes"
director David Ellis coincidentally directed the 2004 "Cellular," a
cleverly tossed-off Larry Cohen script about a callow young man
cellularly linked to a beautiful but endangered Kim
Basinger). "Snakes" doesn't have the witty black humor of a Cohen
script (too bad; the movie could have used it), and when it becomes
solemn and serious (thankfully, not for too long) it flops like a
ten-ton sponge, but it does get its basic premise set up (snakes;
plane) with a half-hearted attempt at credibility (meaning they at
least don't drag aliens (extraterrestrial or illegal) into the
mess).

As FBI agent Neville Flynn, Jackson is, in effect, the movie. He's
the single greatest special effect in the picture, with his goblin-
huge eyes, his grim slash of a mouth, his ability to project the
words "mothafucka" at you loud and clear, even without uttering a
single word, even as an animated character in a "G" rated movie
(Frozone in "The Incredibles"), even in movies as monumentally dull
as George Lucas' "Star Wars" prequels; he is, in short, the very
embodiment of The Man and he will Kick Your Ass if you don't Toe the
Line. It's a familiar schtick, of course, and part of the appeal of
Jackson's performance here depends entirely on the possibility that
you're not tired of it--a possibility that grows less and less
likely with each and every iteration. Jackson for over ten years has
been a welcome and amusing presence, but he needs to try and do
something new.

The rest of the cast is essentially reptile bait on legs; the snakes
themselves get front-and-center attention and for the most part--
when they're sliding up and down limbs, or slipping in and out of
sleeves and mouths and pants legs, they're sinuously sinister. But
Ellis' predilection for CGI snakes--more, for low-budget CGI snakes--
tend to make you laugh more than shriek: most of the snakes wouldn't
fool a baby (which is probably why one infant sitting in the plane's
aisle looked so unworried at the big one slithering towards him);
the plane passengers are about as realistically rendered, so you
don't care about them either when they're being punctured. Ellis
should have taken a look at, say, George Miller's fourth segment
of "Twilight Zone: The Movie" for an idea of how to shoot and create
suspense in the confines of a plane cabin, and James
Gunn's "Slither" (or, as mentioned, anything by Larry Cohen) for an
idea of how to use B-movie genre conventions to wittily ironic
advantage. "Snakes on a Plane" was enjoyable in a stupid way; could
have been better, though, in an even stupider way.

(First published in Businessworld 8/25/06)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)