So. It's come to this. "Snakes on a Plane". Here's where being a film critic gets tricky. Because, you understand, I can't tell you "Snakes on a Plane" is a good movie. I mean, really. The nonsensical premise aside, it's full of thinner-than-air characters, predictable scares and recycled disaster movie clichés. But it does have snakes. Many, many snakes. On a plane. And it has one other surprise up its sleeve: Samuel L. Jackson.
God bless this man. Really. Mr. Jackson wears Special Agent Neville Flynn like an old shoe. His comfort in the role elevates everything else on screen (even up to 30,000 feet). This guy is having fun. And why not? He has all the best lines, and they've clearly been written especially for his particular cadence. I mean nothing but respect when I say the no-nonsense Agent Flynn - assigned to transport federal witness Sean Jones (Nathan Phillips, as bland as his character's name) aboard ill-fated Pacific Air Flight 121 - may be the part this actor was born to play.
Wisely, the studied script by John Heffernan and Sebastian Gutierrez wastes no time getting off the ground (so to speak). The two writers - embracing the age-old transporting-a-murder-witness chestnut - introduce a handful of semi-interesting caricatures: the newlyweds, the chick with the dog in her purse, the hip hop star and, of course, the mother with a baby. Julianna Margulies acquits herself nicely as our favorite flight attendant, and SNL's Kenan Thompson shows up for some much-needed comic relief. Other than that, the flight manifest is fairly interchangeable. After everyone finds their seats, some pheromone-laced leis (you read that right) get the proceedings slithering along. And there is plenty of slithering.
There has been much talk about how the internet buzz on this film helped to shape its R-rated and amped-up gore. If the reaction out of the audience was any indication, the filmmakers delivered. The cheering from the crowd made you think this was "Star Wars: Revenge of the Hiss". The film is directed (with a stunning lack of style) by David R. Ellis who, with "Cellular" and "Final Destination 2" as part of his pedigree, knows from high-concept scripts and violent death scenes. The snakes, hyped up by those spiked leis, hiss and charge and go right for the jugular with dizzying speed. This film pulls no punches; it's a fangs-out bloodbath.
The best compliment I can give the film is that, for a short time, it actually made me think it could be a good movie. It's certainly better than many recent disaster efforts (
"Poseidon" comes to mind, then quickly leaves again). Did the film have to be directed like a bad 80s TV show? Did the snakes need to look so CGI? And did they have to so immediately go for the groin and breasts? Well, yes, I suppose they did have to. Because, you see, "Snakes on a Plane" is not a good movie. But it does have snakes on a plane. And in that regard, it's the best damn snakes-on-a-plane movie you're likely to see. That's gotta count for something.
