Those praising this movie are pegging themselves as Johnnies-come-lately to the bad-movie canon. Congratulations, you figured out that "Snakes on a Plane" was going to suck. Fine, Samuel L. is a one-note joke to you. But where were you when "Alone in the Dark" came out? Or "The One"? Or "The Fog"? Studios put out a dozen half-assed, schlocky thrillers every year, and just because one of them kept its working title, people are bowing down left and right.
Honestly, my favorite part of the movie was the first scene with Byron Lawson and the prosecutor. That's the kind of terrible movie I can enjoy, one with aspirations to toughness; one that doesn't fall back on winks. Lawson's gangster is totally unconvincing, and the back-and-forth bravado between good guy and bad guy are straight out of "Commando," or anything from PM Entertainment.
Once everyone's on the plane, though, it's just a typical horror film. Broad characters forced to interact with each other. There's no one to root for OR against, and that's a huge misfire. It was painful to see how few extras could be summoned for Flex Alexander's supposedly famous rapper, a guy who can only afford two chunky bodyguards (No charter jet? What kind of rapper is this?). Rachel Blanchard quickly discards a snooty-rich-girl characterization in favor of something much blander. Nathan Phillips is deadly dull, completely upstaged by everyone around him, and a terrible match for an already reducted SLJ, who strolls amiably through the obviously inferior material. In theory, David Koechner's lecherous co-pilot would've served both as welcome comic relief and an Obvious Target, but "Snakes" wastes him, just reduces him to a curious extended cameo.
Also, this film misses a huge opportunity: visceral revenge. There wasn't nearly enough snake-whacking! I would've much rather seen the band of survivors unite to rain physical punishment upon some reptiles than the eye-rolling solution which Sammy concocts. Add to that the fact that to stop cold-blooded creatures, all one would have to do was turn the temperature to about 65. I know ridiculous action pictures needn't adhere to reality-based conditions, but this movie has so much contempt for its audience, I feel like it owed us some sort of explanation.
Truly bad movies are organic: a hundred compromises, setbacks, and lowered sights conspire to create awful art. "Snakes on a Plane" isn't quite there, but it would've been closer had it been left alone by a bunch of kids suckling at irony's teat. As it is, it's mild entertainment being masqueraded as something else by impatient groupthinkers. Leave the bad movies (and the appreciation of same) to the professionals, children.
Honestly, my favorite part of the movie was the first scene with Byron Lawson and the prosecutor. That's the kind of terrible movie I can enjoy, one with aspirations to toughness; one that doesn't fall back on winks. Lawson's gangster is totally unconvincing, and the back-and-forth bravado between good guy and bad guy are straight out of "Commando," or anything from PM Entertainment.
Once everyone's on the plane, though, it's just a typical horror film. Broad characters forced to interact with each other. There's no one to root for OR against, and that's a huge misfire. It was painful to see how few extras could be summoned for Flex Alexander's supposedly famous rapper, a guy who can only afford two chunky bodyguards (No charter jet? What kind of rapper is this?). Rachel Blanchard quickly discards a snooty-rich-girl characterization in favor of something much blander. Nathan Phillips is deadly dull, completely upstaged by everyone around him, and a terrible match for an already reducted SLJ, who strolls amiably through the obviously inferior material. In theory, David Koechner's lecherous co-pilot would've served both as welcome comic relief and an Obvious Target, but "Snakes" wastes him, just reduces him to a curious extended cameo.
Also, this film misses a huge opportunity: visceral revenge. There wasn't nearly enough snake-whacking! I would've much rather seen the band of survivors unite to rain physical punishment upon some reptiles than the eye-rolling solution which Sammy concocts. Add to that the fact that to stop cold-blooded creatures, all one would have to do was turn the temperature to about 65. I know ridiculous action pictures needn't adhere to reality-based conditions, but this movie has so much contempt for its audience, I feel like it owed us some sort of explanation.
Truly bad movies are organic: a hundred compromises, setbacks, and lowered sights conspire to create awful art. "Snakes on a Plane" isn't quite there, but it would've been closer had it been left alone by a bunch of kids suckling at irony's teat. As it is, it's mild entertainment being masqueraded as something else by impatient groupthinkers. Leave the bad movies (and the appreciation of same) to the professionals, children.