Snakes on a Plane: It’s Just Simply Terrible

By Alex Del Negro

I needn’t tell you that this is a bad movie. The title alone should be enough to convince one of this fact. If not, though, I’m certain the massive ad campaign waged when this film was first released against the hearts and minds of the discerning American movie-goer has already proved to be more than persuasive. Therefore, unless you’ve been living under a rock, in a cave, on Mars, with your eyes shut and hands over your ears alongside Nigel, Sideshow Bob’s brother from an obscure little television show entitled “The Simpsons,” chances are you’ve already decided for yourself just how terrible a film “Snakes on a Plane” really is. The question then becomes:

Is “Snakes on a Plane” a movie that ascribes to that old “so bad, it’s good” function of the inverse relation of quality to entertainment value in a universally recognized terrible film? Or is it just simply terrible?

The film stars Samuel L. Jackson, who agreed to do it solely on the basis of the title alone. Considering the project originated as a competition between drunken Hollywood executives to find the world’s worst pitch idea for a feature film, this might have proved ironic if Jackson later regretted his decision. As it is, though, it just represents a masochistic side of the actor that no one was apparently aware of before now. Keeping in mind that this review considering this review comes simultaneously with the release of “Jumper,” wherein Jackson plays some sort of supernatural superhero-hunting bleached blonde psychopath, it would therefore seem safe to assume that somewhere deep down, Jackson hates himself on a level unfathomable by those without access to him off-screen.

Jackson is charged with protecting a key witness as he flies from Hawaii to California in order to testify in a trial that will determine the fate of a mafia/gangster/drug overlord crime boss, or whatever the cliché is these days. En route, a massive crate of poisonous snakes placed there through the obscure machinations of the crime lord’s underlings detonates; releasing tens upon hundreds of snakes into the plane’s cargo hold. Incidentally, “tens upon hundreds” is the proper phrase used to describe an unimpressive number in a sarcastically ridiculous manner. Use it well.

Eventually a few snakes make it into the plane’s wiring and strategically cut vital systems like some sort of armless, legless electronics expert who reroutes circuits with their mouth. The pilot goes to check it out and is instantly killed by a snake bite…somehow. And the rest is easily guessed. The snakes make it into the passenger compartment, people panic, Jackson shouts a few one-liners, and the plane is landed by a fat, video-game playing black man in the form of Kenan Thompson; one of the former stars of the Nickelodeon show “Kenan and Kel,” which I watched back in the day when I still had stars in my eyes and the world was mine for the taking.

You might ask why the crime boss decided to kill the key witness in such a ridiculous and grandiose manner, considering the moment the FBI learns that there are, indeed, snakes on the plane, they are able in a matter of five minutes to link the act to the criminal and charge him with multiple counts of murder and attempted murder. This in turn renders the key witness Samuel L. Jackson protects completely pointless, and thus the whole act of trying to murder him before he could testify. It would seem then that the crime lord just didn’t want any doubt of his guilt that might arise from the questionable testimony of a witness, and therefore in an act of magnanimous goodwill decided to hand the Federal prosecutors his conviction on a platter. This, however, is not for you to understand.

You might also find yourself asking why the snakes are so viciously attacking and pursuing creatures many times their size. I myself had that very same thought for the first half of the film. Were the snakes acting irrationally because of a fear of flying? Were they angry about their seating arrangements and wanted to upgrade? Perhaps the snakes were drunk? That would explain the aggressiveness, not to mention the ridiculous snake point of view shots the audience is occasionally treated to, which consist of an incredibly blurry, green-tinted perspective of muffled sounds and vague movements. No wonder they were killing people. I would be too if I was hung over in a pressurized cabin with no escape and people screaming at me.

Unfortunately, this part of the review is rendered pointless by the revelation partway through the film that it was actually snake pheromones sprayed throughout the cabin that caused the snakes to attack. I might have tried to mitigate my defeat by questioning the possibility that one kind of pheromone could possibly agitate each and every one of the numerous snake species present in the exact same manner, but I know when to admit I’ve been beaten.

Touché, “Snakes on a Plane.” Touché.

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