Monday, August 21, 2006

Motherfucking Movie on My Motherfucking Mind

Snakes on a Plane, what can I say? I can say that the only way to see this movie is for free at 12:30am on a Friday with 100+ rabid, and hyperactive Landmark Theater employees tanked up on beer and donuts. Can’t see the movie that way? Sucks to be you. And it sucks to be the party of young men who, as guests of an employee, abused the the honor by hooting, climbing on the seats, and flinging food, only to go from the happiest boys on earth to the saddest when they were unceremoniously kicked out. As the manager said during this operation, "It's okay to come to this thing drunk, just don't act drunk." Wise words indeed.

What else can I say? Either this movie is the greatest and subtlest piece of ironic moviemaking in the history of cinema, or it really is a horribly bad C-grade horror slash comedy extravaganza that escaped from 1974.

Eeegh, this movie has it all—big ginormous snakes of all types and colors biting people everywhere and doing every gross thing anyone has ever imagined in a quiet moment of terror whilst peeing into an outhouse hole on a dark night in the woods…only on a plane. Did I mention that some of the larger snakes growl? Now, I did not know that snakes had the vocal cords to growl, but apparently I am a dumbass; because as we all know, movies tell nothing but the truth and the whole truth, so help me Bob.

Still, Samuel L. Jackson is a God among men--a walking, talking, swearing epitome of what is means to be a masculine hombre stud beef. What a guy. That man is so cool you could hold a warm beer against any part of him and come away with a nice cold frosty one for your efforts. Dude, he’s the motherfucking most on motherfucking toast.

During the movie, I did in fact close my eyes a few times; so, among other things, I missed the bit where the anaconda squeezed the asshole British guy to death. Still, my brain could easily fill in the details just from the “aaahh….eeeeww, eecck, ha ha ha” sounds the other audience members were making. Yeesh. I also can’t understand why a woman sucking venom from a toddler’s swollen, puss-y and red arm would be a turn on, but based on the reaction of Kenan Thompson’s character, it totally is. That was maybe the grossest part of the movie for me—first aide on a child doesn’t seem like a sexual moment to me; but then again, I’m not a guy. (And thank Bob for that.) Still, snaps to the producers for giving ol’ Kenan a job so he can take a breather from washing windows and begging for change on Wilshire Avenue; because that Nickelodeon money must have run out long ago. I also don’t think that [spoiler alert] a wind strong enough to suck a giant python out a window would not also make short work of teeny, tiny Julianna Margulies as well. Yeah, I know, she had a belt strap wrapped around her wrist, but it was not even tied off or anything; after the “event”, she just whips it off and walks away smiling and with her hair still beautifully coifed. I think she’d have been sucked out the window too, or at least had her hair messed up a bit. Oh yeah, and inflatable lifeboats make great snake blockers; ‘cause, you know, a giant snake that can bite through your neck could never get through one of those. Never leave home without one.

There’s a backstory that explains why there are snakes on a plane, and why those snakes are so very very angry, but it doesn’t really matter. In fact, at the end of the movie the producers and writers have wisely forgotten all about the killer generic Asian guy and his evil minions. They just don’t matter anymore.

The Lessons Learned?
What profound life lessons can we take away from Snakes on a Plane? Snakes can growl, Samuel L. Jackson is the man; this flick will never be your in-flight movie; the Mile High Club is going to have a lot fewer members; the poor shlubs who’s job it is to force those floral leis on people in Hawaiian airports are going to have a much tougher time of it now (what with all the screaming, sucker punches and running away, etc.); while there is really no way to make a sequel to SoaP, there will be one anyway (Moose on a Train…anyone?); the porn version will be called Snakes in my Pants, and the 1970’s are cooler than ever. Mother fucking yippee kai “Aaay!” motherfucker.


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