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August 23, 2006


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My shorter review for the movie, which I have not seen:


Abe Goldfarb

You know...I must say, anyone who has expressed even mild disappointment at Snakes on a Plane has forgotten what the film is, was, and ever shall be: a cheap, silly B movie that's as dirty and dumb as a bag of used condoms. Watched as a late-summer programmer, it's sort of just what the doctor ordered. No body part is left un-bitten or un-ogled, no sub-idiotic cliche left un-spoken ("I need you to be strong for me" indeed, Mr. Jackson). The first act is pretty atrocious and the third less of an ending than a full stop, but the long midsection is as berserk as we might have hoped. It's fast, nasty, genuinely violent, funny and occasionally scary. If certain opportunities seem blown, it's probably a feeling that arises not from some inherent failure of nerve or imagination on the part of the filmmakers, but from the fact that no one in their right mind could have expected them to give it half as much thought as the cult has.

I kind of had a blast. And it's evaporating from my memory as I write. Perfect. After all, who wants a hangover from a Big Mac?

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