 Samuel L. Jackson in 'Snakes on a Plane'


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SAN DIEGO -- Here's a frightening proposition for the producers of Snakes on a Plane: What if everyone is so busy laughing at the name of your movie, they forget to go see it?
Or worse, they skip it altogether because they know it's going to, pun intended, bite?
An unlikely scenario we know -- the Samuel L. Jackson starrer is expected to sink its fangs convincingly into the box office this Friday -- but nevertheless, cult audiences, particularly those found slithering around the Internet, are a notoriously slippery lot. After all, for every Blair Witch Project that embeds itself into the mass consciousness, there's a Serenity that sputters to find a larger following.
So, while New Line has cannily courted the cyberspace junkies erecting countless digital shrines to Snakes, the studio's TV ads tell a different story -- selling the movie as a straight-ahead thriller, rather than the campfest most website denizens, stoked by the on-the-nose title have been salivating for.
The message? The studio isn't resting on its snakesonablog.com laurels. And it even wants to make it appear like Snakes on a Plane -- brace yourself -- isn't total crap, but redeemable, even well-crafted, crap.
As you'd expect, no one is more eager to promote this line of thinking than director David R. Ellis, who -- while clearly thrilled to be at the helm of this year's out-there pop culture phenomenon -- also wouldn't mind if Snakes shed its B-as-in-bad movie rep.
"I'll be happiest on Aug. 18 when people get to see the film," Ellis says. "People are like, 'Oh, it's going to be the best worst movie ever made,' but it rocks. It definitely delivers."
(Unfortunately no one can independently confirm this since New Line isn't screening the film in advance for critics.)
Should Snakes deliver -- budgeted at a mere $30 million US, it could gross that in its opening weekend -- the thriller's impact won't be limited to the box office.
Already many expect it to mark a seismic shift in how Hollywood makes and markets its films, auguring a future in which blockbusters are hyped and shaped, not by executives, but by bloggers and Internet-powered fanbases.
Renowned, for one, is the story of how, when online fans protested a possible name change from Snakes on a Plane to the woefully generic Pacific Air 121, the studio blinked, opting to stick with the original title.
Another example of this geek-to-Hollywood interactivity? When bloggers balked at the movie's aimed-for PG-13 rating, demanding R-rated horror, the studio coughed up cash for reshoots to magnify the flick's quotient of bloodshed, sex and profanity. In particular, fans will hear Jackson bark perhaps the most-requested line of dialogue in cinematic history: "I want these mother#$&*%+g snakes off this mother#$&*%+g plane!"
And Jackson, Academy Award nominee though he may be, makes no pretense about Snakes. "This is the kind of movie I would've went to when I was a kid," he says. "It's not a great story and there's not a great character inside of it. And there's nothing wrong with doing that, even though a lot of people might think so."
Nor is Jackson, ever the snake charmer, about to chomp the mouse-clicking fingers that feed him. Rather than complain about how their creative control was infringed upon, both he and Ellis credit their online followers for making the flick better.
"It's called Snakes on a Plane -- what are you trying to hide?" Ellis remembers telling studio executives when they wanted a kinder, gentler PG-13-friendly Snakes. "You've got to go for it."
Ellis, whose credits include Final Destination 2, was approached to helm Snakes after Hong Kong filmmaker Ronny Yu dropped out. By then Jackson, a friend of Yu's, was already attached to play an FBI agent trying to keep a federal witness alive after the mob boss he's testifying against unleashes the murderous serpents on their plane.
Among the passengers and flight crew trying, with Jackson, to escape the jaws of death are Julianna Margulies (ER), Kenan Thompson (Saturday Night Live) and Canadian Rachel Blanchard (from last year's Where The Truth Lies).
But landing a cast -- any cast -- wasn't easy with a name like Snakes on a Plane, Ellis admits. "We were going around to locations and we'd tell them our movie is Snakes on a Plane, and they'd go, 'Oh, that's great.' Even when we were going out to (audition) actors, they weren't taking it seriously."
At least they had arms and legs. That wasn't true of the majority of the cast. More than 500 snakes were corralled into service to slither about the film's Vancouver set, although they rarely interacted with their warm-blooded co-stars. Turns out snakes aren't believable actors.
"There's no such thing as a snake trainer," Jackson says. "They can't be told what to do. They're lazy and they don't want to be bothered with people."
So while the movie's second unit dealt with the real-life snakes, the stars fended for their lives opposite their imaginations.
"For any specific behaviour, you have to have a computer-generated snake," says Ellis, who reports many of the cast and crew were nevertheless "freaked out" by the titular reptiles. "It was cool, too, because I had this baby rattle I'd keep in my pocket. I'd hit a guy in the leg with a stick and then rattle."
Not that we're suggesting Jackson was afraid of his co-stars, although his agent did negotiate a 20-ft. clause in his contract that kept the actor away from the critters.
With the movie about to uncoil and critical hisses silenced (at least until opening day), Jackson says he's proud of the unabashedly hokey end product.
"I hope I did a movie people will enjoy and go, 'That was wild.' That's all I need from this. I don't expect the Hollywood Foreign Press to call me up to the podium for this," he says. "But the MTV Movie Awards -- they might create a category for this movie."
BLOG LOG
Other examples of how Hollywood has interacted -- successfully and not-so successfully -- with bloggers and online fans over the past decade:
The Blair Witch Project (1999): A Sundance Film Festival entry that became a mainstream sensation thanks to a website that made folks think the eerie tale of three young filmmakers who go missing in the woods was real.
The Lord of the Rings (2002): Few directors are as fan-friendly as New Zealand's Peter Jackson, who addressed fans of the books online throughout the trilogy's production, showing the kind of interactivity few directors even now embrace. When Jackson debuted the trailer for Fellowship of the Ring online, it received 1.7 million hits on the first day alone.
28 Days Later (2003): Newspaper and television ads are so passe. At least that's what Fox Searchlight thought when it spent a then-shocking $1 million US in online advertising for Danny Boyle's zombie thriller. The movie ended up earning close to $50 million US.
Serenity (2005): Letter-writing campaigns saved Star Trek a generation ago, so it was no surprise when online chatter -- and robust DVD sales -- prompted Universal to bankroll a big-screen version of the cancelled sci-fi series Firefly. In a lesson to all executives who think having fans online is a licence to print money, however, Serenity raked in a measly $26 million US at the box office.
Superman Returns (2006): After the disastrous reception Warner Bros. received following 1997's campy Batman & Robin, executives started paying attention to what fans craved from their comic-book adaptations. One example of how much power the online community exercises on these blockbusters-to-be came in 2002 when a script for a proposed Superman revival written by J.J. Abrams was leaked online and subsequently bashed. Lex Luthor's an alien? Krypton didn't blow up? Superman gets his powers from his costume? Fearing a Batman & Robin repeat, Warners pulled the plug on the project and hired X-Men's Bryan Singer to helm a movie much more in keeping with the character's traditions.