For some peculiar reason, my generation has whole-heartedly embraced the idea of unintentional comedy, so much so that it has replaced "real" comedy for a lot of people I know. I am sure that a few years down the line, some Cornell grad student will endeavor to figure out the root reasons why people born after 1982 find serious things inherently hysterical, so I'm not going to bother.
The one theory I will offer up is that maybe part of the attraction of any kind of unintentional comedy is just how interactive it is — indeed, discussing the fallacies of the Essence Awards and "Kickboxer 4" are the kind of shared experiences that make dorm life so special.
As I see it, there are two distinct types of unintentional comedy: So Bad It's Good (epitomized by the cheesy movies they used to rip apart on "MST3K" that were so incompetently plotted and executed) and So Earnest It's Bad (supposedly "serious" movies, people or TV shows that take themselves so seriously they don't recognize how stupid they really are. Some all-time classics include "8mm," "Love Actually" and the last two acts of "Cocktail"). For me, So Earnest It's Bad is the more entertaining subcategory if only because you sort of feel sorry for the people in So Bad It's Good movies (with the exception of the cast and crew of the aforementioned "Kickboxer 4").
Hollywood has been surprisingly slow to respond to the unintentional comedy trend. With the exception of a few wink-wink reality TV shows (pretty much anything on MTV or Animal Planet from 1-5 p.m.) and the development of the Game Show Network, it seems as if most of the entertainment industry is operating under the assumption that the majority of their product is, you know, good.
It is because Hollywood has been so hesitant to embrace its trashy side that a lot of people were surprised when they heard about the new Samuel L. Jackson movie "Snakes on a Plane." Contrary to what one may think, it is not based on a Jane Austen novel of the same title, but rather an original screenplay that pits Jackson as an FBI agent who has to protect a suspect from a plane full of serpents, which apparently were planted on the aircraft by a ruthless crime boss in order to stop a witness from testifying. Clearly, we are far removed from the days where a bullet in a mailbox was the preferred form of witness intimidation: apparently, black mambas have replaced .44s as the weapon du jour.
Calling this plan impractical is an understatement, probably on par with "The Iraqis will welcome us with open arms."
I can't help but wonder if this kind of questionable thinking is the reason we've seen a decline in the influence of organized crime over the last 20 years: While, in theory, a snake-based system of intimidation sounds intriguing, it strikes me as a bit difficult to oversee and execute.
Not surprisingly, the makers of "Snakes on a Plane" (or "SoaP", as we will now call it) are not gearing the movie up for an Oscar run. I seriously doubt we'll be seeing billboards towering over the Sunset Strip that read "For Your Consideration in the Best Supporting Actor Category: Jimbo the Spitting Cobra for his work in "SoaP").
What does surprise me, however, is how everybody at New Line is openly conceding that the movie is pretty much being played for laughs. They even ordered reshoots to make the movie both funnier and gorier, an open nod to the legions of Internet fans (most of whom, no doubt, are college students) who are counting down the days until the movie opens.
The Internet fans, of course, aren't breathlessly awaiting this movie because they think it's going to be great art or even a great action movie: the hope is that this movie will be the ultimate achievement in unintentional, the kind of thing you can show your grandchildren and say, "Come gather round and listen to the time I saw Sam Jackson shoot a puff adder with a .357 magnum."
I would be tempted to jump on the "SoaP" bandwagon, but the simple truth is that for all its lunacy, "SoaP" will never achieve true greatness as unintentional comedy. This is because of the simple reason that "SoaP" knows it's a comedy. You don't call a movie "Snakes on a Plane" without openly admitting you're going to make a comedy.
Even Sam Jackson has been going around telling people the only reason he's doing the movie is because of the title. The cast includes SNL veterans Keenan Thompson and David Koechner, who no doubt were brought in to beef up the humor. But that's the thing about unintentional comedy: you don't need outside humor. It all comes from being totally serious.
If "SoaP" had been made and marketed as a traditional action movie, it could only be funnier. The movie is going to be too self-aware to truly strike unintentional comedic gold.
Had the filmmakers treated their work with total seriousness, then we would have had something. The ideal choice for a director would be some young NYU film student who somehow tries to make the movie a metaphor for corporate greed and the loss of the American Heartland but with, you know, snakes.
He wouldn't have cast Jackson in the lead role — Sam is too self-aware for this movie. He admitted that he signed on for the film just because of the title. That's a no-no. The lead should be a talented, B+ list actor who is completely serious and earnest when it comes to his work but sells out in order to finance some small, personal indie film he wants to make.
Imagine how much funnier the movie would be if you cast somebody like Alan Rickman, Andy Garcia or Tim Robbins in the role of the cop. These are all serious actors who, after making sure the boatload of money they got for the role was safely delivered to their banker, would either: a) sleepwalk through the role; or b) get really into it. The ultimate great casting choice for the cop would be Michael Keaton.
Ray Gustini is a freshman majoring in political science and history. Send him questions, comments and your thoughts on "SoaP" to [email protected].
