Learning The Lessons Of Snakes On A Plane
When Snakes on a Plane was first announced, the internet went crazy for it. People created homemade posters, and blogs convinced Hollywood that the film would be a monster hit. At one point during production, the film’s name was changed to Pacific Air Flight 121, but Samuel L. Jackson went to the press and announced that he was changing it back. You know all of this. It is the e-stuff of iLegend. What Snakes on a Plane represented, at least in the on-line blogopolis, was an embrace of the action genre’s natural tendency towards camp and bombast, a refreshing honesty about setting expectations and calling a b-movie a b-movie. The problem, of course, with campy, bombastic b-movies, is that no matter how honest you are about setting expectations, the market is pretty well defined, and that market is “disappointing” by Hollywood Box Office analyst standards. And thus, Snakes on a Plane was considered a dud. Box office got straight rick roll’d.
Enter the Ninja Assassin poster. Look at this fucking thing. It’s called Ninja Assassin, and it has a picture of a ninja assassin holding the tools of the ninja assassinary trade, standing out in the rain, just like, “What?” This poster don’t play games. They’ve obviously taken the Snakes on Plane philosophy of clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose, but without all the sarcastic hype and the tongue-in-cheek ironic knowingness. Irony has no place in the heart of a ninja. You either want a movie about a ninja assassin standing in the rain with ninja weapons called Ninja Assassin, or you don’t. That’s your problem.