Oh, please. Snakesplotation? And what does it get you? Not much. Neville Flynn (a grim Samuel L. Jackson) is escorting murder witness Sean Jones (Nathan Phillips) trans-Pacific to LA when seats stop staying in their fixed upright position. That’s because a sneaky witness-killer has released snarky hissers to bite Mr. Jones. Naturally, the plane bulges with eccentrics, including a hip-hopper and a Brit businessman who has yet to accessorize manners. It’s hard to tell how seriously Jackson takes any of this.
That director David R. Ellis — a stunt man by training — is helpless with irony doesn’t helps. When Indy saw all those snakes in the tomb, what’d he say? “I hate snakes.” And it brought down the house. Why? Because you cared about Indiana Jones. Perpetual motion man Flynn doesn’t produce similar emotions. Plebian stuff, but cool snakes.