Folks.... I don't even know how to introduce this one... so I'll just turn it on over to John Robie.... this film sounds like an experience...
Note: With a great degree of certainty it can be said that this is the most any media source will ever write about the film Final Destination. As such this review of the as-yet-unfinished film is meant as both a recounting of the experience, a document of how a viewer should possibly deal with the film, and a bit of a eulogy. To be as kind as possible this movie is nearly beyond help. Producers and brass at New Line, the only way you’re going to sell this to kids is to bill it as a hardcore exploitation film. Unless you try to market this as some kind of throwback to gore for gore’s sake it’s not going anywhere. Idle Hands was far superior to this and look what happened to that film. You try selling this as some kind of teen suspense film and you will suffer the consequences.
If you happen to be one of the producers of Final Destination, which used to be called Flight 180, I’m sure you know what’s coming. The movie, your movie, is awful. It’s abysmal. Another circle of hell has been added, down below number nine and the guys in the ice, just to house your film. There is some good news, though. If you’re looking for exit polls like--
“This movie rocks the big one! I’d take my friend Toni to see it but she’d be so scard because she gets scard at movies that are scary! The deaths are awsome and also very scary to!!! Especialy the bloodier one which I only saw half of because I had to sneak into the theater to see it after my dad dropped me off and I picked up my paycheck from Contempo and then got to the theater.”
--then you’ll be in luck. You’ll probably be able to convince a few slow kids and wire service critics that you’ve got a suspenseful thriller on your hands. Most everyone else is going to treat the thing like a forgettable piece of crap. As opposed to a memorable piece of crap...
The premise is at least decent. Alex Browning (Devon Sawa) is supposed to fly to Paris with his high school class, he has a vision of the plane exploding, he goes nuts, he gets thrown off the flight with a couple other kids and a teacher and, surprise, the 747 erupts in a fireball after takeoff. The kids should have died on the plane, right? Well at least the great mysterio known as Death thinks so. Each of the kids is now marked to die in ridiculously convoluted and gory ways, and the only thing between them and insanely goofy demises are their razor sharp wits and the pacings of the average Hollywood screenplay.
I feel bad for original scribe Jeffery Reddick. At least I think I do, or should. His script got a fair share of attention a while ago. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it was any good, but I’ll give him and it the benefit of the doubt. That script must seem a long way away for poor Reddick. Way before Glen Morgan and James Wong thoroughly mucked with the story, which now smacks of a bad, bad, bad episode of The X-Files. I’ll let someone with more knowledge of the situation fill in the details, as I’m sure will happen down below, but it seems that the original script has been changed quite a bit by Morgan and Wong. In the very least they’re listed as co-writers along with Reddick.
The most original idea here only pops up, very briefly, in the third act. What if the Alex became so consumed with his imminent death that he tried to death-proof his surroundings? What if he became a crazed hermit? Moved into a cabin, taped all the knives down, wore mittens all the time…crazy stuff. In capable hands it’s a neat idea. Here it’s brushed upon for maybe a minute or two. Then it’s forgotten.
It’s too bad. Sawa, who at least gave good arm in Idle Hands, only conjures up a genuine sense of his character in those few late scenes in cabin in the forest. By then, though, the whole thing has become such a train wreck that the performance is more likely to elicit laughter than anything else. Sean William Scott should teach a class at the Learning Annex next season: Parts not to Take after a Potential Breakthrough Role 101. He plays a complete idiot here, just a bumbling throwaway dork. He’s got two funny lines and for the rest of the film he’s relegated to annoying wallpaper. The rest of the cast is filled out with a bunch of new teen actors. Here come the new teen actors. Same as the old teen actors.
Death isn’t embodied in a person or a thing or an image or even a noise. Death is personified by the wind. This is what’s commonly known as “style.” Death gets you by, say, having the water from the toilet make you slip and cause you to choke on a tiny rope in the bathtub or having a piece of metal fly out of nowhere and chop your head off. This is what’s commonly known as “retarded.” It was actually windy in the theater I saw the movie in, and I found it a little scary until I realized it wasn’t wind at all but the rapid suction of air into the voids that had been created when the makers of the film sold their souls.
The gore count is high. Gore for gore’s sake is cheap but at least it’s interesting. Or at least it should be. The three good minutes of material here—and most all of those 180 seconds are gore—are detailed below. The effects crew did a nice job. One scene in particular is very, very similar to a scene in the neo-realist classic Bride of Chucky. I actually prefer the scene as done in Final Destination. God that title is lame. It’s more befitting a dumb late night horror flick than a slick new teen scar…wait a sec.
If you use John Denver to signal that something bad is going to happen I’ll bite. That’s either pretty inspired or really stupid. If you use John Denver twice to signal that something bad is going to happen it’s definitely stupid. If you use images of Princess Diana to foretell doom you’re mapping out whole new territories of the ridiculous. If, after realizing that your story makes little sense, you decide to have Candyman drop in for two minutes and spout nonsensical dialogue--and then disappear for the remainder of the film--you’re not only guaranteeing boggling the mind of nearly every single person who ever sees the movie, you’re also threatening to rip apart the very fabric of space and time with a move so utterly nonsensical that Jesus, Buddha and Mohammed will all have to meet and hug just to reassure each other that things on Earth can’t possibly have gotten this out of hand.
No, it’s not the real Candyman, just the actor who portrays him. But for all intents and purposes, it’s Candyman. What else has the guy done? He’s Candyman. Lay off.
This was an early, early cut of the film, and no doubt it’s going to get tweaked every which way but good before the March release. The ending definitely has to go. Alex’s girlfriend gets together with the jock. What the hell is this, Sweet Valley High? I hate those fucking twins. You’ll probably change the ending. It’s really obvious that you filmed two separate ones. In one Devon Sawa lives. In the other Devon Sawa dies. I saw the one where he dies…and where the flame-retardant make-up makes him look like a bloated Frankenstein. A story that had sufficiently built up Alex-as-paranoid would do well to have Alex die in the end. Now, though, hell…let the kid live.
I shall take pause now to present you with a simple treatise on how best to enjoy the film and your time in the theater.
A SIMPLE TREATISE ON HOW BEST TO ENJOY THE FILM AND YOUR TIME IN THE THEATRE by John Robie
Go to the theater and see the film if you must, but if you do bring a small flashlight and a book. May I suggest Silas Marner? Bring Smut just in case the theater is empty. Or partially empty, or totally full. Whatever floats your boat. Watch the previews and right about the time the commercial for movie food comes on turn on said flashlight, open said book and start to read. About twenty minutes later, if you glance up, you’ll notice some kids getting on an airliner. Shut off the flashlight and watch the next few minutes. You’ll be treated to a very nice recreation of an airliner exploding in mid-air. Once the plane blows up turn on the flashlight again and start reading. A few minutes later turn off the flashlight and stop reading. Look up. What are those people doing in the airport? It doesn’t matter. Keep watching as the kids mull about the terminal. The plane takes off again, you see it flying off into the night through the giant airport windows and then, kick ass, it explodes in a fireball in the best scene in the movie. It’s terrifying seeing the airliner go to pieces, and the shockwave that shatters the giant window panes in the airport is a nice touch. Once the scene is over turn on the flashlight and continue reading.
Keep reading. You’ll hear a kid squealing. Sounds like he’s in the bathroom. Don’t even bother looking up. Keep reading. What’s that sound? Hey, are people having sex? No, they’re not. Keep reading. Is that Candyman I hear? You don’t even want to know. Keep reading. Hey, it sounds like some people are yelling at each other. Okay now turn off the flashlight and look up. You’ll see some people standing by a street corner. There’s a nubile young girlie standing a little too close to the road. Guess what’s going to happen to her? Watch for the next few seconds, then turn the flashlight back on and keep reading. About ten minutes later you might glance up to see a hot middle-aged woman making herself a drink. Turn off the flashlight and watch the next few minutes of utter absurdity unfold. Ah, how bourgeois, yet another mauling-by-alcohol-caused-exploding-computer-screen-sequed-into-further-death-by-flying-kitchen-utenils-finished-off-by-random-house-explosion.
Pick up the book, turn on the flashlight, keep reading. About half an hour later you’ll hear a train whistle. Put down the book and turn off the flashlight if you want to see Seann William Scott get his head cut off. Shame, though: they only show the nice headless Stifler effect for a second. At about that point you can go ahead, turn on the flashlight and see how much reading you can cram into the rest of the movie because, form here on out, there ain’t nuthin’ a worth seein’.
To finish up, then.
If this has been a little too harsh, well, tough. You filmmakers know you’re all going to get to make more movies, and you know that the snazzy marketing campaign for Final Destination—which should start rearing it’s head in a little over a month—is going to hook hordes of unsuspecting kids into seeing the film. And most all of them are going to be pissed that they wasted the $15 bucks they made working at a crappy job for a few hours on a lousy movie.
Death is wind, man. My hippie uncle is convinced that’s a Dead song. Not that a Grim Reaper should pop up in the end, schythe in hand, and chop everyone to hell, but death now has all the menace of a ceiling fan. At least the moviemakers have got their tag line: Death Blows.
