To Every Season

Back to school displays assault the eyes at Target. Vanity Fair's Style Issue is out in all its twenty-seven pound (but mercifully Tom Ford-less) glory. These are the official signs of the end of summer. And I am considering my viewing of Snakes on a Plane last night the end of my summer movie viewing bonanza.

It's been a summer of good movies (A Prairie Home Companion), bad movies (Poseidon, Stick It), middling movies (The Devil Wears Prada), and those all-too-forgettable movies (Mission: Impossible 3? A Scanner Darkly? Wuh? Did I actually see these?) I, for one, am glad that we can all move into the Fall and Winter seasons that usually offer more interesting fare.

Which I guess brings us to Snakes on a Plane. First of all, I don't know why I was there on opening night, since I never, ever go to movies on their opening nights. But there I was. I have never seen so many scenesters gathered together in York County, Pennsylvania in my life. If a meteor hurled into the theater, there would officially be no "scene" left in all of central PA, which would also have unforseen economic effects on the 24-hour diner and Salvation Army branches. But anyway, Snakes. It was what it was. There is a plane. There are snakes. Snakes biting eyeballs and genitals. Snakes constricting. Snakes [Spoiler!] eating tiny dogs. Snakes delivering comeuppance. The ridiculous factor is high, which, being a vehement snakeophobe, I appreciated greatly. I don't think I'd ever see it again, but it's an experience. It's also nice to see a film live up to its hype. I guess.