A year ago (Jesus, was that a year?) I sat in my neighborhood theater and saw a trailer for this movie. I think I was watching Scream 3. I remember having an Oh, that looks cool; have to go see that moment.
I never saw Final Destination. My schedule, my work, my
play, my whatever intervened. If I ever want excuses for not seeing a moving, I've got
plenty to choose from.
So I was overhearing two coworkers lambaste this flick when I remembered my Oh, that looks cool, have to go see that moment. My Critic Sense tingled even further when I looked at the back of the box and found none other then James Wong, bearing the title of director and sharing the title of writer with his partner, Glen Morgon.
If you don't watch Fox, you probably won't know the Morgon/Wong team. Know accomplices of X-files Uberminch, Chris Carter, the two took over Millennium for a season (the religious season). You know, that good one that came before Carter stepped back into the chair and ran the show into the ground.
Damn, I miss that show. I miss Frank Black, mostly. He had real potential. He and his ability. If only he'd had a series...
But enough lamenting. Everyone's got a favorite series they saw die before its time (me, I've got five I can name without straining). Point is, Glen and Wong got some time off and made this movie.
Final Destination begins with something I can relate to: a guy going to Paris. Yes, Alex Browning (Devon Sawa), and his French class have round trip airfare from New York to the City of Love. For the first 25 minutes, we follow Alex and his best bro, Todd (Chad Donella), through the pre-flight exercises. Blatant images of Death run rampant through this opening sequence, including:
¶A close-up of the word "Terminal"
¶The word "Death" cropping up like a weed.
¶The Ominous Oscillating Fan of Doom, and (my personal favorite):
¶"Rocky Mountain High" by John Denver, playing over the airport PA system. As Alex remarks, "He died in a plane crash." This little avatar of Evil will run rampant through the entire movie. Which once again proves my old theory: John Denver kills.
Don't you just wish moviemakers would stop being so goddamned subtle? Well, fear not, for the rest of Final Destination is about as subtle as a bus accident. Once boarded, Alex's Spider Sense goes onto full alert, triggering one of the best-directed prophetic dreams it has been my pleasure to witness. Alex panics; airport security panics (hell, a joke in the wrong place will set them off) and seven characters (including Alex and Todd) are thrown from the plane.
The Seven are your standard Slasher cross section: Alex; Todd the friend; Carter the Jock (Kerr Smith); his Chick (who I didn't care about), Valerie Lewton (Kirsten Cloke), the Token Adult; Clear (Ali Larter), the Quite One; and Billy (Seann William Scott), the Stupid One. As their personalities clash, their plane takes of and explodes. No survivors found.
The five stages of grief (well, four out of five) set in amongst our characters as they try to move on with their lives. Most of "getting on with their lives" initials staying the hell away from Alex.
And then, one by one, the survivors begin to die.
You see, Death is not some random, statistical occurrence. Nor is Death some monstrous specter. But Death is a sentient being, one with a very definite plan that can not be messed with. You mess with Death, Death gets pissed. And you do not want to see Death pissed. So says Tony Todd. By saving his friends, Alex messed up Death's first grand plan. Now he has to figure out the new one before there's no one left to save.
That's right, the Candyman drops by for a little monologue. He obvious loves his job. But he's not playing Death, just a mortician. Sorry. In this movie, Death is never show, remaining an invisible force. A black shadow that slinks in under doors and through windows, killing people in ways that are a nice departure form your standard Slasher movie.
And that's why I like Final Destination. It looks like a Slasher movie. Feels like one, too. But inside that same old wrapping paper is a nice, original piece of chocolate. Lord knows Hollywood doesn't throw those at us often.
Beware, though, this chocolate is wrapped in some thick ass paper. The stereotypes are only the beginning. Characters are given one trait a piece. Our actors are all right, I suppose. Sawa and Larter do nice jobs as our main characters, but even they would disappear of they stood sideways. Wong and Morgon cut their teeth on a one hour series, and it shows in their character writing.
Also, the mechanics of Death's master plan get a little confusing unless you pay real close attention. Especially near the end. Death seems to split its focus between Alex and the only other survivor (and if you can't guess how that'll be, you need to watch more Slasher movies). Maybe I'm just nitpicking, but the Death in this movie seems to be a fairly one track minded kinda guy.
Those nit-picks aside, this movie is another painless waste of time. It has absolutely nothing to say about our role as Cogs in Death's Machine (except the obligatory "fuck death" sentiment; gotta lure them teenagers into the audience). Death is not the romantic Joe Black, or the menacing Hannibal Lecter, MD. Death is more a big red button than a character: the kind you press to fire tactical missals.
So we're left with a pretty good movie and not much beyond that. Characters aren't deep, and neither is the plot. But the exciting parts are exciting, and there are no real boring parts to speak of. Thanks to director Wong (and that training from TV episodes), the movie has a brisk pace that'll make you wonder where time went. Sure, you could ask for more, but then you'd have to get up out of your chair. Better to turn your brain off and enjoy.
