It may be played out, but welcome to The Sublimation Nation as revived by SNAKES ON A PLANE. After the stomach-turning spell of emoto-maniacal Hollywood films, wherein sanctimonious directors stick ‘meaning’ to the monument of 911 like so much used bubblegum, SNAKES ON A PLANE is refeshing return to a staple of cinematic virtue: social metaphor. Them snakes are terrorists as much as Godzilla (nee Gojira) is the A-Bomb. But SNAKES ON A PLANE gives us more that the pat escapism of reducing fanatics to reptilian otherness. It offers a nice, sublimated howl of outrage at the whole damnable situation. If you are tired of terror alerts, patronizing cowboy-speak, rude TSA employees, angry flight attendents, fellow passengers who get drunk and act like assholes, clot-inducing lack of legroom, or actual terrorists, say it loud: I’m a mutherfucking member and I’m tired of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!” Thank you Samual mutherfucking Jackson for that.