I’m watching a movie so dumb and unnecessary that, during its running time, I’ve typed two weeks of journal entries and cleaned my room. The movie is Flight Plan, and is about as imaginative as a real one.
Aside from exploiting cheap fears, like Scary Arabs on Airplanes or the Missing Daughter, the movie has nothing but a cool airplane to offer. Jodie Foster overacts — rather, mis-acts — so badly that you wonder how a plane can stay aloft hauling the weight of her Performance.
I’ll go ahead and spoil it for you. Peter Saaaaaarsgaaard plays a terrorist doubling as a kidnapper doubling as a U.S. Marshall. Ooo, the twists! Jodie Foster plays the mother of a girl who might be alive, but has gone missing and who cares? Foster indulges in every conceivable snit to Reclaim the Fruit of Her Loins. Gorgeous Sean Bean doesn’t get to die a noble death at the hands of Orcs, but he does get to fly a state-of-the-art jumbo jet, so that counts for something. Oh, and that horrible skank from 24 and Traffic plays a round-faced, pouty-lipped, blank-eyed, oily stewardess, but she lost some weight. She’s not such a fat slut anymore.
Oh, well, time to read with enthusiasm the closing credits so I can memorize the names of every person who jizzed on my face through the power of celluloid.