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While hardly a spiritual upgrade of the slasher film, this high-concept teen body-count thriller drops hints of
The Sixth Sense into the smart-aleck sensibility of
Scream. Helmed by
X-Files veteran James Wong, who cowrote the screenplay with longtime creative partner Glen Morgan,
Final Destination is an often entertaining thriller marked by an unsettling sense of unease and scenes of eerie imagery. It suffers, however, from a schizophrenic tone and a frankly ludicrous premise. A high school Cassandra, Alex Browning (Devon Sawa of
Idle Hands), wakes from a preflight nightmare and panics when he's convinced the plane is doomed. His ruckus bumps seven passengers from the Paris-bound plane, which immediately explodes into a fireball on takeoff, but fate hasn't finished with these lucky few and, one by one, death claims them. Wong brings such a funereal tone to these early scenes of survivor's guilt and inevitable doom that the already far-fetched film threatens to veer into unplanned absurdity. Thankfully, the tale loosens up with a playful morgue humor: one of the victims winds up the splattered punch line to a grim joke and elaborate Rube Goldbergesque chains of cause and effect become inspired spectacles of destruction.
Final Destination is a pretty silly thriller when it takes itself seriously, and the filmmakers play fast and loose with their own rules of fate, but once they stick their tongues firmly in cheek, the film takes off with a screwy interpretation of the domino effect of doom.
--Sean Axmaker
From The New Yorker
Two alumni of "The X-Files," writer Glen Morgan and director James Wong, make the leap to the big screen and come up with one of the most enjoyable scarefests in years. While boarding an airplane, a high-school student (Devon Sawa) has a premonition that the plane will crash-a hunch later proved explosively correct. He saves the lives of a group of fellow-students, but death won't be cheated, and supernatural forces begin to menace the survivors, one by one. Wong bathes each scene with deep shadows, and the creepy lighting gives the picture a ghastly, nightmarish feel. The "Omen"-like setup (a grisly death every fifteen minutes or so) rolls along like a funhouse ride, and the deaths themselves are designed with the fabulous complexity of Rube Goldberg contraptions. The film is clever enough not to get caught in its own mousetrap; there's a gleeful spirit to the frights delivered here, and the kicker of an ending leaves the audience with a perfect final scream. -Bruce Diones
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker