Make My Black Snake Moooooan!

I saw Black Snake Moan and, after a year or two of heavy pontification over plot specifics, I came away sort of disappointed. I can’t help but imagine what the movie would have been like had the script been tackled by me and Wes Blacula. I envisioned an X-rated riot; Christina Ricci bound by chain on the floor as the ol’ black bluesman, played by a grizzly and unforgiving Samuel L., creeps up behind her to douse her wild crotch-fire with the soothing venom of his “black snake.”

Instead, we’re treated to a few winning moments enveloped in melodrama. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the movie on some level, but it wasn’t the level on which I intended to. Once again going against the grain of my expectations, I didn’t find myself bucking out of the theater like a wild animal, carrying the credits music with me in a post-film rampage of exploitative savagery. Rather, I was calmly asking myself The Big Questions such as “Will Justin Timberlake ever recover from his crippling anxiety?” and “Why didn’t Sam Jackson say the line Wes and I had mentally prepared for the script back in 2005?”