Ketchup is blood and blood becomes ketchup. Until one day we see it is blood. Life blood pouring from blue veins. We do not simulate grief. Long, long grief, or psyches that leap into air, severed from hearts.
Actors lie down for the rape scene while someone, somewhere, composes a suitable rape score.
Special effects bring the plane into line, cut to the passenger's wide eyes, cut to the hero, flying, flying, to catch them all in his one hand, cut to the bodies falling. We do not simulate the long silence. The soundtrack is unbearably quiet.