Half Past Dead -- now there's an interesting action flick title. It could describe how some audience members feel after watching this.
It also could reference Steven Seagal's career after 15 years of pumping out this kind of critic-proof, gonzo garbage.
Here the actor-producer plays an FBI agent in deep undercover as a hard-timer at a newly re-opened Alcatraz prison, a bad place for bad people. And bad things are pending.
The story, such as it is, involves a hostage-taking commando strike. Outsiders break into Alcatraz to scoop up a death row inmate (Bruce Weitz) three minutes before he is to be executed. They want him for info on the $200 million in gold bars he stole and stashed before his arrest.
Their plans go awry, of course, so they grab the U.S. Supreme Court judge (Linda Thorson) who is present for the execution. It is up to Seagal to lead a ragtag bunch of prisoners in a counter-coup against the commandos.
Seagal is bloated and puffy and still the worst actor among all the big action stars. He lumbers. He lurches. He sweats. He puffs. He wears baggy clothes to hide the whale blubber. Yet he (or his stunt double) still moves lightning fast.
Or so actor turned filmmaker Don Michael Paul would have us believe. With his super-quick cuts, multiple angles and up-close-and-personal photography, speed demon Paul helps transform most of the action sequences and all of the nearly bloodless but bone-crunching fights into an explosive fury. None of them looks real but they are visceral, they are intense and they play under a head-banging music track.
All of that covers up Seagal's weaknesses, except for his bad skin. For some bizarre reason, Paul shoots macro close-ups, as if he wants us to peer into every pore on his actor's face.
When you're that close to co-stars Morris Chestnut (the psychotic arch villain of the piece), or rapper Ja Rule (Seagal's criminal buddy-brother), or Nia Peeples (the super-freak villainess with an acre of blue eye shadow) then it's cool. These are intriguing faces. That also applies to Tony Plana, the tough-guy prison warden, or another rapper, Kurupt, as the comic relief prisoner. But when you're that close to Seagal's pasty, sweaty skin, then it's revolting.
Paul, who wrote the script and makes his debut as director, does two things well. His action scenes do deliver a solar plexus punch, although his story, character development and plot are all stupid. Secondly, there are eruptions of coarse humour, welcome in such a relentless action picture.
What he does worst is deal with believability. Not for a second do any of the gun battles make sense. In most scenes, thousands of bullets whiz by before anyone is hit. None of the good or bad guys can shoot straight. But doors, windows, walls, 'copters and cars are pumped full of lead.
More stupidity. Then again, this is a Steven Seagal movie.
(This film is rated AA)
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