Whether it was blind ego or genuine good humour on Seagal's part that allowed this title to be attached to the barrel-shaped action star's latest film, we may never know, as I can't see any interviewers being willing to ask. It's even possible that he came up with it himself, as he's given a writing credit. Though to be honest, a cinematography, direction or casting credit would have been more impressive, as the 'plot' is by far the most hopeless thing about this otherwise surprisingly polished but cliche-ridden corpse-fest.
Then again, it's the script's occasional flashes of sheer madness that make it worth watching. From the random tomato/fish/cleaver death scene early on to the head-spinning ladyboy fight and descent into voodoo lunacy during the climax, it keeps you on your toes, at least. Never seems to bother Seagal, though, whose single expression (constipation) remains fixed in place whether he's frantically fending off gangs of swordsmen with his bare hands, displaying primal fatherly angst over the inevitable kidnapping of his daughter or getting frisky with a hero-worshipping Thai girl less than half his age. Yes, you read that right, and yes, you will feel personally violated when it happens.
The other redeeming feature of the film - apart from the unusually high quality of the direction and camerawork, which gets full mileage out of what must have been a pretty limp budget - is the use of body doubles, which is some of the most blatant ever committed to film and all the more entertaining for it. Seagal *does* actually get more action in this film than in his last three or four combined, but it's still hilarious when he suddenly breaks off from his usual shot-from-the-shoulders-up slappy-hand business to launch into an impromptu flying spin kick, shedding about a third of his body weight in the process.
As long as you're not expecting gritty realism, you'll probably enjoy this as much as any other DTV kickathon on the shelves at the moment, and certainly more than the last couple of brain cell killers that Seagal's put out. Unfortunately Seagal himself is more visibly the weak link in the chain than ever before, with his action chops paling in comparison to those of both his co-star and main adversary, and his acting chops paling in comparison to his fridge. The sight of Thailand's entire criminal underworld taking turns to fly thirty feet through the air and crash into an exploding crate would be far more entertaining if it wasn't an overweight man in his fifties dishing out the damage, especially one who still refuses to take a single scratch in return. Still, one thing you have to give him credit for is not teaming up with any poxy rappers in this one.
Then again, it's the script's occasional flashes of sheer madness that make it worth watching. From the random tomato/fish/cleaver death scene early on to the head-spinning ladyboy fight and descent into voodoo lunacy during the climax, it keeps you on your toes, at least. Never seems to bother Seagal, though, whose single expression (constipation) remains fixed in place whether he's frantically fending off gangs of swordsmen with his bare hands, displaying primal fatherly angst over the inevitable kidnapping of his daughter or getting frisky with a hero-worshipping Thai girl less than half his age. Yes, you read that right, and yes, you will feel personally violated when it happens.
The other redeeming feature of the film - apart from the unusually high quality of the direction and camerawork, which gets full mileage out of what must have been a pretty limp budget - is the use of body doubles, which is some of the most blatant ever committed to film and all the more entertaining for it. Seagal *does* actually get more action in this film than in his last three or four combined, but it's still hilarious when he suddenly breaks off from his usual shot-from-the-shoulders-up slappy-hand business to launch into an impromptu flying spin kick, shedding about a third of his body weight in the process.
As long as you're not expecting gritty realism, you'll probably enjoy this as much as any other DTV kickathon on the shelves at the moment, and certainly more than the last couple of brain cell killers that Seagal's put out. Unfortunately Seagal himself is more visibly the weak link in the chain than ever before, with his action chops paling in comparison to those of both his co-star and main adversary, and his acting chops paling in comparison to his fridge. The sight of Thailand's entire criminal underworld taking turns to fly thirty feet through the air and crash into an exploding crate would be far more entertaining if it wasn't an overweight man in his fifties dishing out the damage, especially one who still refuses to take a single scratch in return. Still, one thing you have to give him credit for is not teaming up with any poxy rappers in this one.