Marked for Death (1990) spends more time on action sequences, than it does with focusing on its characters. After his first two impressive efforts, Above the Law (1988) and Hard to Kill (1989), this third Steven Seagal picture makes the idea clear: anyone who opposes him is meant to look like a fool; the bad guys are just there to make him look good.
Seagal had been steadily building an audience that seemed a bit larger than those that follow the kick-'em-up antics of Chuck Norris or Jean Claude Van Damme.
In Marked for Death, Seagal tosses aside any pretense at style and heads full throttle into exploitation. This film contains loads of graphic violence, gore and nudity that seem to be there for no reason other than to please rowdy moviegoers, who are unable to distinguish between action pictures that tell a story and those that simply pour on the thrills without rhyme or reason. And he deserves some real blame for this lapse in taste as a producer of "Marked for Death."
Seagal plays John Hatcher, a retired DEA agent who comes home to Chicago, where his family is being attacked by a Jamaican street gang, who attack his sister's house, and the film proves that it isn't squeamish when Hatcher's niece (Danielle Harris) is shot in the crossfire. Hatcher gets mad, and he decides to team up with his old friend, Max (Keith David), a school gym teacher, and Charles (Tom Wright), a Jamaican cop.
Naturally, Hatcher declares war on the chief bad guy, a dread-locked Jamaican voodoo priest called Screwface (Basil Wallace), a nickname that apparently means "outrageous overacting."
And it is almost unbelievable in the way Seagal picks off various members of the gang: he gouges one guy's eyeball, he breaks a guy's back, and he breaks numerous arms and limbs.
All logic for this movie is thrown out the window- -through the glass, that is. Why aren't Hatcher and friends indicted for all the property damage they cause or the body count that piles up? And how did they get their cache of automatic weapons from Illinois to Jamaica by plane without being detected?
Seagal has a Clint Eastwood stoicism about him that fans once seemed to enjoy, and despite the three different characters he's played in as many films, each dresses in Oriental black bathrobes, and wears a ponytail. One of the problems that I have with some of Seagal's movies is that the main characters never seem to be in serious jeopardy, and because he's the star, of course, no one can lay a glove on him, except for the bad guy.
Seagal's heroes are all interchangeable, as are most of the plot lines and action sequences. Regardless of whether he's masquerading as a ship's cook, a fire fighter, or an L.A. cop wearing love beads, Seagal is always Seagal, which is exactly what his fans want. In fact, the sameness of these films is such that, if I wanted to, I could take an old review, change the names, and have a reasonably accurate take on the new movie. Not that I'd ever really do that...
Seagal had been steadily building an audience that seemed a bit larger than those that follow the kick-'em-up antics of Chuck Norris or Jean Claude Van Damme.
In Marked for Death, Seagal tosses aside any pretense at style and heads full throttle into exploitation. This film contains loads of graphic violence, gore and nudity that seem to be there for no reason other than to please rowdy moviegoers, who are unable to distinguish between action pictures that tell a story and those that simply pour on the thrills without rhyme or reason. And he deserves some real blame for this lapse in taste as a producer of "Marked for Death."
Seagal plays John Hatcher, a retired DEA agent who comes home to Chicago, where his family is being attacked by a Jamaican street gang, who attack his sister's house, and the film proves that it isn't squeamish when Hatcher's niece (Danielle Harris) is shot in the crossfire. Hatcher gets mad, and he decides to team up with his old friend, Max (Keith David), a school gym teacher, and Charles (Tom Wright), a Jamaican cop.
Naturally, Hatcher declares war on the chief bad guy, a dread-locked Jamaican voodoo priest called Screwface (Basil Wallace), a nickname that apparently means "outrageous overacting."
And it is almost unbelievable in the way Seagal picks off various members of the gang: he gouges one guy's eyeball, he breaks a guy's back, and he breaks numerous arms and limbs.
All logic for this movie is thrown out the window- -through the glass, that is. Why aren't Hatcher and friends indicted for all the property damage they cause or the body count that piles up? And how did they get their cache of automatic weapons from Illinois to Jamaica by plane without being detected?
Seagal has a Clint Eastwood stoicism about him that fans once seemed to enjoy, and despite the three different characters he's played in as many films, each dresses in Oriental black bathrobes, and wears a ponytail. One of the problems that I have with some of Seagal's movies is that the main characters never seem to be in serious jeopardy, and because he's the star, of course, no one can lay a glove on him, except for the bad guy.
Seagal's heroes are all interchangeable, as are most of the plot lines and action sequences. Regardless of whether he's masquerading as a ship's cook, a fire fighter, or an L.A. cop wearing love beads, Seagal is always Seagal, which is exactly what his fans want. In fact, the sameness of these films is such that, if I wanted to, I could take an old review, change the names, and have a reasonably accurate take on the new movie. Not that I'd ever really do that...