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So Seagal plays a DEA detective named John Hatcher who lost his partner on a drug investigation into, surprise surprise, Colombia! Not to brag or anything, but my father was born and raised in Colombia (hence my last name), and now he's a doctor in California, so no matter what the movies would have you believe, there are some things other than drug dealers and cocaine that come out of Colombia!
At any rate, in a drug bust gone bad, Hatcher loses his partner and accidentally kills a naked Colombian prostitute, inspiring him to go to confession, somewhere that I have never seen him go before in any of his movies, before or since. It was actually pretty interesting. Seagal has a tendency to come off as almost asexual the way he never gets much involved with women other than as a plot device and the way the occasional seduction attempt, whether by a stripper or by a lover, never piques the slightest bit of interest from him. He's all get-the- bad-guys all the time.
But in the confession booth, he confesses to having lied, sold drugs, falsified evidence, and even slept with informants in order to get the information he needed to put the bad guys behind bars (I hope I'm not getting in trouble with God by telling you this). The priest tells him to go to his family, so he decides it's time to retire from the force.
The next third of the movie is an exercise in the paper-thin characterization characteristic of Seagal's films. Marked For Death is the story of Seagal against a band of mystic Jamaican drug dealers, and these guys have no discretions about pushing their products in broad daylight.
Hatcher goes back to visit his old high school coach, Max (a minimal effort by Keith David), and right in the middle of practice there are some of these dread-locked crackheads sitting right there in the bleachers peddling crack to some bookworm-looking high school girls.
Maybe I just had a sheltered experience in high school, but I didn't know crack dealers and crackheads hung out AT SCHOOL in the MIDDLE OF THE DAY. At any rate, it's not long before Hatcher learns how evil these guys are. They're not just peddling crack to high school kids, but the coach has been losing football players regularly to their drugs, they engage in smartass stare-downs with Max, and since that's not enough, his 13-year-old niece died in their crackhouse.
Ah, OK. We get the picture. I'm sure they also torture puppies and beat up old women, and maybe steal candy from children too, just for good measure. Is it really this hard to establish who the bad guys are? 13-year-old niece died in their crackhouse. Wow.
Anyway. Not only does the movie not know how to develop villains without resorting to what basically boils down to movie name-calling, where evil deeds are shallowly assigned to them through dialogue, but they also don't know how they should act.
The leader of the drug dealers, is named Screwface, and I suppose that alone should tell you something about the kind of movie this is. Screwface is a cartoonish Jamaican man with these bright, bizarrely green eyes, which I am guess must be an important part of his character because he spends a good majority of his screen time with his eyes half bulging out of his head. His favorite means of intimidation is to scream really loud in his wildly overblown Jamaican accent with his face quite literally less than an inch away from whoever he's yelling at. This guy likes to get so into guys' faces that he has to turn his head to the side so their noses don't touch. All I could think about was how the poor guys would deal with his breath.
Man, they do not want you to forget that these guys are Jamaican, by the way. Their accents are so exaggerated and overblown that for most of the movie it's nearly impossible to understand them. Not that it matters. It doesn't matter what they're saying, all you need to know is that everything that comes out of their mouths is some kind of evil drug-related thing, they're just the psychos that peddle drugs and kill people. The movie must have been a huge hit in Jamaica!
My biggest problem with the movie is that the theatrics, particularly of the bad guys, as I've described, are spectacularly goofy, even for a Seagal film. They are so cartoonish and weird that it's impossible to take them as anything other than a goofball b-movie creation, something slapped together to provide fodder to whom Seagal can distribute his characteristic brand of smack-down retribution.
But there is also a bizarre kind of mysticism in the movie that just makes it all come off as weird. For example, a mystic, I guess you would call her, at one point puts some kind of curse on Screwface by (if I remember correctly) spitting mouthfuls of Bacardi onto a live rooster that's hanging upside down before beheading it and dripping its blood onto a picture of Screwface. Hmm. Interesting.
Sadly, it's this same woman that warns Hatcher that his family has been "marked for death" by these people, meaning they've got some voodoo hex on them. Not to belittle anyone, but if I was told that my family had been cursed by people like that, I would just laugh at it. Hatcher doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to take much stock in freaky voodoo curses!
But the set-up, as you can see, is pretty standard for a Seagal film. Unique villains, I guess you could say, although not very impressive. Definitely the weirdest film of Seagal's early career


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