Reductive, brain-rotting actioner in which Steven Seagal plays an aging criminal in a turf war with a Mexican drug cartel, and Ving Rhames plays a fresh-out-of-the-clink badass called ‘Iceman’, but you can call him ‘Ice’. So far, so familiar. But the far more interesting subplot involves Seagal’s lackey, played by Bren Foster, a martial arts wunderkind who messes up a hit and ends up out of the gang and onto the streets, battered and boozed and with broken fingers. He is nursed back to health by Danny Trejo, a chef who also dabbles in black magic who sticks a poisonous scorpion on his hands and then breaks his fingers again in an attempt to bring him back to full health. Quite why Foster remains loyal to Seagal – who ordered his hands to be broken in the first place – is never fully explored; neither is Seagal’s odd accent, which seems to be an attempt at Marlon Brando in The Godfather, but never quite lands anywhere specific. This might sound goofy, but honestly, without Bren Foster kicking up a storm, this would be an absolute snooze-fest of the highest order.