If anyone should be used to such fake fracases, it's a former member of the WCW. Even big Bill Goldberg, stepping away from the square circle to give thespianism a try, has a hard time looking convincing while throwing a punch.
The scenes where our inmates go toe-to-toe-to-testicles, working out old vendettas and fresh paybacks with pipes and sheer strength, are staged so awkwardly we never really know whose brusin' who. He may be able to design a ballistic battle royale, but he sure as Hell can't capture it on film. His is an auteurship built out of sloppy stock characters, basic plot contrivances, and poorly produced stunt work. Director Art Camacho, known as a b-movie fight choreographer, is also responsible for such sour schlock titles as Sci-Fighter, Point Doom, and the cheese ball classic, Little Bigfoot. Throw in a couple homemade shivs and a sequence where someone accidentally drops the soap, and you've got your basic bravura behind bars.īut Half Past Dead 2 is almost completely comatose when it comes to style and substance. Call it Die Hard with Consecutive Sentences, or Oz without all the emotive man love, but a solitary stand off between desperate and defiant convicts seems like perfect foot to face fight fodder. While the Big House is not usually known for creating the perfect motion picture environment ( The Shawshank Redemption and Ernest Goes to Jail excluded), the premise here has some potential. This perturbing prison idiocy is about as exhilarating as a parole violation and twice as detrimental. Such is the problem with Half Past Dead 2, a sequel in name only to the 2002 Steven Seagal stinker. But if you can't practice what you preach, or better still, can't competently create an entertainment entity into which to fit your fisticuff formulas, you'd better step back and consider an entirely different genre all together. But when you attempt such a balls and brawls spectacle, you better be able to deliver and deliver huge. Just look at 300, any installment in the Rambo franchise, or the collective works of Michael Bay. In theory, there is nothing wrong with a tight, testosterone fueled action flick. Even worse, his kid has just been kidnapped by Cortez, and our hulking hero must save her before she and everyone else wind up Half Past Dead 2. Soon, Burke is accused of killing the head of the black brotherhood, and there's a $10k bounty on his butt.
#WAS FEELING ABOUT HALF PAST DEAD FULL#
His wife has abandoned him and his daughter is about to do the same when an assassination gone sour turns into a full scale riot. Caught in the middle is Burke, a bewildered family man who was wrongly accused of theft by a buddy, and sent away for six long years. Cortez and his Latino homies are preparing for an escape, while Angel and his black power allies are out to protect their status as inside muscle. He lands in the Midwestern detention center just as a major gang war is about to break out.
After Warden El Fuego warns the populace that anyone who starts a fight will be sent off to that penitentiary version of a cesspool known as Creighton - which just so happens to be located in the Show Me State - our jail yard rat starts rumbling up a storm. Problem is, the precious metal is located in Missouri, and his unfortunate be-hind is up the river in California. Still serving time in New Alcatraz, prison stoolie Twitch is desperate to get at the $160 million in gold bullion that previous cellmate Lester McKenna bragged about pinching. Fueled by a cherub's amount of machismo and about as exciting as a wart, this lame action excuse for a Jocks in Jail dynamic will definitely leave you bored, bewildered - and most importantly - babeless.
#WAS FEELING ABOUT HALF PAST DEAD SERIES#
Why the Hotties in the Hoosegow genre trumps all other kinds of penitentiary pics becomes crystal clear after watching the crude, crappy and totally uncalled for series sequel Half Past Dead 2. Toss in the mandatory shower sequence and some late night "experimentation" and you've got the perfect cure for the dateless Saturday night blues.
Nothing screams "exploitation" faster and friskier than semi-clothed honeys doing hard time (and other, less mentionable things) while battling off the advances of corrupt guards and wicked wardens. There is only really one valid type of prison movie, and that's the sensationally Sapphic sleazefests known as the Women Behind Bars epics.
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