In it, Waxman's script has the portly action hero playing Decker, a mall security guard and ex-supercop federal agent, living in Paris, who finds himself on a collision course with a local drug King-pin after saving the gangsters girl during a spot of trouble. There's a car with $2-million in the boot, as well as some French suits and a lot of oui-oui French-chic cliches... and very little sense.
There's more inexplicable elements and plot holes than can be detailed in this brief review but suffice to say END OF THE GUN feels like something that's been churned out by a quick-buck movie making machine. To call it rote is a grande understatement.
Seagal growls his way through the ham-fisted script with a feigned southern Louisiana accent (for no explicable reason) and a lot of scowling, swearing and sitting. In fact, a lot of this film has Steven sitting in chairs. It's almost like he's...just...doing it for money and doesn't want to be there. Odd, given that needs a stuntman to get out of an arm-chair these days. Coupled with the fact that he hasn't the decency to show up for his reverse close-ups (leaving these shots to a lookalike stand in... if you squint your eyes from 200 yards), and you've got a star-role that's about as entertaining as watching a cookie gone stale.
Which would be right up Decker's alley, given he delivers the line 'I love the fuck outta cookies.' to a lingerie-clad woman with a straight face and no hint of irony or sarcasm. That's the kind of film we're dealing with here.