under siege

Under Siege represents that mayfly-brief moment in which it appeared as if Steven Seagal might become a legitimate, A-list action star. If not quite a bona fide classic, it’s certainly one of the better Die Hard knock-offs that proliferated throughout the 90s… and the hook (in which a terrorist-controlled battleship is heroically thwarted by the vessel’s cook, who just happens to be an ex-Navy SEAL) is solid gold. It’s hard to overstate just how much of a selling point the sight of Seagal in a chef’s hat was in 1992. The film, in its own way, briefly nicked the edge of the zeitgeist, like a shaving cut.

The USS Missouri is scheduled to be decommissioned. Mercenaries - posing as the musical entertainment and catering crew for the Captain’s birthday bash - seize the ship… and, by extension, its cache of Tomahawk missiles. Our culinary hero Casey Ryback (Seagal) is confined to the meat locker after a run-in with his nemesis, XO Peter Krill (Gary Busey, in league with the baddies in a not-so-shocking twist, because why else would you cast an actor of Gary Busey’s particular stripe?), who hocks a loogie into his prized bouillabaisse. Upon freeing himself, Ryback sets about making himself as much of a nuisance as possible… picking up Erika Eleniak’s Playboy playmate (hired to jump out of the cake) as his sidekick along the way, because, well… that’s just how movies like this work.

The 90s were the premier decade for respected actors slumming for a paycheck as action movie villains in projects of varying quality (think John Lithgow in Cliffhanger, John Malkovich in Con Air, and Gary Oldman in Air Force One), and one of the best of the bunch was undoubtedly Tommy Lee Jones as Ryback’s counterpart, William Strannix. Arriving on the Missouri like some warmed-over 60s relic in tie dye shirt, leather jacket, headband, and aviator shades, he reveals himself to be a former CIA operative looking to sell the Tomahawks on the black market as payback for his own government trying - and failing - to neutralize him. The script, almost by accident, blunders into heavily shaded moral territory and Strannix might almost come across as a tragic figure if not for the fact that Jones is operating in full-blown maniac mode. “This little piggy went to market… this little piggy stayed home… and this little piggy - oh mama… oh mama - went wee, wee, wee, WEEEEEEEEE… ALL THE WAY HOME!” he says as he launches one of the Tomahawks, his unhinged energy sloshing all over the screen. His whirling dervish of a performance is what keeps the film’s fusebox fully juiced and its machinery well-lubricated. He partners well with Busey (in the midst of a career-best run that included Lethal Weapon, Point Break, and Predator 2), who always seems like he’s on the cusp of a werewolf transformation. The duo pack plenty of villainous muscle; they’re more than enough antidote for Seagal’s particular brand of anti-charisma.

Seagal is mostly a punchline these days, though he was an intriguing action figure early in his career… with his wood-carved stoicism, legitimate aikido expertise, trademark ponytail (dropped from this film, presumably for not adhering to Navy regulations), and penchant for whispering his lines in some sort of Confucian monotone. He’s long since morphed into the Michelin Man, but even in this movie, his once lean and lanky frame was starting to look a little doughy. His performance elicits mixed feelings. On the one hand, his combat skills are formidable - no one grips - or wields - a blade on-screen quite like him. On the other, his humorlessness (he cracks jokes as if unaware how to actually land a punchline) and terse lack of vulnerability feel like a significant hindrance (his disastrous appearance on Saturday Night Live seemed to reflect genuine insecurity - as if fearful what might happen if his cool veneer were to crack even for an instant). It makes one appreciate Eleniak’s presence a lot more on reappraisal. Her character is, of course, a complete absurdity… but the ex-Baywatch starlet mitigates Seagal’s surliness (they don’t have much in the way of romantic chemistry (frankly, is Seagal even capable of such a thing?), but work surprisingly well as a mismatched action duo). Her topless scene was the stuff of legend for adolescent boys in the 90s, but there’s a sincerity to her acting, to her button-cute presence, that frees the role of its more obvious bimbo trappings.

Admiring Under Siege’s competent craftsmanship, you wouldn’t necessarily think that director Andrew Davis had a film like The Fugitive (which he would release the following year) in his locker… but there’s no denying he can elevate this sort of material (he’d previously teamed with Seagal on his debut feature Above the Law). The aforementioned Die Hard riffing ventured into some fairly dopey locales over the course of the decade (Speed 2 taking place on a cruise ship; Sudden Death in a hockey arena; Under Siege’s own failed follow-up on a train, of all things), but a battleship is a righteous alternative to Nakatomi Plaza. Davis assuredly works his way around the decks and corridors, staging the firefights and action set pieces with sure-handed confidence. It’s puzzling that his career went so sideways post-Fugitive that this remains almost certainly his second best feature. At one point, Jones compares himself to the Roadrunner (“Never been caught. Mee-meep”), but Seagal is no Wile E. Coyote. The two of them have a climactic knife duel that’s suitably badass, but more than a little one-sided. Ryback sustains a minor wound on his brow, as if a begrudging concession to his own lack of invincibility. Seagal isn’t the sort of action star who lets you see him sweat… which, ironically, was the most crucial lesson Die Hard had to offer.