Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat — if you name your movie The Expert, you’re setting the bar high. You’re promising precision, danger, maybe a little swagger. You’re telling the audience, “Hey, this guy knows what the hell he’s doing.” And then you cast Jeff Speakman. Who, bless his clenched jaw and his VHS-era ponytail of justice, proceeds to flail his way through 90 minutes of the most uninspired, awkward, laughably telegraphed fight choreography ever committed to film.
The Expert is the cinematic equivalent of someone trying to parallel park a dump truck blindfolded. It crashes into every possible genre trope — revenge, prison drama, legal thriller, martial arts showcase — and manages to fail at each with equal enthusiasm. It’s like the screenwriters raided a Redbox bin at 3 a.m. and decided, “Let’s do The Punisher meets Dead Man Walking, but without any of the emotional weight, technical skill, or basic sense.”
Speakman plays John Lomax, an ex-Special Forces guy with a tragic backstory and the emotional depth of a filing cabinet. His sister has been murdered by a sadistic serial killer named Martin Kagan (played by Michael Shaner, who spends the film looking like a coked-up Kenny Loggins), and now John wants revenge. But instead of just breaking into the prison and snapping necks like a true B-movie hero, John takes the long, bureaucratic route — trying to get Kagan executed through the court system first. Which means a lot of scenes of him wearing a suit, looking uncomfortable, and mumbling legal jargon like a gym teacher forced to read Shakespeare.
Let’s pause there. Because this is the problem. We didn’t sign up for Law & Order: Speakman Unit. We signed up for punches, kicks, and maybe some neck-snapping vengeance. What we get instead is a movie that wants to be thoughtful, but ends up just confused — a slow, clunky blend of procedural drama and vigilante fantasy, where nothing really fits and everything feels like it was written by someone whose understanding of the justice system comes from fortune cookies.
When the movie does finally remember it’s supposed to be an action film, it serves up fight scenes that feel like community center martial arts demonstrations. Speakman throws kicks like he’s aiming at ghosts and punches like he’s worried he’ll break a nail. There’s no flow, no danger, no rhythm — just awkward footwork, wooden choreography, and the kind of fake sweat you apply with a paint roller. The dude moves like he’s wearing ankle weights and trying not to disturb the camera dolly.
And don’t expect brutal, high-stakes showdowns. No, most of the fights feel like a slow-motion slap fight at a retirement home talent show. You keep waiting for the real action to start. It doesn’t.
Michael Shaner as the villain is, weirdly, one of the best parts of the movie — not because he’s good, but because he’s so off. He plays Martin Kagan like he’s in an entirely different film — a campy, gonzo prison flick about deranged, over-the-top killers. He monologues, grins like a lunatic, and delivers lines with the kind of greasy, twitchy energy that suggests his bloodstream is mostly Mountain Dew and mescaline. If nothing else, he’s entertaining. You want to see him get his comeuppance, which is more than can be said for Speakman, who inspires about as much rooting interest as a rusty lawn chair.
There are other characters — a disapproving judge, some prison guards, a psychologist who might be a love interest but vanishes halfway through like she remembered she had a better gig — but none of them matter. The script doesn’t care about them, and neither will you. They exist to move the plot forward, barely, through dialogue so wooden it could give you splinters.
And then there’s the prison setting.
Oh, the prison. A supposedly high-security death row facility that looks like it was filmed in a high school auditorium dressed up with chain-link fence and mood lighting. Guards stroll around with all the urgency of mall cops, and the inmates act like they’re auditioning for a dinner theater production of Oz. There’s no tension, no threat — just long scenes of people sitting around, monologuing about justice and fate like undergrads in a bad acting workshop.
By the time the movie finally gives up on trying to be smart and lets Speakman go full vigilante — sneaking into the prison to deliver justice the old-fashioned way — it’s too little, too late. The climax involves more slow punches, more labored kicks, and finally, Kagan getting fried in an electric chair, which should be satisfying but instead just feels like the movie’s way of saying, “We don’t know how to end this either.”
Final Thoughts:
The Expert is not good. It’s not even fun-bad. It’s just tired — a stitched-together Frankenstein of half-baked action, tone-deaf drama, and clumsy attempts at moral complexity. Jeff Speakman, who briefly flirted with martial arts stardom in the early ‘90s, looks out of place, out of breath, and out of his depth here. His fighting, which once had a snap and flair, is now choreographed like he’s trying not to disturb the furniture. And his acting? Let’s just say it makes Steven Seagal look like Daniel Day-Lewis.
The film’s biggest sin isn’t just that it’s bad — it’s that it thinks it’s better than it is. It wants to be deep, edgy, and emotionally resonant. Instead, it’s like watching a motivational poster about justice slowly peel off the wall in an abandoned Blockbuster.
One star. And that’s just because I laughed out loud when Speakman tried to look serious while explaining legal precedents in a monotone voice. The Expert? More like The Bystander.
Rating: 1 out of 5
Half a star for effort. Half a star for unintentional comedy. Zero stars for fight scenes that look like yoga for the terminally confused.
