Detective Louis Burke (Jean-Claude Van Damme) from Quebec is in Los Angeles investigating the perpetrator likely responsible for killing his partner – a notorious serial killer dubbed “The Sandman” (Patrick Kilpatrick). But Louis doesn’t have the clearance or rights to conduct himself like a combination judge, jury, and executioner here. Nevertheless, he enters a crime scene alone to confront the murderer, successfully dispatching him while only sustaining a mild injury.

16 months later, thanks to his skills and the fact that no one is too familiar with him, L.A. officials employ him to go undercover at the notorious Harrison Penitentiary, where an assistant warden was murdered along with nine prisoners, tasked with getting to the bottom of the violence and possible corruption or cover-ups, which initially appear to be connected, ritualistic gang slayings – or perhaps the work of a serial killer. And he’s given a liaison in the form of top law student Amanda Beckett (Cynthia Gibb), who will pose as his wife. But the job will be dangerous; indeed, he’s threatened by his cellmate and provoked into a fight in the cafeteria on the very first day, while also ending up on the wrong side of the no-nonsense man in charge, the power-mad Sergeant DeGraf (Art LaFleur). It’s going to be a rough stint for inmate 72689 in Cell C68.

“Trust no one.” Although Burke demonstrates an unusual concern for justice, particularly when it comes to the targets of bullying and racism – such as the curiously tranquil, one-eyed Hawkins (Robert Guillaume) – the underworld milieu of this prison setting is quite the riot. With lax rules and distinct segregation, over-the-top characters have free range of various areas, including a basement-like subsection that the guards don’t bother to survey (this is far from a maximum security prison). This allows the infiltrator to navigate through the facility fairly undetected, while accumulating allies and interrogating witnesses. Of course, convicts start dropping like flies after they talk to Burke, which means that seemingly everyone is involved; no one but the dead are disconnected from culpability. Strangely, as he conducts his investigation, poking around secretive rooms, the editing appears choppy, cutting out scenes that would properly introduce supporting roles and jumping past sequences that would further explain certain interactions.

It’s a mystery, written by David S. Goyer (who would go on to pen such projects as “Dark City,” “Blade,” and “Batman Begins”), but it’s largely obvious from the start who is really behind it all. The setup essentially becomes a loose premise for Van Damme to find himself in over his head, the constant target of prison violence and sadistic officers – an underdog forced to fight off countless thugs. The confrontations grow sillier, unfortunately, when The Sandman makes an inexplicable reappearance to provide yet another source of opposition. Still, the simplicity of the good cop struggling to survive on the inside, outnumbered and outgunned (but perpetually armed with roundhouse kicks) by bad cops and anarchists, establishes a few decent duels, while the sizable collection of antagonists line up for notable demises. The whodunit aspects soon evaporate altogether, replaced by scene after scene of anticipated comeuppances and climactic clashes, culminating in a suspiciously prolonged final showdown that dispenses with specific outcomes for guilty parties, reveling instead on the animalistic brutality of hand-to-hand combat. If the concluding moments weren’t a betrayal of how singly focused “Death Warrant” truly is, the end-credits song, “Bring Me a Dream” by Craig Thomas – named after a line of dialogue from The Sandman – just might do it. This isn’t a particularly deep action film.

– Mike Massie