Wit is in short supply, but director Miller at least keeps things moving briskly throughout the relatively brief running time.

Patric’s bullet-scarred killer-gone-clean is a tired character in every sense, and no amount of exploding blood packs can make up for this much banality. At least there’s enough momentum to keep you from checking the timer every two minutes.

All would be forgiven if director Brian A. Miller were the next John Woo, but the shootouts and car chases call to mind adjectives like “requisite” and “obligatory,” and the ready-made New Orleans ambience is nonexistent, probably for budgetary reasons.

The action sequences are competently directed, but exhibit virtually no flair or invention.

The Prince isn't just awful, it's depressing.