This is an incredibly odd debacle that twists Samuel Jackson from a tough-love teacher-in-the-hood, ˆ la Dangerous Minds, into Michael Douglas's disgruntled urbanite from Falling Down. Even with Jackson's solemn presence, 187 barely rises to the level of the recently forgotten teacher/commando epic The Substitute. What keeps this draggy affair mildly entertaining is the spectacle of its portentous message about decay in our public-education system and director Kevin Reynolds's ability to make the LA landscape look more apocalyptic than his budget-busting Waterworld.

The title refers to the police code for homicide, which is ominously scrawled across Jackson's textbook before he's critically stabbed in a Brooklyn school. He resurfaces in LA, where he seeks a little vigilante-style payback against the punks who have dragged society down into a mindless pit of violence and drugs. Jackson does maintain his dignity throughout, and the film packs a few unintentional zingers that keep things moving. Most amusing are John Heard as a hardened teacher who refers to his stash of handguns as "his children," and the preposterous ripoff of the infamous roulette scene from Deer Hunter. The biggest shocker all, however, is the crediting of the story to a public educator. Obviously that person was either delusional or blinded by the glitter of Hollywood. At the Cheri, the Janus, and the Allston and in the suburbs.