Seagalogy’s major achievement is that it functions as an impressive political gesture. By this, I don’t mean the overtly political comments Vern makes, the digs at the Bush administration, the references to American imperialism, the leftist disdain for the specious logic of big business – these are laudable aspects but such rhetoric is present elsewhere in superior form. No, it’s in the realm of cultural politics that Seagalogy strikes an inspirational blow.

From chapter to chapter, film to film, Vern revels in the wash of low culture, celebrating its very essence and elevating it to the level of art. He eschews a tone of superiority, letting this much scorned corner of culture free from its imposed bondage, bringing to an end the oppression wrought by elite arbiters of taste. The enthusiasm that saturates every word is sincere and has the effect of generating in the reader a new respect for Seagal’s filmography (and other films of similar genre and position on the culture hierarchy). Political themes and assorted social commentary can mingle with cheesy one-liners and gratuitous violence we are told. There is no irony when the Iran-Contra scandal is cited in the discussion of Above the Law. Nor is there irony when Hard to Kill’s villainous senator is represented as a figure analogous to George Bush Senior. There’s a genuine respect exhibited for the ability of these films to make serious statements on important events happening in the world.

That said, there’s no shortage of humour here. While Vern avoids elevating himself above the films and resists writing a book entirely composed of mocking observations and derisory suppositions, he does indulge in the odd bout of ridicule. Naturally, instances of dodgy dialogue and sequences of cartoonish violence are open to myriad jokes and wry remarks, you’d be insane to pass up such an opportunity. Yet even when these are seized upon and Vern pokes fun at Seagal’s omnipresent ponytail, he does it with an endearing smirk, with a courteous nod of the skull, a cheeky wink in the eye. It reads like the gentle mocking exchanged between close friends. Plot holes are picked out as fodder for mirth, the unsubtle use of Seagal stunt doubles is material for sly asides, obvious examples that’d even have Seagal chuckling in agreement. Despite the mix of jokes and earnest analysis, there is a consistency in Seagalogy – Vern’s passion never falters, it permeates the entire thesis, making the book more than a mere comedy article.

Form as much as content facilitates the reappraisal of Seagal’s cinema that Seagalogy initiates. The prose is light and accessible, bereft of any tint of pomposity, yet buoyed by a keen intelligence. In the vein of writers such as Chuck Palahniuk, Vern succeeds in saying smart things in very simple ways, writing without ostentation or circumlocution, expressing insight in formidably basic language, conveying his interpretations of the Seagal canon in a concise fashion. The avenues by which he finds enjoyment in the shoddiness of some of the films, discovering hidden glimpses of coherence in the disordered, endeavouring to extract from the badly edited a linear narrative, are coated in accessibility and an enthusiasm that’s highly contagious.