All right, now it’s no longer just a stunt; it’s a subgenre—the Lone-Actor-Trapped-in-a-Confined-Space Thriller. Squeezing into the claustro-footsteps of James Franco, Ryan Reynolds, and Adrien Brody, Stephen Dorff wakes up in a tricked-out Plexiglas box inside a car trunk, supplied by his torturers with a CB and a helpfully bright and largely irrelevant timer with big red digits. The surface questions—Who is he? What do they want from him? Is the other kidnappee whining on the CB for real? etc.—are all the film has on its plate, plus a cloud of honeybees injected into the trunk. Espionage pulp in a can, the movie can hardly avoid sensory-deprivation effects, compelling us to speculate on an it’s-all-fake twist early on because the story has virtually nowhere else to go. Dorff’s mannered Bruce Willis affect seems as insincere as the script, which helplessly loses credibility as info accrues and the narrative unpeels. Regardless of whether you second-guess the climax or not, it’ll thoroughly piss you off.