The problem with this film (as well as most of John Frankenheimer's output since the late '70s) is that, while there isn't anything particularly wrong with it, there also isn't much of anything special about it. It's workmanlike, nothing more. That's especially sad when you consider how great his films used to be (see THE TRAIN, THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, SECONDS, BLACK SUNDAY, FRENCH CONNECTION II, or even 52 PICK-UP).
Don Johnson gives a decent enough performance in a roll that is essentially a cardon copy of his cop from "Miami Vice" (DEAD-BANG came out toward the end of that show's run). He's not a bad actor when he gets the right role and this one doesn't tax his limited abilities.
The only real interest here comes from the quirky supporting cast, including Bob Balaban as an uptight parole officer, William Forsythe as a spit-and-polish FBI goon, and Michael Jeter as a psychiatrist who's a dead ringer for Woody Allen. The rest of the actors are pretty much wasted in nothing roles (Penelope Ann Miller shows up for a pointless walk-on role in a sub-plot that goes nowhere).
If made today, this one probably would have been a USA Network made-for-TV movie. It's passable and inoffensive but not much else.