What happens when a van containing a group of hopeful border-jumpers breaks down a few miles outside of Tijuana? Nothing we haven’t seen in dozens other well intentioned cautionary fables. Never mind revenge or collecting a bounty: the only motivation the screenwriters endow cartoon bad guy Jeffrey Dean Morgan with is a healthy hatred of Mexicans. As the most dangerous game in Morgan’s desert shooting gallery, Gael Garcia Bernal gives it his best Florence Nightingale, placing the care and safety of others first, and looking sufficiently bummed after each one eats lead. As drama, it’s predictable, simplistic, exploitative, and otherwise wholly unredeemed. Fault the mislaid good intentions of co-writer and first-time director Jonás “Son of Alfonso” Cuarón. Dad should spank the lad and send him to bed without supper. Why one star? Morgan’s sidekick is a Belgian Malinois named Tracker and damn if it’s not the most riveting performance by a four-legged trouper to hit the screen in years. The rest is strictly for the dogs. (2016) — Scott Marks