A congressman's daughter under Secret Service protection is kidnapped from a private school by an insider who calls Det. Alex Cross, sucking him into the case even though he's recovering from the loss of his partner.
As the Japanese surrender at the end of WWII, Gen. Fellers is tasked with deciding if Emperor Hirohito will be hanged as a war criminal. Influencing his ruling is his quest to find Aya, an exchange student he met years earlier in the U.S.
Dr. Alex Cross is on his last police duty to track down an assassin called Picasso, who's been torturing and killing rich businessmen in Detroit. Soon when the mission gets personal, Cross is pushed to the edge of his moral and psychological limits to end this once and for all. Written by
In the Alex Cross novels, Cross and his family are life long residents of Washington D.C. However, for this movie, Cross and his family live in Detroit. See more »
When Alex cross talks with Daramus Holiday, Giancarlo's jacket collar is alternately up/down between shots. See more »
[Toward two long-haired and bearded computer techs examining an external hard drive]
What do you guys got back there?
Computer Tech #1:
The IDE was routed to the BIOS in a weird way, and the cylinder/sector was stored in the CMOS.
Yo, yo, yo. Geico Cavemen, what do you say we break that down in English.
Computer Tech #2:
We spelunked her email account.
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This is hands down one of the worst movies I have ever seen in my life, and I've seen a boatload of lousy movies. Both the dialog and plotting are hackneyed beyond description--not one original idea or twist, and not a single exchange that feels genuine. It's the kind of childishly obvious genre rehash in which you can tell who's going to be killed just by the relative one-dimensionality of their characters. Matthew Fox, who clearly dropped his body fat to zero for this film, will one day look back and regret all those months he went without a decent meal, because a) the movie is terrible, and b) his portrayal of a psychotic killer is ultimately a study in cliché. Ed Burns furrows his brow convincingly enough, but his easygoing charm has nowhere to go here. Likewise John McGinley, whose neurotic fatalism seems plucked from an entirely different and more lighthearted police procedural being filmed down the street. And then there's Tyler Perry, who expends so much energy in a futile attempt to project faux masculinity and criminological gravitas that he apparently has nothing left for tangential stuff like changing his facial expression once in a while. Perry can thank his lucky stars he's already a Hollywood fixture, because If this were his first movie, he'd never get another offer--truly, he's that bad.
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