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
Director Rob Cohen usually hires composer Randy Edelman to write the music scores to his films. However their last collaboration The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor (2008) also has some additional music composed by John Debney, who went on to score Alex Cross for Cohen. It is unusual that the director hired the composer of the additional music from his previous film to be the main composer of his next film. See more »
In the final scenes of the movie:
SPOILER: When Picasso falls in the car at the end of the movie, his body slips down and his head is placed between the hood and the windshield. When they are examining him, his head is in the middle of the windshield. 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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