Friday 30 November 2012

Alex Cross

Detective Alex Cross must be some kind of superhuman. He waltzes into a homicide scene, informed only of the basic details of the situation, and instantly knows all that has occurred. He knows how many were involved in the killing. He knows if the victim was drugged and whether or not they screamed. He knows who shot who and the order in which they died. He knows the killer’s personality, mindset and work history: “He’s ex-military, a stimulus-seeking, sociopathic narcissist," he correctly calculates after just one brief glance at the villain of his latest investigation. Heck, he probably knows what the killer had for breakfast last Tuesday morning.

His skills aren’t limited to crime scenes. As he stands at the centre of a city block placed on lockdown to prevent a predicted assassination, Cross suddenly, inexplicably figures out that the killer’s master plan is to fire a bazooka from a passing elevated subway train. Sure enough, seconds later a rocket comes blasting out from the open door of a speeding carriage (and quite remarkably hits its target). Which leads to one important question: just how exactly does Cross know these things? Perhaps he has a Sherlockian eye for detail. Perhaps he has psychic abilities. Perhaps he read the script. But then here’s another question: if he can figure all of this out in an instant, and do so with stunningly little effort, how has he not found out that his dear, beloved wife is three months pregnant?


Loosely based on the twelfth entry in James Patterson’s bestselling thriller series, franchise reboot “Alex Cross” is the third — and undoubtedly worst — big-screen outing for the crime-busting forensic psychologist. Playing Cross is cross-dressing funnyman and filmmaker Tyler Perry, who for the first time leads a feature he hasn’t written or directed. He takes over the role from Morgan Freeman, who made the character a cinematic icon in “Kiss the Girls” and “Along Came a Spider.” In those films, Cross accomplished similarly far-fetched investigatory feats, albeit through a little more actual detective work. But Freeman, one of the great American actors, has such a persuasive, all-knowing gravitas to him that his Cross’ godlike detective skills were never called into question.

The same cannot be said for Perry, who is commendably sincere but whose dramatic talents are lacking and who, frankly, fails to convince as a puzzle-solving mastermind. Maybe this shouldn’t be so surprising: he is, after all, stretching his acting legs not just by appearing in a non-comedic role but also by not wearing a flower-patterned granny gown. The internet tells me that Idris Elba, the esteemed English actor from “Luther” and “Prometheus,” was originally cast in the title role before Perry came along. Personally, I would’ve preferred Elba as Cross, but then again, I wouldn’t want Elba’s reputation to be dragged down by this lousy, joyless affair.


In the previous films, we knew next to nothing of Cross’ family and homelife. In “Alex Cross,” he is reimagined as a family man living happily in the sleepy suburbs of Detroit. He has a gorgeous, loving wife, Maria (Carmen Ejogo, “Sparkle"), and two beautiful children, Damon and Janelle. As mentioned earlier, a third child is on the way. Living with them is Cross’ feisty, no-nonsense grandmother, Nana Mama (Cicely Tyson, “The Help”), who provides wise words when they are needed. Her position could easily have been filled by Perry’s signature character, Madea, which may have helped to make “Alex Cross” a little more lively and altogether more entertaining. Alas, the "mad black woman" is nowhere to be seen.

Cross’ life is turned upside down thanks to Picasso, the new hitman on the streets. He is played by “Lost" veteran Matthew Fox, but not as you’ve seen him before. Having lost roughly 44lbs, Fox resembles nothing so much as a bare skeleton tightly wrapped in a body of tattoo-scribbled skin and pumped full of muscle-enhancing steroid juice. We are introduced to Picasso as he confidently bets on himself in an underground MMA match, enters the ring and effortlessly beats his opponent to a bloody pulp (side note: is mixed-martial arts now the go-to sport for cinema?). This of course foreshadows a climactic hand-to-hand brawl between Cross and Picasso, which is so incoherently shot that one might think it was filmed in the midst of a major earthquake.


Cross and Picasso wind up playing a city-wide game of cat and mouse, like Batman and the Joker, although much less effective (Picasso’s baffling insistence that he “made” Cross falls miserably flat). Cross first learns of Picasso when the career assassin tortures to death a flirtatious, heavily bodyguarded businesswoman in her own bedroom. After magically cracking a cryptic code hidden in a charcoal drawing left behind at the crime scene (apparently accomplished by folding the paper in half), Cross discovers the real target: enigmatic French billionaire Leon Mercier (Jean Reno, “The Da Vinci Code”), who’s so clearly Picasso’s anonymous employer that I genuinely don’t know if the big revelation at the film’s conclusion is supposed to be a surprise.

All throughout the film, Picasso insists that he’s a hopeless sadist, that he’s “fascinated by pain.” I’m not buying it: Fox’s performance, which randomly steers from calm and focused professionalism to googly-eyed madness, is far too inconsistent, and oddly not very menacing. Even less convincing is Cross’ brief stint as a bloodthirsty, badass vigilante, which sees him sawing a shotgun barrel in half in his basement like Travis Bickle, breaking into buildings under the cover of darkness and brutally assaulting a police officer who happens upon his thievery. As he angrily hurls a whimpering drug dealer into apartment furniture, one struggles not to picture Perry in high heels and a $7 wig.


“Alex Cross" is directed by Rob Cohen, who specialises in efficient, high-octane action thrill rides (such as “The Fast and the Furious,” “xXx” and “Stealth”). His work here, which stays true to his reliable juvenility, is more amateurish than efficient, and it certainly isn’t thrilling. In a later scene which sees Cross smashing his car into the side of Picasso’s as the latter casually exits a parking lot, Cohen desperately tries to impress by filming the whole stunt from the back seat of Picasso’s vehicle. We might’ve been impressed if our minds weren’t on other matters: for instance, how exactly is it that Cross knew what parking lot Picasso was using? We might have bought that from Freeman; we’re not buying it from Perry.

3/10

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