Mourning the accidental death of his wife and having just moved to New York with his young son, laconic police psychologist Cal Jamison is reluctantly drawn into a series of grisly, ritualistic murders involving the immolation of two youths.
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All I could think about was how Martin Sheen’s character treated the maid. And classic abuser behavior when he apologized to his kid for BEATING HIM IN THE STREETS. My favorite part was when Jimmy Smits grabbed the magazine cover of the bad guy to show Martin Sheen his face. Smart phones suck, man. No one’s clever anymore. Finally, I deducted a half star because this film may be the inspiration for the Woodstock 99 generation’s puka shell necklace craze
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