This comedy-thriller about a pair of maverick plainclothes cops in Brooklyn – one black and curly-haired (Tracy Morgan), the other white and shaven-headed (Bruce Willis) – is dull and witless. It's less a lethal than a Lethean weapon, ie something resembling the river Lethe's mind-numbing waters which induce eternal forgetfulness of everything but better films on the same subject. Many of the jokes involve references to other buddy-buddy cop pictures, and such plot as the film has turns on the pair trying to recover a valuable baseball card (which will pay for Willis's daughter's $48,000 wedding) and a flash drive containing incriminating evidence hidden in a crucifix, both in the possession of a Mexican drug gang. Kevin Smith has made some amusing films in his day but is incapable of breathing life into this soggy script and its dismal characters. Not for the first time, Willis plays a divorced cop, though it may be the first time a long-suffering ex-wife tells him: "If you miss our daughter's wedding day I'm going to rip your fucking balls off." As the man says as he leaves the preview of the film-within-the-film in Singin' in the Rain: "Do they actually pay people to write this stuff?"