Evidently, these young FBI geniuses were just on a collective undercover assignment to infiltrate the Melrose Avenue club scene, because their disguise consists of half-grown (or half-ungrown) beards, shaggy hair, [and] insouciant wisecracking attitudes.
[Miller's accent] isn't Sir Michael Caine in Hurry Sundown bad -- still the worst Southern accent ever attempted by a future Oscar winner and knight. But it's awful enough to call attention to itself in the middle of a movie smothered in awfulness.
You'd think these agents' training would kick in, that they'd analyze the situation, deduce who is behind the killings and put a plan in place to stop it. You'd be wrong. They panic like ants after their hill has been stepped on.
The movie's title, I guess, alludes to the student profilers' ability to put themselves in the mind-set of a murderer. In this witless exercise, however, Mindhunters more accurately suggests that all parties concerned have lost theirs.