Film

Giamatti, whose range stretches from shlub to loser (Sideways, American Splendor), plays a villain with a foul mouth and a sadistic streak. Now that’s stunt casting. If only the rest of this testosterone overflow lived up to that level of daring. Instead, it’s a film as video game; thousands of rounds of ammo are fired, dozens of baddies stand obligingly in a row so our hero (Owen) can shoot them in one sweep of his machine gun, and the dialogue scenes function purely as brief respites between bouts of loud violence.

Owen becomes the reluctant guardian of a newborn baby whom Giamatti is sent to kill with an endless supply of hit men at his disposal. (Seriously, with one phone call this guy can get 50 armed men coordinated. Impressive management skills.)

Character and plot are, of course, beside the point. It’s all about the stunts, the gunfire and the explosions. And Lordy there are a lot of all three. But after 20 minutes or so of Owen impossibly dodging bullets and dispatching armies of bad guys, it all blurs into one loud assault on the senses.