If you have the IQ of a fence-post you'll love this cliché-ridden pile of shite. First brief indubitable adrenaline rush aside Clive Owen is wooden, Monica Bellucci is wallpaper, Paul Giamatti is wasted and little baby Oliver's acting career is stuck in his nappy. Why is Clive Owen paid fortunes to replicate the same character time and time again? Why is Monica Bellucci never given an opportunity to showcase her obvious talents? Paul Giamatti must go home after every day's shooting feeling so good about himself. He has talent, ability, charisma, drive, ambition, charm and determination but he is surrounded by incompetents who denigrate his profession. The director has taken a simple idea, turned it from a 10 minute short into a 90 minute cringe-inducing downhill sprint of a train wreck.