Flashback: Shoot 'Em Up

There's this scene in Shoot 'Em Up in which Paul Giamatti, playing the bad guy, has barged into the boudoir of a lactating prostitute to inquire the whereabouts of Mr. Smith (Clive Owen) and the baby. He fires his pistol then places the searing metal against her thigh. When he fires off a couple of rounds and makes to put the gun against more sensitive flesh, Smith appears and the two face off, surrounded by colored bottles filled with the hooker's milk.

Yes, Shoot 'Em Up is that kind of movie. The kind of movie you watch without much expectation. You watch for the action, the gore, the cheesy dialogue, the happy ending that you know will come, because in movies like this one, they always come.

For the 87 minutes you devote to watching, you're entertained. You aren't smarter, you aren't touched on an emotional level, you aren't necessarily wowed by awesome cinematography. It's good old fashion B movie entertainment, the stuff you watch on random Saturdays on TNT or Stars when nothing else is on.

And once the credits roll, you're satisfied.