Smokin' Aces 3 (out of ten)

Not everyone who throws paint at a canvas is Jackson Pollock, and not everyone who layers violence and vulgarity is Tarantino, but my guess is both camps think they are. The tragedy of Smokin' Aces is that there are strong actors plying their trade at close to the top of their game throughout this mess of a movie. Jeremy Pivens, great. Jason Batemen (in little more than a cameo) as a coked-out actor, fabulous. Ben Affleck, Andy Garcia, Ray Liotta, Ryan Reynolds; solid, solid, solid, solid. Even the singers Alicia Keys and Common prove they've got skills if they ever want to quite their day jobs. But the actors are put in increasingly ridiculous scenarios involving multiple hitmen, bazookas, hand-held chainsaws, some sort of four-foot gun I only recognize from the James Bond games, and three scottish, punk-rock/goth sadists who are shooting, burning, or slicing everything they see. And that's before the serious, I-have-a-moral-allegiance-to-something-higher-than-the-agency ending that would be ridiculous even if it made logical sense. You don't bring a knife to a gunfight and you don't bring your morals to a nihilist fight. Not if you expect to be taken seriously.

I guess I recommend it to the Saw crowd that might be interested in better acting and new locales. Otherwise, stay away from these layers of blood, drugs, and asexual sex masquerading as film.