Movie review: SHOOT 'EM UP

It’s been a kinda sucky weekend. Not horrible. Just kinda sucky. I spent most of yesterday trying to regain a sense of normalcy with my PC, once sick but now well. A good 40 minutes were spent watching Windows try unsuccessfully to “find” my HP printer, then it turned out the problem was the frickin’ USB cable had shaken loose. Plus I waited all day for a cabinet guy to deliver some stuff for the house remodel — “I’ll be there at noon, no, I’ll be there by two, ulp, gimme another hour” — and the sumbitch never did show up. No call. No nuttin’. And he didn’t return my calls. Sheesh.

So here’s the weekend’s highlight: Shoot ’Em Up.

My pal Steve and I have been waiting for this action-packed monster since July at Comic-Con, when we heard writer-director Michael Davis and star Clive Owen talk about it and show lengthy clips from it. When I say “waiting,” I mean twitching, salivating, night-sweat waiting.

So Friday night, Steve and I dragged our wives to Shoot ’Em Up. He and I had an absolutely terrific time. The movie was everything we’d hoped for — and more. We loved it. The ladies, despite their fondness for Clive Owen, not so much.

But Shoot ’Em Up wasn’t created for them. It was made for gross, beer-guzzlin’ action freaks like Steve and me. And on that level, it works big time. This may be the greatest gunplay picture ever made. All the stunts — all of them — are among the cleverest I’ve ever seen in a movie. Every moment of this film is over the top. (Clive’s hidden in a stall in a men’s room with a crying baby, bad guys ready to bust in, and he drops his gun in the toilet. What to do? Within seconds, he completely disassembles the piece, cleans it, reassembles it, dries off his ammo, and reloads, all on a changing table. And all in the nick of time, of course.) I have no idea what the body count is in this movie. It’s high.

Clive Owen is fantastic, a perfect fit in a film of this kind. Paul Giamatti seems to have the time of his life playing the vile hitman. And Monica Belucci is so good that she brings a real touch of class to her role as the lactating prostitute from the fetish brothel. (Don’t ask. Just see the damn movie.)

So the weekend hasn’t been a total loss. Sure, there’s been frustration and disappointment. But there’s also been Shoot ’Em Up. And a greater appreciation for carrots. (Again, just see the movie.)