The film, marketed as a thriller, seems to be a prolonged journey of self-reflection. George Clooney’s hitman, spending most of his time tinkering with parts in an Italian village, appears to be more about delaying the inevitable than engaging in a shootout. The pace of the movie, like his assembling of a gun, is slow, leaving viewers anticipating a bloodbath only to be met with a struggle of the soul. The director seems to be striving to create a ‘post-Bourne’ hitman image, only to end up shooting with an old-style camera that’s trying to capture modern scenery. Clooney’s performance, well, it’s like turning down his charm level, attempting to convince the audience that he can be a less ‘George Clooney’ version of himself. Of course, the film isn’t without its butterflies and Italian songs, but these elements seem more like adornments than driving the plot forward. In summary, the movie is more like a slowly sipped coffee than a fiery party.
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