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Chaos and carnage rule in Smokin' Aces, and presumably behind the scenes as well. After his thoughtful and engaging cop thriller Narc, writer/director Joe Carnahan seems not only to have lost his mind, but gives the impression of having lobotomised himself, splattered the bloody remnants all over the (cheap looking) set, played patty-cake on the editing deck and called it a film. Here's a tip: When Ray Liotta looks like the sanest guy in the room? Get out. Fast.

Preceding the bloodbath is a yawningly long explanation of the set-up. In short, every contract killer from Ben Affleck to Alicia Keys (who should stick to the day job) is out to smoke Buddy 'Aces' (Jeremy Piven) for reasons few could care less about. For the record though, he's a coked-up cardsharp about to testify against the mob. Liotta and Ryan Reynolds are the agents assigned to protect him, but are barely in the vicinity when the bullets and brain matter start flying.

"CARNIVAL OF DROOLING LUNACY"

Carnahan aims for a Tarantino-style black comedy but wildly misses the mark. Instead of crafting characters to laugh with (or at, even) he indulges a sniggering schoolboy obsession with casual mutilation and silly wigs (ref. Matthew Fox). After this garish carnival of drooling lunacy, he then has the nerve to angle for pathos. Reynolds and Andy Garcia (as Reynolds' boss) are lumbered with another rambling explanation for the final twist and if you're not already passed out from the pain, this'll finish the job. It's safe to say Carnahan has played his Joker and lost.