Good performances from Pierce Brosnan, Greg Kinnear, and Hope Davis save this movie from total dreckdom, but, really, what's with the movies' fascination with hit men? Especially when, as here, they spend most of their time yakking? Especially when, as here, the yakking has an astronomically high "wit"/humor ratio. I hate that.
You, dear reader, might like this better than I; certainly the professional critics did. But (probably unlike most professional critics) fell asleep for numerous stretches, and I don't seem to have missed much besides more I'm-the-clever-screenwriter dialog.