Killers

It pains me to say it, but Killers, starring Katherine Heigl and a buff Ashton Kutcher, feels like Mr. & Mrs. Smith Lite. It’s about a spy whose past catches up to him, much to the chagrin of his nerdy wife and her omnipresent parents. The Hollywood Reporter was withering, calling it “an action comedy that nearly renders the term an oxymoron.” That’s perhaps a tad harsh. But whilst it’s fun enough, the action scenes are good enough, the dialogue is sparkling enough, Catherine O’Hara is scene-stealing enough, it still feels like something’s missing. I fell asleep in the middle, which should perhaps be a clue.

Location-wise, the opening scenes take place in Nice in the south of France – a beautiful and underrated city that was once the site of my very own Blonde Ambition World Tour. (I shall not kiss and tell about this, so don’t ask.) Nice is still high on my “emigration planning” shortlist and it appears in movies nowhere near often enough. The rest is shot in that Southern movie debutante now well and truly established in society, Georgia. The town of Douglasville – allegedly “where Atlanta keeps its charm” – served for exteriors. And here’s a little known factoid; the same Douglasville was originally known as Skint Chestnut. Gotta love the naming habits of the semi-literate – though few can compete with SA’s very own desert town, Hotazel.