So that when you come across a movie that deserves it, you can write paragraphs like this:

Pausing only to borrow a private jet from his ex’s slimy husband, Mills [played by Liam Neeson] flies to Paris, where he proceeds to work his way, without mercy, through a personal alphabet of undesirable aliens. This being a brisk affair, of little more than ninety minutes, he gets only as far as Albanians and Arabs, but, if I were an innocent Bermudan, let alone a Belgian, I would be starting to get nervous about a sequel.

That’s Lane on Liam Neeson’s dash into the sleazy thriller world. (I guess a guy about to start filming Tony Kushner/Spielberg’s Lincoln wanted something less weighty, but really?).