Separating this overproduced action-comedy -- a slick and tawdry entertainment about professional assassins locked in unholy matrimony -- from the tabloid furor it caused isn't easy. And there's no reason to bother, since nothing happening on screen is more interesting than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's reputed affair.

Not for the first time, the behind-the-scenes scandal is better than the movie, although it's foolish to deny there's significant physical "chemistry" up there. What's unclear is whether it can be traced to any real attraction between the two leads -- they’re actors, after all -- or whether the viewer is projecting based on (1) the public speculation or (2) the assumption that it's against human nature for such attractive specimens to resist one another.

Sinking to the level of both the media circus and the movie: Jennifer Aniston was right to worry about what her hubby was up to on set, and their subsequent divorce seems inevitable. She never stood a chance.

Too bad the gimmicky execution of a premise worthy of the Thin Man movies starring William Powell and Myrna Loy, or a Hepburn and Tracy tussle, couldn't take advantage and create an adult movie with a shred of genuine sophistication. The filmmakers opt for gadgets, explosions, and trashy double entendres. It's remarkable that something so bloodlessly one-dimensional could result. Not only does technology get in the way, blame the mechanical and somewhat confusing handling of the plot.

Meet John and Jane, two hit persons living under one, center hall colonial roof in upscale suburbia. Separately they maintain the appearance of normality (assuming an abnormally high gross income), preventing each other and the neighbors from learning the truth about their occupations. She hides her weapons in the oven, and his golf bag isn't filled with irons. Don't be jealous, good wife, that's blood on his collar, not lipstick.

They toil for rival shadowy outfits. She runs an all-girl squad with IT troubleshooting as its cover. To the outside world, and in his spouse's eyes, he owns a construction company which serves as a front for his murderous work. (His colleague, played by Vince Vaughn, provides some amusing shtick out of left field.) While on assignment in the desert, gunning for the same mark, they discover each other's true occupation.

Apparently this isn't the first sign of trouble in paradise. Their façade of domestic bliss must have already shown some cracks, since the film is book-ended by visits to a marriage counselor. These sessions are the wittiest parts, yet the discovery that their union is a sham has more serious consequences than an impending showdown in divorce court. They are ordered to take each other out and have 48 hours to fulfill the respective contracts.  

The ensuing battle of the A-list celebrities has some of the harshness of The War of the Roses in which Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner stuck it to one another with true venom. It's mostly about who looks better in their skivvies. Destroying the house with automatic weapons and explosives is a prelude to the best sex of their marriage. Soon they become joint targets and we learn the inescapable lesson that two killers are better than one. Spies have feelings too, much like bandits Butch and Sundance, and their discovery brings them closer. The final shootout in a home improvement store, following a long chase scene in a minivan, puts an exclamation point on the tongue-in-cheek references to their status as faux suburbanites.

With its foul name calling, high body count, and mayhem that includes an S&M execution, Mr. & Mrs. Smith takes the notion of a bad marriage far but, of course, not far enough. Most distressingly and distastefully, we're supposed to believe this union endures. At least Pitt and Aniston's marriage wasn't a cynical sham. 

(Released by 20th Century Fox and rated "Pg-13" for sequences of violence, intense action, sexual content and brief strong language.)