Whiney arsewit with an encyclopedic collection of neuroses and flaws turns out to be a deactivated/sleeper super agent, like a pot smoking version of Jason Bourne.
No where near as good as the Bourne films which are cocking masterpieces. Apart from the fourth one, where it was that guy with the crumpled face instead of Matt Damon, that one was shite.
Not enough action to be exciting, not enough laughs to be a comedy, it sits in that bland, cinemogenized middle-ground like another fucking terrible Judd Apatow film that are beloved by undemanding, spoon-fed fuckwits who would probably be happy to spend two hours laughing at a fucking grapefruit if they were told to. Dicks.