听 
It's hard to say who'll hate "Blood Work" more: Clint Eastwood fans, or those who have never succumbed to his stony-faced charms.
For the former group there's at least the pleasure of seeing Eastwood on screen - his gravitas, his charisma - but that's easily outweighed by the pain of witnessing his directorial demise.
Sure, Eastwood's made bad movies before, but as with his fellow great director-star Woody Allen, there's a feeling that this time the creative decline is irreversible.
In this incompetent adaptation of Michael Connelly's novel, he plays Terry McCaleb (you'll never forget the name, it's pretty much every other word of Brian Helgeland's atrocious script) - an FBI agent forced to retire after a heart attack.
He's soon back sleuthing, though, when a heart transplant gives him a new lease of life and he discovers that his donor was a murder victim.
The idea's an interesting one, with McCaleb honour-bound to find the killer, despite the risks to his frail frame. But the execution beggars belief.
It takes about 10 minutes for the 'who' in the whodunit to become blindingly obvious, but that wouldn't matter so much if the script and direction didn't treat the audience as such fools.
After the amiable opening, setting up Eastwood's doddery Dirty Harry, the action slows to a crawl and every clue is glaringly signposted, every discovery laboriously repeated in a series of laughable confrontations.
The bigger they come, the harder they fall is a clich茅 because it's true, and here Eastwood comes a spectacular cropper. The result is a bloody mess.
