Ocean's Thirteen

The key moment in Ocean’s Thirteen occurs when Danny Ocean, the head of a suave robbery crew, finds himself tearing up while watching an episode of “Oprah.” At first his pal Rusty mocks him, until he too joins watching the legendary talk-show host giving a downtrodden woman a luxury house. The macho friends each become misty-eyed, and the scene ends up later culminating in the film’s best gag. Yet it also illustrates the seemingly true feelings of both celebrities.

Danny is played by George Clooney, who has donated the money raised from screenings of this film to fundraisers for Darfur. Rusty is played by Brad Pitt, who has adopted several kids from different poverty-stricken areas of the world--his partner Angelina Jolie has even tattooed her children’s locations of origin on her arm. Both men also happen to be close friends of Oprah. All of this would seem irrelevant if the film were about anything other than the celebrities onscreen. Alas, it is not. Clooney even blatantly winks at Pitt’s fatherhood, quipping, “You should really settle down; have a couple kids.”

More to the point, these actors are much closer to their paper-thin characters as one would think. While Danny’s crew morphs into modern-day Robin Hoods, stealing from corrupt casino owner Willy Bank (who screwed over one of the 13), and granting average Joes a taste of the good life, Clooney’s crew is snagging money away from unassuming American moviegoers (who are under the false impression they are seeing an actual film), and graciously giving segments of the film’s profit to the poorer nations of the world. It’s all a funny scam, and the joke is on us.

That’s not to say the film isn’t pleasantly diverting, with Steven Soderbergh’s stylish 70’s style direction, vibrantly colorful cinematography, and a top-notch cast as self-satisfied as they are underutilized. It’s rather off-putting watching great actors work together and forced to do next to nothing, such as ever-befuddled Eddie Jamison (who was so charming as Adrienne Shelly’s boyfriend in Waitress), sexy tough girl Ellen Barkin, and the great Al Pacino (whose fiercely brooding presence is a marvelous delight in and of itself).

The film succeeds on the most basic possible level—it allows the cool, likable cast to act cool and likable, while providing them with a ridiculously complicated plot that intermittently generates amusement and interest. Yet while Thirteen is certainly better than the notorious dead zone of Twelve, it doesn’t hold a candle to the original, terrific Ocean’s Eleven, which actually managed to create palpable tension that led to a glorious final twist.

The utter lack of suspense or surprise in Thirteen makes it somewhat of a bore, albeit a watch-able one. Soderbergh’s work here is even worse than the most self-absorbed, star-studded films of the equally talented Wes Anderson—who at least bothers to center his films on uniquely intriguing characters. Thirteen can only coast on its stars one-note personas, and that can only take it so far. There’s more to chemistry than simply acting cute and finishing each other’s sentences, as this ensemble does repeatedly, with little entertainment value.

It’s like Soderbergh assembled some of the greatest chefs in the world, and asked them to cook up a cream-cheese bagel. Might be a tasty bagel, but only as tasty as a bagel can be. And does he really expect the summer’s salivating moviegoers to actually be grateful for such a cheap dish? At the very least, Ocean’s Thirteen isn’t bloated with self-importance like this season’s exhaustive string of third-part franchise cappers from Spiderman, Shrek, and all those insufferable Pirates. Yet in a way, the cast and crew’s indifference in these comic capers has become equally insufferable. If no one on the screen cares about being there, why should we care about watching them?

I admire everyone involved in these films, from the great talents of the present—Don Cheadle and Matt Damon (whose false nose appears to have been ripped off Nicole Kidman in The Hours)—to the seasoned veterans of the past—Elliot Gould and Carl Reiner. It admittedly is a pleasure to simply watch them all interact, yet in the future, I suggest that if Clooney’s crew truly want to swindle America’s heart (and cash), they have to actually try to make a film worth watching. Anyone’s friends could put together an equally funny heist picture—minus the multi-million dollar budget. That’s a crime even Danny Ocean would wince at.

Rating: **1/2 (out of *****)