Ocean’s 13 (4/10)
by Tony Medley
When Peter Lawford proposed
the first Ocean’s 11 to Frank Sinatra, circa 1960, Frank used it
as a vacation in Las Vegas for him and his Rat Pack friends. The result
was a mediocre movie that didn’t get a lot of audience or critical
approval. But, then, most of Frank’s movies were mediocre, so that
wasn’t too surprising. The best thing about that movie was that after
each day’s filming, Frank, Dean, and Sammy and the rest would show up at
The Sands Hotel for impromptu shows that became classics. They must have
been better than the film clips that survive, however, because there’s
nothing in those clips except a bunch of guys who are neither very funny
nor very entertaining. The other shows that aren’t preserved on film
must have been better or they couldn’t have created the mystique that
surrounds them.
George Clooney is the power
behind the remake and the two sequels, and he has emulated Frank by
making three mediocre movies, the sine qua non of which seems to
be that everybody looks and acts cool. Thirteen is the most
mediocre of the bunch. This film has nothing that entertained me.
Danny Ocean (Clooney) and
his gang are after casino owner Willy Bank (Al Pacino) because he
double-crossed Danny’s friend and mentor, Reuben Tishkoff (Elliott
Gould). Danny’s gang comes together to set up an elaborate sting to take
down Willy.
It takes a special kind of
talent to make a caper film without one iota of suspense or tension, but
director Steven Soderbergh has done that here. Indeed, the only thing
that could possibly interest anyone in this film is the sex appeal of
the men for an audience of women. Some women apparently feel Clooney and
Company are sexy. I can see Brad Pitt, but Clooney and Matt Damon? Well,
I’m not a woman.
To their credit, they all
recognize the lack of substance of what they are filming, and
concentrate on what the film is about. They all walk around with looks
on their faces that seem to be yelling, “Look at me; I’m cool!” The
only reason these movies are made is for the Clooney Pack to display its
coolness, and that is hardly enough upon which to base a movie. Playing
their game, the only actors I thought looked naturally cool were Pitt
and Andy Garcia (who plays Bank’s rival casino owner, Terry Benedict),
who is as comfortable in his skin as Clooney seems unconvincing in his.
But, then, for my money, the only person who was really cool from
Frank’s Rat Pack was Dean Martin (Elvis told Dean’s daughter, “If I’m
the king of rock, your Dad is the king of cool.”). Frank always seemed
to me to be trying to be as cool as Dean, but never making it. When you
have to try, you don’t have it. Dean never had to try.
That’s the problem with
Clooney. He’s still aping Frank, trying to be as cool as Dean. And, like
Frank, he comes up short. It’s not cool to act cool when you’re not
cool.
Clooney’s Pack is given a
script (Brian Koppelman & David Levien) that appears to have been filled
with “JTC’s” (jokes to come), hoping for funny ad libs. Either I’m wrong
and everything is scripted, poorly, or the people supplying the ad libs
didn’t come through. There are several lines that are meant to
titillate, referring as they do to current events. Instead, they just
come across as people trying too hard to be clever and fall flat.
At 113 minutes, this movie
makes almost two hours seem like almost an eternity…unless you’re a
woman who likes Clooney & Co., as was my friend who accompanied me to
this film and who rated it a 7/10. Ringadingding…or not.
June 5, 2007
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