Release Date: December 7, 2001
Starring: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts, Matt Damon, Andy Garcia, Don Cheadle, Scott Caan, Casey Affleck, Carl Reiner, Elliot Gould, Bernie Mac
Directed by: Steven Soderbergh
Written by: Ted Griffin
Distributed by: Warner Brothers
MPAA Rating: PG-13 (some language, sexual content)
Not more than halfway through Ocean's Eleven, or at least the so-called "uncool" Steven Soderbergh remake of it, Julia Roberts walks down a dazzling staircase in slow motion, wearing a sexy red dress. She's positively beautiful. And Matt Damon, watching her, says to Brad Pitt, "This is the best part of my day." Which succinctly conveys the device that Soderbergh takes advantage of early and often -- the undeniable attraction of a bunch of Hollywood's A-list stars goofing around on the set of a film like we imagine they do in real life. If that appeals to you, and for most people it will, then you'll understand exactly why Ocean's Eleven is two hours of can't-miss entertainment.
It begins with George Clooney in jail, which, under the direction of Academy Award-winner Steven Soderbergh, is not a place he's unaccustomed to being. The two last collaborated on 1998's low-key action thriller Out of Sight, in which Clooney also played a jailed thief, and watching the former "ER" star work his subtle brand of screen charisma, it's easy to see why he makes the perfect frontman for Soderbergh's concoctions.
In 2001, Clooney inherits the role Frank Sinatra had forty-one years earlier, and some critics have panned the film because it lacks Sinatra's mojo. But honestly: no actor is capable of replicating Sinatra's version of cool, and in fact, Clooney has his own cool to put into the title role of Daniel Ocean. Which works just fine, because this is a film for Clooney and Pitt and Damon and Roberts, not Sinatra and Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr.
As the title indicates, the film is about Ocean and the ten men he's picked to help rob three Las Vegas casinos -- the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand -- in one night. The take will be over $160 million (the cash to cover the chips in play at all three casinos on the night of the Lewis-Klitschko title fight), which would be motive enough for any ex-con. But although he constantly insists otherwise, it would appear that Ocean has ulterior motives: the three casinos involved are owned by Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia), whose new girlfriend is Danny's ex-wife Tess (Roberts). And as any red-blooded American male will assure you, there's nothing like sticking it to the guy who's dating your girl.
Especially when the guy involved is played by Andy Garcia, who rates about a twelve on the 1 to 10 scale of Cuban smarminess and delivers one of the many great performances in Ocean's Eleven. (I should take a moment to qualify the word "great" in that sentence -- it is meant not to conjure images of golden statuettes but rather weekend movie audiences spilling from the multiplexes bubbling with enthusiasm over the raucously entertaining picture they've just seen.) Although the cast is as star-studded as they come, there is never once the sense that any of the actors is competing against his or her colleagues for undue attention.
Part of that may be the ingenious casting involved. Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts (whose joint effort, the romantic comedy The Mexican, is an example of how star power can go wrong) are arguably the film's biggest stars, but they're relegated to supporting roles that force them to use their charm in more creative, constructive ways. Clooney, in the lead, isn't on autopilot, but the role doesn't exactly challenge him, either -- he delivers when it counts and uses his uniquely unforced style to bide his time. Matt Damon rounds out the first tier of stars with a capable performance that culminates in an over-the-top impersonation of a Nevada Gaming Commission investigator -- one that should remind anyone who has doubts why he'll be in Hollywood for the next forty years.
In the wings is a who's who of bit players, journeymen, and utility actors -- names like Scott Caan, Casey Affleck, Don Cheadle, Carl Reiner, Elliot Gould, and Bernie Mac. These names may not have the luster of the film's bigger stars, but they certainly have comparable talent; and if they do not, they do an admirable job of rising to the occasion.
Some credit, of course, should be given to director Soderbergh, who, after piloting the modern epic Traffic to five Academy Award nominations, has proven that he knows how to orchestrate a large cast to overall perfection. Ocean's Eleven is easily the least challenging of his most recent pictures, as well as the most mainstream, and so it's hard to give him points for it. But it should be obvious that what is essentially an empty film comes across as vibrant and fun because of his skill, and as the casino robbery in question begins to develop, it should be obvious to viewers why I recommend that Hollywood ought to retire the heist picture after Ocean's Eleven is done.
The climactic heist is terribly clever, and it redeems writer Ted Griffin for his mostly mediocre screenplay -- you may be tempted to say that he has some clever dialogue, but in reality, it's the actors' delivery that makes it seem that way. (The scene that comes readily to mind involves Clooney and Garcia in a restaurant, in which two men obviously ready to rip each other's throats out restrain themselves for the sake of the lady present; they leave it at a draw and utter each other's names in an overly sarcastic too-familiar manner that is simply priceless.)
Overall, the picture is something like Griffin's screenplay -- not very original or outstanding but extraordinarily entertaining. It will doubtlessly be used as evidence for the star power that bolsters otherwise drab films, but forget all that for a second and just enjoy the movie. This is what Hollywood is all about, and it's so breathtaking because it's been a long time since a picture like this has come along -- one which allows the audience to gawk at the stars and understand what the true glimmer of the silver screen is.
all contents © 2001 Craig Roush