Ocean's Eleven Review
by David N. Butterworth (dnb AT dca DOT net)December 11th, 2001
OCEAN'S ELEVEN
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 2001 David N. Butterworth
** (out of ****)
What on earth happened here?
Director Steven Soderbergh: Hot. Coming off not one but two Oscar® nominations (for "Traffic" and "Erin Brockovich"; he won for the former). George Clooney: Hot. Typically charming; hot off "Spy Kids." Brad Pitt: Hot. Typically charming; hot off "Spy Game." Julia Roberts: Hot. Typically gorgeous. "America's Sweetheart." Hot off just about everything. A remake of a bad Rat Pack feature from the '60s--finally someone remakes a bad picture for a change (it sure beats trying to redo "Psycho"). A glitzy, well-populated caper film about a plot to rob not one but three Las Vegas casinos (The Bellagio, The Mirage, The MGM Grand).
How could "Ocean's Eleven" fail?
Well for one thing there's a fine line between charm and smarm. Soderbergh's film never once crosses that line: it remains rooted in self-conscious smarminess from its opening scene (incarcerated felon Danny Ocean (Clooney) is about to be released from prison and is asked a few questions about how he plans to go straight. Like the film, Ocean doesn't have a whole lot of ideas). Clooney mugs, Soderbergh lets him, and even before the ex-jailbird gets a good whiff of that North Jersey air he's already hatching a scam to knock off the afore-mentioned casinos. Danny O quickly hooks up with his old criminal associate Dusty Ryan (Pitt) and they start pulling a team together. The team--way too many people if you ask me--includes your standard munitions expert, your standard computer geek, and your not-so-standard double-jointed Asian acrobat (for hiding in large drums and avoiding floors).
The rest of the crew are not as easily definable and this is, in large part, the film's biggest flaw. We're never given a chance to get to know any of these characters for more than eleven seconds a piece so caring about them all seems rather futile in the end.
The second problem with "Ocean's Eleven" is that it's jaw-droppingly boring. There's no suspense, and no explanation for any of the "mastery" that transpires. We're told how impenetrable the vault beneath the Bellagio truly is, how there are all those secret computer access codes and fingerprint recognition access panels and infra-red security beams, etc., etc., and before you know it Ocean's gang (which also includes Elliot Gould with some pretty serious chest hair, Don Cheadle with a horrendous English accent, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Bernie Mac, and director Carl Reiner) are already in the basement stashing hundreds like there's no tomorrow. Soderbergh hasn't updated anything here; it's the same old switch-the-surveillance-tape-footage gimmick we've seen eleven thousand times before.
Julia Roberts, by the way, plays Ocean's ex-wife, briefly, now shacked up with Harry Benedict the owner of The Bellagio, The Mirage, and The MGM Grand (Benedict is played with equal parts charm and smarm by Andy Garcia). Ocean wants Tess back, but she isn't having any of it. Initially. That's what the heist is all about, of course, but since there's also little chemistry between the two leads, the audience is once again reduced to more yawning and head scratching.
Still, "Ocean's Eleven" has piqued my interest in Lewis Milestone's original film (which starred Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr. among others), even though I've heard it rumored to be a lifeless dud. If that's an accurate statement, then Steven Soderbergh, for all his recent Hollywood backslappings, appears to have succeeded in making the most faithful remake of all time.
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David N. Butterworth
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