Ocean's Twelve Review
by Jon Popick (jpopick AT sick-boy DOT com)December 13th, 2004
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There isn't really a whole lot to say about Ocean's Twelve. It features the same cast, the same crew, the same budget, and nearly the same story as the 2001 blockbuster-remake. If you liked Ocean's Eleven, you're going to like this version, as well.
Twelve, featuring just about every actor in Hollywood who wasn't in Closer (and one who was), is set a few years after Danny Ocean (George Clooney, Intolerable Cruelty) and his pals swiped $160 million dollars from a casino run by the slimy Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia, Twisted). Ocean, who also managed to steal Benedict's girlfriend Tess (Julia Roberts, Closer), has been busy trying to resume to a normal, crime-free life in New England.
That plan doesn't last long, however, as Ocean and his old mates from the Bellagio con allhave threatening encounters with Benedict, who was tipped to their roles in the casino heist by a mysterious European with ulterior (and, admittedly, pretty stupid) motives. The rub: Pay back what was stolen, plus a handsome vig, and you won't be hunted down and killed like an animal.
Because Ocean's crew is still too hot to work in the States, they head for Europe and, after a lot of trickery, decide to steal the Fabergé coronation egg from a museum. But the egg may as well have been a maguffin (mmmmm. Fabergé egg maguffin.). Some heist films are about, you know, the heist. This one isn't. It's about the characters, or some might even say the people playing those characters. This time around, we learn more about Rusty (Brad Pitt, Troy), who apparently had a fling with the very same Europol agent (Catherine Zeta-Jones, The Terminal) who is trying to prevent him and his buddies from making off with the egg maguffin.
The highlights here - aside from Steven Soderbergh (Solaris) and his colored filters, fun jump-cuts and usual directorial flare - are the inside jokes. Some are casually mentioned (like the Topher Grace cameo - see below), but one is a fairly integral thread to the plot. It comes from so far past left field, it blindsided me to the point where I'll need to see Twelve again to enjoy some of the jokes I missed while trying to pick my jaw up off of the floor. Like Soderbergh's Full Frontal, he and screenwriter George Nolfi (Timeline) manipulate the "fourth wall" to the point where you're not sure it even exists any longer.
Twelve's finale could use some tightening (the scene featuring Cassel working his way through the laser beam security system was a bit much, but I understand the intended juxtaposition) in an attempt to keep the running time from exceeding two hours. But it's still a fun, escapist ride that won 't make you feel dirty and foolish. Like National Treasure did.
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