'Ocean's' has no depth

By STEVE PERSALL
Published June 8, 2007

You out there reading this. Yes, you.

Do you know you'll never be as cool as George Clooney, or even Carl Reiner when his groove's on? Learn it. Live with it. Then buy a ticket for Ocean's Thirteen so they can rub your face in that sorry fact.

The third entry in Steven Soderbergh's "How I Spent My Vegas Vacation" series is still snazzy but with an uncomfortable smugness. Ocean's Thirteen is one for the money and not much of a show.

Actors collecting paychecks and profit points mostly fold their arms, glean coolness from each other and dish out Stingspeak even they don't seem to understand. Soderbergh's neo-Rat Pack isn't concerned about much beyond the box office window, not on the screen or driving home afterward wondering where the money went.

After all, it's Clooney and his equally cool drinking buddies we're goaded into admiring for two hours. All that hunky spunk and you want a decent movie, too?

Well, yes.

Ocean's Thirteen isn't that movie. Any beauty here is only skin deep, no matter what kind of putty nose Matt Damon sports or hairy disguise Brad Pitt hides behind to advance a convoluted scam. Soderbergh's saturated color scheme and zooming camera tricks can't camouflage the movie's inertness. Al Pacino plays the designated target for Danny Ocean's crew, but the real mark is the audience.

Pacino's Willie Bank is a casino owner whose shady takeover sent Danny's pal Reuben Tishkoff Elliott Gould into cardiac arrest. The gang concocts a revenge scheme involving rigging every game in the place to pay off, then a manufactured earthquake to chase gamblers out with Willie's bank. Not even an artificial intelligence security system can stop them.

Artificial intelligence pretty much sums up the entire project.

Once again, Soderbergh and his screenwriters have a tough time giving so many characters something to do. Don Cheadle and Bernie Mac get one scene each to scam Willie before retreating to lookout duty. The Chinese acrobat (Shaobo Qin) climbs into a shaft and dodges speeding elevator cars for no apparent good reason. Damon is the only star with much to do, wooing Bank's personal assistant (Ellen Barkin, still smokin').

The lower anyone is on the celebrity scale - that's you, Scott Caan, Casey Affleck and Eddie Jamison - the more loads they must carry. Work harder, fellas, and someday you can coast to a fat payday, too.

Ocean's Thirteen races through baffling set-ups meaning little until the final reel, when all the dominos perfectly topple. Not much tension here, and even if there were, Clooney and the boys are too chill to show it. We listen intently to the patter for a while, hoping to hitch a ride on the cool train. Then we give up, knowing nothing will make sense until Soderbergh is ready, long after it matters anymore.

One piece of Sin City wisdom emerges when Reuben reminds Willie that they both shook Frank Sinatra's hand and there's a code of honor among men who did that. Seems there should be another for the guys shaking down Sinatra's legacy to prop up theirs.

Steve Persall can be reached at (727) 8893-8365 or Persall@sptimes.com Visit his blog at blogs.tampabay.com/movies.

Review

Ocean's Thirteen

Grade: C-

Director: Steven Soderbergh

Cast: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Al Pacino, Ellen Barkin, Andy Garcia, Elliott Gould, Don Cheadle, Carl Reiner, David Paymer

Screenplay: Brian Koppleman, David Levien

Rating: PG-13; brief sensuality and profanity

Running time: 122 min.

[Last modified June 8, 2007, 02:49:25]