OCEAN’S TWELVE (**)
Danny Ocean’s last appearance brought me a sense of devilish satisfaction and subtle dread. At the end of OCEAN’S ELEVEN, he and his crew had achieved their goals and seemed confidently prepared for its consequences. Sadly, in OCEAN’S TWELVE, this group’s ambitions deliver hardly any of the same slick entertainment and suave charm that was so delicious in its predecessor. Steven Soderbergh bites off more than he can chew in taking on an idea that has nowhere left to go, and giving it less focus than it deserves.
The film is set three years after the eleven’s successful heist of the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Since then, all of them have settled down. But the casino’s owner Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) successfully tracks down each member asking for his money back (plus interest), giving them two weeks to do so. While Mr. Ocean (George Clooney) tries to figure out how to come up with the $160 million or so dollars he stole, he also so has to contend with Europol’s (European Police Office) darling detective Isabel Lahiri (Catherine Zeta-Jones). Not only is she a superior Sherlock (a curator of crime history if you will), but she’s also had a history with Ocean’s best pal Rusty (Brad Pitt). That never helps.
All this plus the involvement of a cat burglar extraordinaire by the guise of “The Night Fox” make up an intriguing if not thrilling premise. And it becomes apparent from the film’s start that Steven Soderbergh wishes to set a feel for this caper unlike that of any other. But this approach, along with several other key factors, causes the film to go awry.
First off, the look of the film is misplaced. Mr. Soderbergh goes for the same gritty atmosphere he used marvelously his previous tours de force THE LIMEY and TRAFFIC and to a somewhat muted effect for ERIN BROCKOVICH. But this granularity is the wrong choice for a heist movie.
Films involving theft, especially those of the ambitious type, evoke singular focus, exactness, professionalism, and caution. OCEAN’S ELEVEN was no exception to these qualities. In its confidence were moments of grace, pluck, and polish along with its naughtiness. Grainy hand-held points of view create an environment of uneasiness, danger, and a kind of scorched earth reality. OCEAN’S TWELVE conveys an incorrect feel for such a glorious setting. I was puzzled to what Mr. Soderbergh must have been thinking… a hard-boiled ambiance for an Italian heist of a Faberge egg? *Slaps forehead*.
Another point of contention is the film’s disorganization. The plot points are there, but they’re never come upon, just stumbled upon. It’s as if most of them had been made up as the movie went a long. In OCEAN’S ELEVEN, every member had a particular significance to play out, a sharply drawn character, and a specific piece to fit the movie puzzle. OCEAN’S TWELVE seems to have taken that puzzle and tossed it like a salad. Nobody plays any real significant part (until the ending conveniently says that they did so). All the gang members’ characteristics are rendered useless. And many of the main characters never make any memorable repeat performances.
Take the following examples. I always cherished Andy Garcia’s menace as Terry Benedict. He seemed to be channeling Robert De Niro in CASINO. Carl Reiner, one of the great comedians of all time, and Bernie Mac, one of the great comedians of our time, both gave stunningly dead serious performances in their previous caper. Don Cheadle, a great actor, is once again stuck with the gimmick of using a British accent. Julia Roberts is hardly used until late in the movie, and when she is, she turns up in one of the most dreadful cases of lack of creativity I have ever seen on screen. All of these characters who were masterful pieces in OCEAN’S ELEVEN are now like basketball players being put on the bench by a bad coach. They’re all mis or underused, and should have had more playing time to help win the game.
I restrain myself from calling the film a disaster, since it does have a few things that work. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon use all the charm they have to keep us hooked on to the story. They’re nowhere near as charming as they were in their previous outing, but one could hardly blame with direction they were given. It also is a minus when their opposition is miscast. Vincent Cassell is a talented actor, but just doesn’t have the gravitas to match Clooney (even two Cassells isn’t enough). It might have helped if he stuck to speaking his natural language, French. I guess the film’s backers didn’t want to offend American audiences.
There are also a handful of nice cameos spread throughout the movie, which adds to film’s odd ability to maintain a certain level of interest. I myself liked a scene were Rusty and Danny were pulling Linus’s (Matt Damon) strings. The screenplay does have a touch of Elmore Leonard quality here and there, sometimes giving quirky yet strong dialogue. But the anticipation brought on by all of the film’s gimmicks and extremely likeable cast is never met. This is a film waiting for takeoff, but never leaves the ground.
Steven Soderbergh is a director of considerable skill and talent (TRAFFIC is one of the best films about illegal drugs I have ever seen), yet for some reason, he likes to go on these film experiments to crackle his fingers and see what he can get away with (remember FULL FRONTAL?). My plea to Mr. Soderbergh is to quit mucking around. It was a nice idea to get together with his buddies (Julia, George, Brad, Matt, Don, etc.) and make an entertaining movie together, but somewhere along the way to the sequel, he and his crew decided to slum it. Out went the conviction and focus to craft something worthwhile. It’s nice for him to have fun with his friends, but next time, he should try to include the rest of us while he’s at it.