CAPER TRAIL
by Don Larsson
While watching the Steven Soderbergh remake of Ocean's Eleven,
I kept thinking that something was missing - mainly a reason for these
particular crooks to get together on this particular mission. Well,
OK, there is the money - $160 million held in a common vault
for three Las Vegas casinos - but why should any of these guys trust
the others in the first place? Aside from George Clooney's character,
and a couple of other exceptions, these are people with no past to speak
of, no life aside from being "players" in life's big and little con
games.
Brad
Pitt's veteran grifter and Matt Damon's novice seem cut from the same
cloth, both glibly tossing off their lines in appropriate ways, but
with little tension to set them apart. Don Cheadle's British trickster
seems to have even less reason to hang with these guys. They trust each
other far too much; some of them have far too little to do. How would
they recruit a Chinese acrobat? Do they - or we - really need the Mormon
Twins, whose sibling rivalry is not nearly as amusing as it ought to
be? And when they learn that Danny Ocean (Clooney) has a personal stake
in this game, in the form of Julia Roberts, why don't they all bail
out at this dangerous injection of the personal into a professional
operation?
The
banter is smooth and light enough, but rarely as smooth as it pretends.
The robbery and getaway are pleasant enough to watch, but only if you
don't question the logic (part of which involves the improbable theft
of a very high-tech device to induce a city-wide blackout at the right
time). The film capers along briskly (despite its length) so that you
may not notice the improbabilities at first, but a second take will
leave you exclaiming "Hey, WAIT a minute!"
Andy
Garcia is never allowed to bring quite enough menace to his villain
role to make him the threat that everyone seems to think he is, and
his appeal to Julia Roberts is a mystery. On the other hand, in their
few brief scenes together, there is a chemistry between Clooney and
Roberts that makes you think that they could have once been married.
And the show is nearly stolen from all these relative youngsters by
a second-billed Old Guy. 
Carl
Reiner, whose talents in the past have never seemed to include depth
of expression, walks away with almost all of his scenes as a retired
con man called back into duty. More experienced than anyone else in
the bunch, but now living on a slow track between the dog races and
the doctor's office, Reiner proves to have more tricks available than
any of the others, while reminding us all of our own mortality. It's
remarkable that a nearly 80-year-old man can caper past superstars who
are half his age, but it's a comfort for those of us advancing into
middle age and beyond.
Some
of my puzzlement over the acclaim being heaped on the new Ocean's
Eleven was eased yesterday when I finally saw the 1960 original,
directed by Lewis Milestone. While this version gives the group (Sinatra,
Martin, Lawford, Bishop, Davis) more reason to be together (they were
all in the same paratroop unit in World War II), their reasons for robbing
Las Vegas (well, OK, there is the money!) are even less clear. It seems
to be an idea that they just come up with and decide to give a go.
Dialogue
is meant to fill in for character development. Akim Tamiroff, as the
money man, struts and frets about that "no-good Danny Ocean," but his
own connection to him has no history, no passion. Angie Dickinson gets
to play the ex-spouse as doormat, making Julia Roberts look even stronger
by comparison. There are embarassingly "hip" jokes about color with
Sammy Davis, Jr.; and Joey Bishop actually exerts a negative energy
that sucks what little life there is out of any scene he's in.
The
caper itself isn't much - Richard Conte fiddles with fuse boxes (in
a Las Vegas that seems, even 40 years ago, unbelieveably low-tech and
lax about security), while everyone else sprays ultraviolet paint on
doorknobs. And you can see the final, ironic ending coming over the
desert sands from miles away. Historical curiosity aside, a couple of
things made watching this mess somewhat bearable: the breezy insousiance
of Dean Martin, who comes off better than any of the rest of the Rat
Pack on the strength of sheer glibness; and an all-too-brief cameo by
Rat Pack auxiliary Shirley MacLaine. Her one brief scene has more acting,
humor, and life than the rest of the film as a whole.
By comparison, the remake is indeed a masterpiece!
©2001 Don Larsson
CineScene
