REVIEW
Ocean’s Thirteen – Better . . . but not the Best

Better than the self-indulgent and inflated Ocean’s Twelve but falling short of the unaffected suavity of Ocean’s Eleven, the third installment of the lives, loves and escapades of Danny Ocean and his ever-growing gang of savvy criminals is enjoyably kitsch but a bit too straight-forward for its own good. The script brought to the table by writing duo Brian Koppelman and David Levien often makes sense . . . and with Ocean and his gang that’s never a good sign.

Still, the film is flashy and sassy, helped along by a gorgeous cast, the pizzazz of the ever impressive Vegas landscape and a return to its roots of revenge. This time, the rag tag crew is working to avenge one of their own as the ailing Reuben (Elliot Gould) has taken to his bed and a life of silence after being cut out of big time casino owner Willie Bank’s (Al Pacino) plans for an outrageous new hotel. Helping out a friend is no doubt a good and noble aim but it is unfortunately just not as attractive as Ocean’s initial aim to get back the love of his life.

Speaking of love, the ladies (Julia Roberts, Catherine Zeta-Jones) make no appearance in the film, leaving their vacated slots in the gang to be filled by burned but still loaded money-man Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) and previous villain extraordinaire François Toulour (Vincent Cassel). In typical Ocean style, the duo, despite all attempts to the contrary, unwittingly play directly into Ocean’s hand.

With starts and stops, fits and gasps, kicks and quite a few giggles, the crew ceaselessly moves two steps forwards and three steps back. And while their outrageous heist seems to once again be all but impossible, it is not difficult to spot connections and see the pieces falling into place. With Ocean and Ryan at the wheel, we aren’t supposed to know what’s going to happen next but somehow we do - And this is not good.    

Still, the transparent and struggling story is rescued by the unrivaled chemistry and shared star power between leads Clooney, Pitt and Damon. Clooney and Pitt are at it again – reading each others minds, finishing each others sentences and speaking in a language only Rusty and Danny can understand. Their sometimes brutal, at all times jovial, “education” of the nerdy Linus (Damon) fully allows each actor to play to their strengths – mocking intensity, smoking suavity and flawless comedic timing. The talent shared between this trio makes the screen simply sizzle . . . and saves an otherwise wandering plot.

Portraying the uptight, anxious and thoroughly enjoyable Linus, Damon is wonderful as always – even with a prosthetic nose. His seduction of the uptight and business savvy Abigail Sponder (Ellen Barkin) is almost as enjoyable as the outrage that meets his admission of his own belief in his seductive powers.  It would seem pheromones can do wonders.

Outside of the fabulous trio, the Malloy Brothers are surprisingly enjoyable as well. The go-to-guys for all odd jobs and any unexpected problems, the forever bickering Virgil (Casey Affleck) and Turk Malloy (Scott Caan) literally run from scene to scene, somehow saving up enough time amidst the chaos to single handedly pull off an insurrection for higher wages and better working conditions in a dice making factory down in Mexico.

Unfortunately, Andy Garcia’s Terry Benedict comes off as a bit of a joke. Merely a shadow of the utterly unnerving and oh-so-intimidating tri-casino owner of Ocean’s Eleven, Garcia is better than the words written for him and unfortunately, he doesn’t get to show it. He is however better than Pacino who, in a surprising twist, is choppy, at times awkward and ultimately flat. With a more daunting villain that instilled fear rather than simple respect for his resume, the limping Ocean’s Thirteen just might have been able to soar.