Franchise Friday: Ocean's Thirteen (2007)
Even for this series, it's a bit lightweight.
Ocean’s Thirteen is a franchise pushing its luck.
Made in a run that was preceded by Soderbergh’s ultra-indie Bubble and the experimental miscalculation The Good German, and followed by his two-part epic Che, Ocean’s Thirteen feels like a “one for them” toss-off, the obligatory studio sequel the director pulled together so he could fund his passion projects. As with its predecessors, it’s competently made and enjoyable, but its sense of cool falls away as the film struggles not to collapse under the weight of its absurdity.
It feels obligatory. It’s a return to Vegas after the (unfair) poor reception of Ocean’s Twelve, and the hangout vibe of the first two films is replaced by a breakneck pace that completely throws rationality to the wind. Yet, it’s also aware of its inconsequential nature, and coasts on a cheeky vibe that ensures it’s always entertaining.
There’s an interesting twist behind this film’s heist, in that the main goal is not to make Danny and his crew rich, but to make sure the antagonist, ruthless casino magnate Willy Bank (Al Pacino) loses everything. Willy has double-crossed Reuben (Elliott Gould) in a business partnership, and the stress has caused Reuben to have a heart attack. Danny and the crew vow to make Willy pay by rigging his games so that the house loses big on opening night, while also ensuring that the resort never gains its coveted five-diamond rating. And, oh yeah, a last-minute snafu requires former foe Terry Benedict to step in, and in return, he also wants Danny to make off with Willy’s priceless collection of diamonds.
This is where Danny might have wanted to think more about making a profit, as it’s hard to imagine where the funding comes from to get the disguises, casino equipment, weeklong hotel books and giant earthquake-mimicking drills that the crew needs to pull off the job (and yes, Benedict tosses in $36 million for a giant drill, but that’s only after the first drill conks out, and I’d be surprised if those things came with a 30-day guarantee). Of course, all the previous heists in the series involved elaborate schemes and pricey equipment, but in Ocean’s Thirteen, the preposterousness is on such a scale that the disbelief becomes too weighty to suspend.
As in the first two films, the heist isn’t explained in advance; we watch it unfold. That was part of the magic of Ocean’s Eleven and Ocean’s Twelve; the scripts unfolded in such a way that we thought we knew were things were headed, disaster appeared to strike, and yet we learned in the end that everything went to plan and the joke was actually on us. Brian Koppleman and David Levien’s script tries for a similar approach here, particularly in the reveal of how the gang gets the jewels, but by now we’re primed to expect the twists. And the film hinges on so many last-minute decisions (including a spur of the moment costume change for Don Cheadle and a love potion to help Matt Damon) that it shatters credulity.
I realize it sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m not that negative on Ocean’s Thirteen. I like this film. It’s fun. But it does lack the magic of its predecessors, and part of that is simply due to the reality of being the third movie in a trilogy, and the requirements to go bigger and broader. Heists work like jokes or magic tricks; they must be meticulously structured, and they depend on the element of surprise. It’s hard to make it work a second time; that’s likely why you see so few franchises set around heists.
Ocean’s Twelve avoids this trap by shifting into a conman movie, as I wrote last week. While Ocean’s Thirteen is a more traditional caper on its surface, it’s easier to forgive the ridiculousness of it all if you look at it, instead, as a revenge comedy. There’s a lot of humor to be mined from the plight of the poor hotel reviewer (David Paymer), who is subjected not only to rude service but also bedbugs and what appears to be the plagues, all so Danny and the team can present Carl Reiner’s Saul as a decoy (and while it feels a bit mean-spirited to inflict so much suffering on an innocent party, things work out well for Paymer’s character in the end). And while some of the shenanigans, including simulating an earthquake at will, are far-fetched, watching the scheme come to life to make all the games pay out is a great deal of fun.
Soderbergh’s work doesn’t feel as relaxed as in its predecessors; at just over two hours, the film still feels rushed, likely to keep first-time audiences distracted from all the string-pulling behind the scenes. But he still has fun capturing Vegas in all its glitzy glory. The film takes place in the days leading up to the Fourth of July, and Soderbergh films many of the outdoor scenes in the daylight, capturing the sweltering desert heat. He has fun playing with split screens and fakeouts, but his biggest joy seems to be capturing his cast in the most ludicrous disguises. This includes putting Cheadle in an outlandish red, white and blue jumpsuit; saddling Damon with the world’s fakest fake nose; and giving Clooney a sleazy mustache for the ages. The Ocean’s films have always mingled a sense of playfulness with their swagger. Here, the swagger and cool are largely gone, but the silliness is amped up, leading to some big laughs.
The cast is still fun, but the dynamics by now feel a bit creaky. They still get some good laughs, but there are only so many times we can watch Clooney and Pitt finish each other's sentences, or see the gang treat Linus with kid gloves (bringing in Bob Einstein as his father is fun, though). Scott Caan and Casey Affleck are kept separate for most of the film, and I’m not sure the latter’s worker revolution subplot really works. It’s always welcome to see Cheadle, Bernie Mac and the rest of the cast, but you can feel the screenplay struggling for reasons to include them. Gould does most of his work from a bed and the requirements of the plot mean we’re robbed of most of his charisma. The film also lacks the romanticism from the first and second films; it’s largely a boys’ club this time out (Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones declined to come back unless they had larger roles). Ellen Barkin steps in as a in theory replacement, but here scenes are much broader and more comic. Pacino is fun, but playing strictly in his comfort zone, and the film never really knows what to do with him as a threat.
But again, I’m being harsher than I feel. Because I don’t think there’s an unenjoyable film in this trilogy. It’s still light, frothy and funny. It’s just that now it’s a bit too familiar, a hangout series that’s been hanging out too long. It feels like the best solution would be to shake things up and either change the heist dynamics or bring in new cast members to shift the humor a bit.
And they tried that, more than a decade later. And next week, we’ll see what happens when Ocean’s 8 let the ladies play.