Flak Magazine: Review of Ocean's Eleven, 12-14-01

Ocean's Eleven is a cold, chic and clever exercise in extracting revenge. Daniel Ocean (George Clooney) — the leader of a bold crew composed of con men, pickpockets, gizmo geeks, explosive experts and a circus performer set to rob three Las Vegas casinos — doesn't care about the $160 million at stake. He's not even interested in the infamy pulling off such an unprecedented heist would grant. Daniel's chief motive is more primal than greed — he wants to humiliate and destroy his foe, casino boss Harry Benedict (Andy Garcia).

Being privy to Daniel's plans for vengeance provides half of the film's excitement. Because we all like to get even. Admit it: There's someone in your life that you'd relish reducing to a has-been. Imagine if you could summon the nerve to design an ingenious plot that would slowly peel him or her apart. How sweet. Decorum keeps us from it, but we can root for characters that dare to trap and squash their enemies. On this level, as a vicarious joyride for our darker nature, Ocean's Eleven is electrifying. The film has all the right elements.

Daniel's target, Benedict (a name smeared with treachery), is arrogant, cruel and sleeping with Daniel's ex-wife Tess (Julia Roberts). From the moment Benedict appears on screen, his smug demeanor warrants his downfall. He cares for no one, not even his lover. In a revealing scene between him and Tess, who is curator for an art gallery inside one of Benedict's casinos, Tess extols the beauty and meaning of a painting. She asks Benedict if he appreciates the artwork. He sidesteps the question and says that he is pleased that she cares for it. Moments later, when Tess leans in to kiss Benedict, he rebuffs her. The boss doesn't want to show affection in front of one of the casino's security cameras. There's nothing to love in this man; his fall will not cause sympathetic tears.

The accomplices Daniel assembles to rob Benedict's casino vault are colorful and endearing. Among others, there's Rusty (Brad Pitt), an ultra-hip hustler; Linus (Matt Damon), a cocky second-generation grifter; the immature Malloy brothers (Casey Affleck and Scott Caan); Roscoe Means (Don Cheadle), an honorably crooked Cockney; and Saul Bloom (Carl Reiner), a legendary con artist ready for one more round. The fellows are wonderfully eccentric and competent. It is a pleasure to watch them work.

Then there's the scheme — intricate and dangerous. On their way to a $160 million score, Daniel's gang must evade or eliminate Benedict's cameras, armed guards, laser beams and code-activated shields. The challenges are great and the crew is flawed, but don't kid yourself: "Will they?" is not a valid question. "How?" is the thing.

In addition to being a tight caper, Ocean's Eleven is elevated even further into the heavens by star power — tremendous star power. This isn't some B-class collection of familiar faces like the one that paraded through Rat Race. Ocean's Eleven touts the reigning queen of movies, the radiant Julia Roberts, and some of the best young male leads in Tinsel Town.

And to think Ocean's Eleven, originally a sloppy film made by Frank Sinatra's Rat Pack between drinks, owes its rebirth to camaraderie. A group of plucky, gorgeous movie stars decided to cut their standard multimillion-dollar fees so that they could shoot this film with each other and acclaimed director Steven Soderbergh. No egos; no fuss; no scandals. Julia, Clooney, Pitt, Damon — just a bunch of supernatural Hollywood deities willing to work for scale and anxious to share the screen together. It's almost noble.

The star power, the story line and Soderbergh's craftsmanship all come together in a thug's tale wrapped fashionably in panache, and Ocean's Eleven is good enough not to sweat inside its silk suit. It's a double shot, half eye candy and half street brawl. It'll swallow you whole.

— Rasheed Newson (rasheednewson@hotmail.com)