Directed by Gary Ross
starring Sandra Bullock, Cate Blanchett, Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham-Carter,
Rihanna, Sarah Paulson, Mindy Kaling, Awkwafina, James Corden
Any subsequent entry into a film franchise suffers in comparison to the original.
The first Ocean's 11 that goes back to the swinging '60s is more famous for the off-screen antics of stars Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Angie Dickinson, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop than its plot, which was a bit loose-limbed, awkward, and downright plodding at times. The charm of Ocean's 11 was the interplay between cast members, most of whom were top concert and film draws and were notorious for their drinking and carousing. As the epitome of that decade's idea of "cool," Sinatra easily led his merry band of funny, distinct hooligans to success at the box office.
It was this sense of wise-cracking cool that infused the 2001 reboot with George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Bernie Mac, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Julia Roberts, Don Cheadle and others. So many decades had gone by since the original Sinatra vehicle that the premise seemed fresh. The script allowed each of the eleven to clearly sketch out the parameters of their individual characters, their relationships with each other, and their roles within the heist. Clooney had his winking, criminal-with-a-heart schtick down pat, in a way that seemed to echo the ring-a-ding-ding ease of Sinatra; we believed that he was always looking for the angles in any situation, come hell or high water. As Rusty, Pitt was his unruffled foil, dressed impeccably in every scene and always consuming some sort of edible, a great little actorly detail that defined his character as the one cool head amid chaos. Damon is introduced as a commuting pickpocket drafted by this big league of con artists; his nervousness while playing his part in the big Las Vegas swindle is palpable. And that's another thing the reboot had going for it -- Las Vegas in all its glitzy, ersatz glamour was definitely a character in the story, same as in the original. There are some great moments of verbal and physical comedy in the film: Bernie Mac gripping the hand of the auto dealer and spouting about skin softening agents is priceless (similar to a routine he does as an addled prisoner in the Eddie Murphy flick Life); and the squabbling Laurel & Hardy antics of Affleck & Caan are hilarious. When Danny Ocean pulls together his entire crew, you believe the relationships. There is an easygoing sense of bonhomie about them. They're professional criminals, and for them, pulling off the biggest robbery in Las Vegas is not only dangerous, it's also sheer, edgy fun.
Unfortunately, the new Ocean's Eight has not mastered the same sense of fun. It tries very hard, though.
Maybe I am so much a victim myself of society's harsh judgment of women taking on men's roles that this all-female take on the heist genre feels forced to me. It's a given that women can take on any role, perform any job, and carry a movie. But for this franchise, the question is: Can a woman, even one as attractive and popular as Sandra Bullock, play a charming rogue on the same scale as George Clooney? Should it be on the same scale? Because it purports to be from the same universe, Ocean's Eight sets up that expectation.
Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, who -- as her brother Danny Ocean did at the beginning of Ocean's Eleven -- starts the film being released from prison on parole. And while she is witty and slick, she is not exactly charming. Further, the tone of the film is dampened from the start by the news that Danny Ocean is dead. This fact is not explained, and it casts a pall over all that comes next. Maybe this detail is meant to sever any expectation the audience might have that we'll get to see Danny, and gives Debbie more authority as the spiritual inheritor of everything Danny was while also being a strong player in her own right. However you cut it, his demise is dispiriting. And while the audience comes to understand that the Oceans all have a touch of larceny in their souls, Debbie's interests lie not just in enriching herself and her crew, but revenging herself upon the former lover whose testimony about their art fraud put her in prison. As such, though her anger is justified, her scheme comes across as more crass and contentious than crafty. She wasn't exactly innocent of the crime she was convicted for, and now she seems to have no concerns about being convicted again.
The action of Ocean's Eight is transferred to New York City, which gives it a different feel from the trilogy that centered on Las Vegas and Cannes. And it features a great cast of ladies, no doubt. But as fabulous -- and fabulously dressed -- as Bullock is, she barely holds the center in scenes with smoldering Cate Blanchett as Lou, her restauranteur partner in love and crime. Helena Bonham Carter walks the line between daffy and shrewd as a bottoming out fashion designer who joins the crew, Anne Hathaway is both arch and needy as an A-level young actress who is their dupe, while Sarah Paulson seems a bit out of her element as Debbie's former associate, a con artist, fence, and property master who has retired to the suburbs to play wife and mother. It's nice to see Mindy Kaling on the big screen doing anything at all, but we learn nothing about her other than the fact that she works in a jewelry shop under the thumb of her shrewish mother, and in a scene with Bonham Carter, she mostly just stands there. Also given short shrift, scriptwise, are Rihanna as a dreads-rocking computer hacker named Nineball, and Awkwafina as a street-smart pickpocket. Character development and backstory are both left wanting here. We never find out how any of Debbie's crew first met Debbie or what their history together consists of, and while there was an element of that in the 2001 version, the chemistry between the players never comes together in this outing, and most never get to stretch out.
Also many of the plot elements seem rushed, coincidental, and too easily tied with a bow. Debbie and Lou gain the confidence of their desperate designer a bit too quickly. Sarah Paulson's character is hired on the spot as the "inside man" at Vogue, conveniently just in time to set the ball rolling. Does Lou really have the impeccable credentials as a vegan chef to get a last minute gig at The Met Gala? And the robbery scheme's complication -- the crew suddenly learns they need a unique magnetic tool to unlock the catch on the multimillion dollar necklace they're after -- is addressed so quickly that I completely missed it. And I was sitting there staring at the screen the whole time! The dialogue went rat-a-tat and was over. (A genius solution is apparently provided by Nineball's smarter than smart younger sister, who shows up on screen for less than two minutes then bounces, as Debbie remarks to Nineball, "What do your parents do?") The limits of time and space are circumvented time and again as the characters make costume changes and suddenly appear just where they need to be to pull off the heist. And while all the details must be carefully adhered to, none of the players seem to emit a single drop of sweat in the process.
OK, so it's a heist film. It's supposed to be cool, and outrageous, and it's supposed to test the limits of credibility. And it does all of that, while showcasing some jaw dropping high fashion in the process. The pace is fast and frenetic. There are a few twists. There are a few brief flickers of comedy. There are a couple of celebrity cameos and brief, surprise character tie-ins to the previous films. We are on the edge of our seats as the heist is put in motion. And when an insurance fraud investigator, played by the amiable James Corden, steps in to hunt down the perpetrators, it seems our heroines may be in trouble. (Personally, who is scared of Corden? I would have been more concerned for the girls if the investigator were played by, say ... ass-kicker Jason Statham or someone equally intimidating.) Ocean's Eight has its own charms and chuckles. In the end, as the Bard would say, all's well that ends well.
Until we are reminded, yet again, that Danny Ocean is dead.
Did we really need that coda? I think not. It only reminds us to compare this flick to the ones that came before. That makes the surviving Ocean sibling a Debbie Downer.
[Check out the previous review of Book Club HERE.}
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