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Style at its best

Ocean's Thirteen

Director: Steven

Soderbergh

Cast: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Al Pacino, Andy Garcia, Ellen Barkin, Don Cheadle, Bernie Mac

IF THE illusion of cinema applies itself to the description of another grander illusion, is scepticism the only tone the former is allowed to adopt?

Or can one be seduced by the other and yet play outside its rules so that the viewer recognises that this is all just a mirage and still embrace and enjoy it?

To be sure, Ocean's Thirteen was not made for the realists in the audience, the ones that have never quite been comfortable with the idea of suspension of disbelief. The film hinges on a script by Brian Koppelman and David Levien that is just as hollow as the second film of the series, but with its hollowness far more masterfully disguised.

In this instalment, the Vegas-villain is an older and hence slightly less affronting Al Pacino as Willy Bank, who has played a nasty trick on Danny Ocean's (George Clooney) old mentor and friend Rueben. Bank has swindled Rueben of his life savings and put him through a life-threatening heart attack and now it is time for Ocean and his boys to return the favour.

And this time it is a more equitable job, not because the lesser members of the eleven have gained more screen time but because the film swirls round so quickly that even Ocean, his right hand Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt) and the now more mature and exciting Linus (Matt Damon) have less to do than before.

Rakesh Mehar

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