NEWS
Posted 25 June, 2007 in NV News
Brad Pitt doesn’t really act in Ocean’s Thirteen, he just glides through the third chapter in Steven Soderbergh’s heist-flick annuity on the magic carpet of his own unimpeachable cool. Don’t knock it. Genuine star power is rare — just watch Colin Farrell, Jude Law and Orlando Bloom struggle to attain it. Pitt has it in spades — all aces.
Like Dean Martin did with Rat Pack capo Frank Sinatra in Ocean’s Eleven back in the Pleistocene era (1960), Pitt, 43, damn near holds his own with George Clooney, 46, the current go-to icon for effortless charm. That they both rolled craps in 2004’s Ocean’s Twelve, the self-satisfied ringer in the series, seems to have taught a hard lesson: Do not overplay the arrogance card. While co-stars Matt Damon, Don Cheadle and Al Pacino, as the scrappy villain of the piece, knock themselves out to add juice to the movie, Pitt, following Clooney’s lead, never breaks a sweat. And yet we’re grabbed, drawn in by something beyond looks.
Despite the tabloid scrutiny that follows Pitt and Angelina Jolie on their merry rounds of film and baby making, Pitt has become increasingly comfortable in his own skin. His newfound ease becomes him. As Rusty Ryan, chief wingman for Clooney’s Danny Ocean, Pitt takes the same light-fingered approach to robbing a casino as he does to stealing a scene. “Are you crying?” Rusty asks, catching Danny sniffling at an Oprah giveaway show on the tube. The setup evokes the kind of banter that Frank and Dean thrived on. But Pitt turns Rusty’s amusement into a deeper curiosity. Is he being played, or did he detect a twinge of sincerity in Ocean? Feelings are dangerous in a gambler and a thief. No wonder Rusty’s on the lookout.
Still, it’s feelings that kick-start Ocean’s Thirteen, written with beyond-the-call-of-duty panache by Brian Koppelman and David Levien, renowned in my house for the poker cult classic that is Rounders. The only person who can get Ocean tearier than Oprah is his pal Reuben Tishkoff (Elliott Gould in top form), who has just been royally screwed out of his stake in the Strip’s newest hotel-casino, the Bank. In a burst of Trump-like hubris, Pacino’s Willy Bank has named the place after himself. To revenge Reuben, the boys — including the priceless Carl Reiner as Saul Bloom — decide to take down Willy and his Bank.
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