by Steven Soderbergh, 2001.
Starring Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Don Cheadle, George Clooney, Matt Damon, Andy Garcia, Elliot Gould, Brad Pitt, Carl Reiner, Julia Roberts.
Rating: 9/10, 6/10.
I guess it’s a little silly that Ocean’s Eleven is the only Soderbergh film I’ve seen. I suppose at some point I should see sex, lies, and videotape, or Traffic or something. But whatever. I doubt either of them are anywhere near as fun as this one.
There’s not all that much to say about it, I think. The fact that I saw it months ago and just remembered I never reviewed it doesn’t help. It was, above all, stylish. George Clooney, who is growing on me as an actor to the point where I don’t vomit every time I think of him playing Kelvin in Soderbergh’s upcoming remake of of the brilliant Solaris, is coolly detached and in control, and Andy Garcia is stylishly rat-like and villainous, and Julia Roberts is at her most stylish ever. The whole thing looks great, from the costumes to the sets to the effects to the direction. The plot, the character’s scheme, and everything about those characters—especially the way they talk to each other—is almost painfully stylish. And the music, by the eminently stylish David Holmes (who has an album called "This Film’s Crap, Let’s Slash The Seats," interestingly enough), is, well, stylish and great. As you might be able to guess, there’s not all that much substance to the film, which is OK by me. If I had to choose, I’d take style over substance any day. Well, actually, I guess I wouldn’t. But all style and no substance is still fun.
Hmm. I can’t think of much else to say, sadly enough.