Once Upon a Time In Hollywood

 

Director: Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, Emile Hirsch, Margaret Qualley, Timothy Olyphant, Austin Butler, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Dern, Al Pacino, Kurt Russell, Julia Butters, Mike Moh, Damon Herriman
Running Time: 161 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Very rarely has a single question swirled around a movie as prominently as the one hanging over Quentin Tarantino's ninth film, Once Upon a Time In Hollywood. Will he go through with it? The "it" is of course the August, 1969 Manson murders that the director has sworn his picture wouldn't be about. And he's right. It's not. And yet, while not being about that at all, it still simultaneously manages to be completely all about it in ways that are sad, funny and unpredictable. There was great interest in whether he'd take us to one of the last taboo places left in mainstream American movies, and with good reason. The logic is that if anyone would do it, it's Tarantino, who's made a career out of over-the-top revenge fantasies. If there was ever an event ripe for his button-pushing brand of cinematic controversy and primed to offend, it's this. But the reality is that the director has always been at his worst when trying to do that, or rather when he repeatedly continues to, more often than not encouraging inferior imitations from others lacking his vision.

Of all Tarantino's films, this seems like the biggest outlier, almost as if it was made by someone else (maybe older), while carrying enough recognizable trademarks to still unmistakably be his. Yes, there are long dialogue stretches, but this time the material relies much more heavily on mood, atmosphere and performances to tell its story than the writing, which kind of rides in the backseat for a change. Part fairy tale, part bromance, he transports us to this year through the music, production design, and the tiny details you suspect only he would care enough to get right. You know it's accurate simply because it "feels" like it, regardless of its historical truth.

We already know Tarantino's cares about facts only so far as it reflects the period's authenticity, and as far as eras or settings go, this one ranks pretty high on the list of the coolest to hang in for over two and a half hours.While it's one thing to drop fictional characters into actual events, it's another entirely to place them squarely in the center, the axis around which this pivotal year revolves. You leave considering that even their situations were only small part of a much larger picture, the scope and breadth of which Tarantino captures like no one else could have.

It's Los Angeles, 1969, and actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio), former star of the 1950's TV series, Bounty Law, is complaining to his best friend and former stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), that he's now a washed-up has been relgated to guest starring villain roles. After an ugly personal incident left him blackballed from the industry, Booth spends his days working as Rick's driver and assistant, taking him to and from set while running any errands that need to be done. Having just landed another villainous role in the successful TV series, Lancer, Rick's may have to start seriously considering his agent Marvin Schwarz's (Al Pacino) advice to go make Spaghetti Westerns in Italy.

A glimmer of hope appears for Rick with the arrival of his new neighbor on Cielo Drive, acclaimed  director Roman Polanski, and his new wife, actress Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), who's riding high on the postive notices she's receiving for her recent big screen comedic turn in The Wrecking Crew opposite Dean Martin. Meanwhile, an aspiring musician named Charles Manson (Damon Herriman) is making waves of his own, establishing a hippie commune of sorts at the now semi-deserted Spahn Ranch, where Rick used to shoot Bounty Law. But when some of his female followers start bleeding over into town, hitchhiking and roaming the L.A. streets, one of them, named Pussycat, (Margaret Qualley) attracts the attention of a curious Cliff. Soon, all of their lives will intersect in ways both surprising and tragic.

The film works as a series of character sketches, alternating between the stories of Rick and Cliff, the Manson girls and Sharon Tate. Sandwiched in between and embedded in those are smaller moments with a wide variety of recognizable celebrity faces of the era portrayed by a myriad of different actors, some more recognizable than others. Most of the fun comes from being a fly on the wall and trying to spot everything and everyone, a game sure to be more rewarding with each new viewing, but holding enough curiosity for the uninitiated wanting to learn more about the real context behind these people. Whether it's dropping in to a party at the Playboy Mansion with Steve McQueen (Damien Lewis), Michelle Phillips (Rebecca Rittenhouse) and Mama Cass (Rachel Redleaf), taking in Sunset Boulevard or getting a look inside the infamous El Coyote Mexican cafe where Tate, Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch), Abigail Folger (Samantha Robinson) and Wojciech Frykowski (Costa Ronin) dined the night of August 8th.

All of 60's L.A. is vividly and painstakingly recreated by Tarantino and cinematographer Robert Richardson and set to a seemingly non-stop soundtrack of deep, sometimes obscure or overlooked songs unearthed by the director. Music is such an important component in these characters' lives that there's rarely a minute where there isn't a song playing or the sounds of KHJ radio ads blasting in one of the many driving scenes that further establish the characters in moments with minimal to no dialogue. It also marks a period in our culture where everyone was consuming the same output of music and movies simultaneously, lulling the public into a communal sense of security, however true or false that may have been. It's rare we're shown any part of the past in film we've never been fully exposed to before, and while all of those details would make a compelling enough picture on its own, it mostly serves as the compelling backdrop to Tarantino's actual entry point into the story: Rick Dalton and Cliff Booth.

With Dalton, we finally see what happens when Tarantino builds an entire character around one of those cult, veteran actors whose careers he's long specialized in resuscitating. But the catch is that this time in DiCaprio he's cast one of the world's biggest (and last?) contemporary movie stars as a performer whose big break already passed him by. Pigeonholed as a villainous heavy and still living off his one success eight years earlier, a creatively stifled and frustrated Dalton is afforded what could be his last chance at respectibility opposite a James Garner-like TV star in James Stacy (Timothy Olyphant). Of course, Rick doesn't see the potential in this, or really anything else in his life and career. By now, his life is his career and this has become just another job.

The irony is that by any standard other than a notoriously fickle industry, Dalton would be considered a giant success for his run on Bounty Law, and we're frequently told of its devoted following. But the fact he doesn't even feel comfortable talking to his new, substantially more famous neighbors isn't just a reflection of Hollywood's unspoken pecking order, but a testament to his deepening insecurity. The gate in front of the Polanski residence may as well be metaphorical for Rick, who deep down believes he should be the one behind it.

Rick's emotional and physical collapse on the set of Lancer comprises maybe the largest of the two or three extended chapters that comprise the story. Here, Tarantino stops just short of recreating an entire episode of the TV Western, with Rick struggling to keep himself together, forgetting his lines, drinking and basically self-sabatoging every scene in which he appears. But it's Rick's encounter with precocious child actor Trudi Fraser (Julia Butters) that snaps him into a different reality, forcing him to come face-to-face with his own faults as he's inspired by a new generation of actor. At first, we're not sure what to make of this wise beyond her years 8-year-old, until the cameras start to roll and we realize their long off screen conversation has carried on screen, where they've both made the other substantially better.

While Trudi and the pilot's director, Sam Wanamaker (Nicholas Hammond) gush over Rick's breakthrough, it's actually DiCaprio who gives one of his most movingly authentic performances as this semi-forgotten TV actor discovering he still has more in the tank. In Tarantino's world, no one's "washed up" and great work can pop up anywhere, even in a guest spot on a seemingly cheesy, forgotten 60's Western series. DiCaprio does so many little, nearly invisible things with the role and his role within the role that it's easy to overlook just how difficult it is. Take the stuttering. He slides this stuttering impediment into Rick's speech whenever he's worked up over something, subtly clueing us in that it's something he's needed to overcome to get to where he is. And it not only shows how much harder he's had to work, but the sacrifices we can envision he made to get there. And it's in Rick's tearful description to Trudi about that book he's reading about a brokedown broncobuster, that the emotional enormity of all those sacrifices and failures finally catch up to him.

If Rick biggest fear is becoming a "has been," then his stunt double and best friend Cliff has always operated on the fringes, partially due to his own sordid history involving an alleged murder and the fact he can't help but run his mouth off at the worst possible times. Relegated to driving Rick to and from sets, he looking for a way back in and one of the best things about Pitt's cooler than cool depiction of Cliff is that he isn't afraid to show just how badly he's screwed things up for himself, or how little he seems to care. Cliff is who he is. So it's somewhat jarring to see him return home to a run down trailer on the outskirts of Hollywood and spend the night watching TV on the couch and preparing a meal for his beloved pit bull, Brandy. Tarantino spends a lot of time on this, as transfixed by this daily ritual as we are. It may be where Cliff's most comfortable, and watching him alone gives us what might be the largest possible window into his personality.

This guy shouldn't be likable with all the baggage he brings, but with Brad Pitt playing him, Cliff can't help but come off as the coolest guy in the room, no matter what he's doing. And a few sequences really push the boundaries on this, providing laughs while also hinting at the World War II vet's capacity for violence simmering just below the surface, ready to emerge when necessary. The most tension-filled comes when he drops hitchhiker Pussycat back home at the Spahn Ranch movie set, where he's primed for a confrontation with the Manson Family. And that doesn't seem to bother him one bit. He's there to see George Spahn (Bruce Dern, taking over for the late Burt Reynolds), the ranch's owner and former Bounty Law co-worker, whom he suspects the brainwashed hippies are taking advantage of. We're not sure what will happen, and the moments leading up to, in front of, and inside the old man's shack are excrutiatingly suspenseful as he comes face-to-face with a scary "Squeaky" Fromme (an unrecognizable Dakota Fanning) and the rest of the infamous Mansonites. Forget about our uncertainty of whether he'll make it out alive, we're not entirely sure they will.

Conspicuous by his absence is Manson himself, who other than a brief, fleeting appearance in the film reeanacting a moment often referenced but rarely seen, hovers around the periphery like a spectre. He's played by Damon Herriman, who pulled double duty as Manson on Netflix's Mindhunter, where he was brilliant. But that was actually about him. This isn't, and if that character showed up here he would take over the proceedings, and the film would be all about Charlie Manson and nothing else. And trading everything else we do get to again put the power back in his hands would only further encourage his celebrity idolization, even in death. It's odd that for all the restraint we've seen in film and TV in terms of showing the actual killings, the myth of Manson (as well as the pull he had over his followers) still seems strangely overexposed and disgustingly glorified. Tarantino shows great instincts in attempting to correct that here, hardly giving him the time of day. And in this particular instance, it's completely called for, as he tightly clings to his vision of the story.

Bruce Lee's inclusion in this said "vision" has drawn controversy, as he's shown in a capacity that's very far removed from the reverential treatment everyone expected. If ever there seemed to be a safe bet for a heroic portrayal, it was him, as Tarantino's worship of the legendary martial artist and Green Hornet star is widely known. While expertly played by Mike Moh in capturing the late actors voice, body language and mannerisms, Tarantino turns his attitude up to eleven, offering an unflattering depiction that would sooner compete with Mohammad Ali in terms of arrogance and bravado than in an actual fight. Yes, it's bad, but the point most seem to be missing is that it's heavily implied to have only happened in Cliff's mind. And as much as we like the guy, he's a blowhard, and the very definition of an unreliable narrator, especially when it comes to details of his own life, which he isn't quick to dwell on. Why Tarantino chose to commit this image of Lee to film, even within a glorified fantasy sequence, we may never know, but the end result says more about the character of Cliff and his troubles than the already secured legacy of a pop culture hero.

For a truly bad cameo, witness Damien Lewis' brief, altogether pointless appearance as Steve McQueen, exposition machine, as "The King of Cool" gets reimagined as the tinsletown gossip, relaying the sordid details of the Polanski-Tate-Sebring triangle at the Playboy Mansion. Poorly conceived as the scene is, it's also a rough few minutes for Lewis, who seems all wrong for the role in every possible way. It's kind of shocking that Tarantino didn't cast Andre Brooks, who inhabited the icon inside and out in last year's underrated indie, Chasing Bullitt. Of all the things we thought we'd witness in this film, among the last had to be McQueen sulking about striking out with women.

Sharon Tate's legacy has been as a murder victim, her name synonamous with Manson's and the horror that unfolded on Cielo Drive. If we got even the tiniest glimpse of who she was as a person outside of that, it would more than what's been forced on us for the past fifty years. Despite somewhat ridiculous complaints that she isn't given enough dialogue, Margot Robbie and Tarantino's script spend the running length chipping away at the victim narrative that at this point has already been ingrained into our culture. That they succeed in getting us to think about her existing in any other way before that night in August is an accomplishment in itself, but that she provides such a stark contrast to the Old Hollywood of Rick and Cliff is what makes the character so intriguing. If there's a true hippie in the movie, it's her. Unlike them, she hasn't been around long enough to become jaded or cynical but, like Trudi on Lancer, she represents a changing of the guard, with a new kind of star is coming in to shake things up and eventually push the older generation aside.

Tate doesn't have much dialogue mainly because it just isn't necessary. Tarantino opts instead to show us who she is through her actions, whether she's befriending a hitchhiker while driving to Westwood Village as Buffy Sainte-Marie's "The Circle Game" plays over the soundtrack, or kicking her feet up in a theater to watch herself in The Wrecking Crew after sheepishly explaining to the staff who she is. In less capable hands, that latter scene could have gone wrong in so many ways, making Tate look like a vain, self-absorbed airhead. But Robbie plays it with total sincerity and wide-eyed amazement, leaving little doubt she's appreciative of the good fortune that's come her way, and basking in a moment she respects as being larger than most could hope to earn or deserve.

We can read all of this on Robbie's face by just watching her watch herself on screen. Only it isn't Robbie on screen playing the actress but, in a touching moment, actual footage of the real Tate in the movie, where she's really quite good. Anyone going into this thinking the actress or person may be shortchanged are in for the exact opposite, as Tarantino wisely doesn't put words in her mouth to explain who she is, letting Robbie fill in all the blanks and breathe life into someone only ever known for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. So even as the murder still hover uncomfortably over all these scenes, Tarantino is careful enough to know it, and insure it doesn't define her.

Much has been made about the dream team of DiCaprio and Pitt, and while their first on screen pairing exceeds every possible expectation, the biggest surprise is in how. Most of their scenes together could easily double for the kind of great comic interplay Crowe and Gosling shared in The Nice Guys, but Tarantino goes even further, having them tap into their characters' insecurities as aging, not entirely likable movie stars that couldn't be further removed from the images of the two big name actors playing them. And even as good as they are together, moist of their best work comes separately in those two huge aforementioned set pieces where each is given the space to really display what makes their characters tick.

It's easy to forget there's voice-over narration in the film (provided by Kurt Russell, who also appears briefly as a stunt coordinator), mainly because it's barely present early before returning in the third act. When it returns and why is important, preparing us for what we fully expect will be the absolute worst. Reaching a title card that reads "SIX MONTHS LATER," induces the sinking feeling that, yes, Tarantino's really doing this, and all the fun and games people rightly or wrongly perceived the 60's were are coming to an end. We know Tex Watson (Austin Butler), Susan Atkins (Mikey Madison), Linda Kasabian (Maya Hawke) and Patricia Krenwinkel's (Madison Beaty) arrival on Cielo Drive will be brutal in some form or another, regardless of the outcome. This is Tarantino after all. And it's a good bet Dalton and Booth will somehow find themselves in the middle of it.

It's easy to start thinking that maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. Manson's victims were murdered once the night of the crime, another when their personal lives were dragged through the media during the trial, and now a third time for a big screen dramatization?  But we also realize the possibility that Tarantino could have something else up his sleeve, perhaps planning to play historical disturber and rewrite history as he did in the interchangeable Inglourious Basterds and Django Unchained. Deciding on what happens couldn't have been an easy decision, but does he ever commit to it once it's made. And in doing so adjusts our perceptions of how this period and its coinciding events have framed in our culture, both for better and worse. But there's even more going on here than that, all of which becomes clear in a tremendous final scene that in hindsight seems completely right, landing us exactly where it feels like we've been heading all long. It's suprisingly perfect, as if the literal culmination of its fairy tale title, providing the lost chapter we didn't know we needed until now.

Danny Collins

Director: Dan Fogelman
Starring: Al Pacino, Annette Bening, Jennifer Garner, Bobby Cannavale, Christopher Plummer, Katarina Čas, Giselle Eisenberg, Melissa Benoist, Josh Peck, Eric Michael Roy, Nick Offerman
Running Time: 106 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

About a decade ago, Neil Diamond released a Rick Rubin-produced album that was complete departure from anything he'd previously done, trading his usual, over-the-top bombast for an acoustic guitar and stripped down sound. The result was his biggest commercial and critical hit in years. I couldn't help but think of it while watching the immensely enjoyable Danny Collins, wondering if Diamond had a crisis similar to the title character to cause that change in course. Probably not, even if the aging rocker Al Pacino plays seems much closer in style to Diamond than the actual inspiration, folk singer Steve Tilston.

Just as his music was taking off in 1971, Tilston was written a letter of encouragement from John Lennon and Yoko Ono that he didn't receive until 34 years later, sparking a dramatic change in his life. As a concept, it's an ingenious starting point, made all the more satisfying screenwriter Dan Fogelman's (making his directorial debut) immediate acknowledgment that he'll be taking liberties with it. And they're mostly clever ones. But what's more amazing might be his ability to secure the rights to Lennon's music for the film, as some of his biggest solo hits punctuate key scenes. While I'm not sure it dramatically increases the overall experience and he goes a bit overboard with it, if ever a screenplay screamed out for Lennon's songs, it's this one.    

While Pacino's clearly channeling Diamond, he's also channeling Pacino, as it's impossible not to consider the actor's legendary career while watching and rooting for this character. It's not only a reminder of how long he's been at this, but perhaps some of the choices he's made along the way. Some good, others less so. This is one of those better choices and, as usual, he looks like he's having the time of his life.

Pacino plays Danny Collins, a show-stopping rocker whose fan base now primarily consists of older women singing along with his early 1970's pop hit, "Hey, Baby Doll." Filling up arenas by coasting on the success of that "Sweet Caroline"-like smash, he hasn't written any new material in 30 years and refuses to give up his costly, hard partying rock star lifestyle, which includes a girlfriend (Katarina Čas) half his age. But when his best friend and manager, Frank (Christopher Plummer) gives him a framed, 40-year-old undelivered letter written to him by John Lennon as a birthday gift, he's forced to reexamine his choices and consider how differently his life could have turned out had he gotten it.

Danny's suddenly determined to locate his estranged son, Tom (Bobby Cannavale), who's built a normal life with wife Samantha (Jennifer Garner) and daughter, Hope (Giselle Eisenberg) that emphatically excludes the celebrity father who abandoned him. But an indefinite stay at the local Hilton turns his attention to the hotel's no nonsense manager, Mary (Annette Bening), who he keeps trying to hit on. She keeps his ego in check as he reluctantly begins to write new material and attempts to find redemption with his family.

From the opening flashback scene, it's obvious this is going to be a good time. It shows a twenty-something Danny (Eric Michael Roy, a dead ringer for young Pacino) being interviewed by a music journalist (an unrecognizable Nick Offerman doing his best Lester Bangs) looking like a deer caught in headlights of fame. Scared to death by celebrity harming the artistic purity of his work, a letter from his idol could have provided him with some guidance and encouragement at just the right time. Instead, he became this larger than life showman, who never stopped to consider himself a sell-out until reading Lennon's letter delivers an unexpected jolt.

Danny's far from a failure, but it wouldn't be a stretch to call him somewhat a joke. At this point, he's famous for just being famous, having contributed nothing meaningful in years, yet still riding high with an enjoyable but tired act. Without naming names, we see it all the time, so it's easy to understand why he'd be afraid to step out of his comfort zone to try something artistically different. And it helps that Pacino plays him as this charming, wonderful, one-of-kind guy who just storms into this hotel like a force of nature and wins over everyone in sight, complimenting the staff and even trying to set the desk clerk (Whiplash's Melissa Benoist) up with the parking valet (Josh Peck). Only the seemingly humorless manager, Mary, remains unimpressed, which of course makes her his ideal equal.

Danny even eventually wears Mary down in the film's most successful sequence, with Pacino and Bening at their respective bests playing off each other in a hotel bar as their characters discover they have much more in common than they thought. They share such a natural chemistry (or "patter" as Danny calls it) that would feel entirely contrived with two other actors in the roles. Here, you're just lost in two real people just enjoying each others company. Their interplay is so seamless it's often tough to tell where Al and Annette end and Danny and Mary begin.

A development occurs almost midway through that's best not to talk about other than saying it comes out of the "Screenwriting 101" handbook and would likely get you kicked out of class. It's a credit to Fogelman's expertise, Pacino's convincing work and Bobby Cannavale's realistic, matter-of-fact performance as a working class father justifiably offended by Danny's arrival, that they pull it off. And as questionable as it looks on paper, that I'd have problems coming up with any reasonable alternatives must speak to its success on some level. Without it, we also wouldn't have gotten the unusually observant final scene, which puts a nice bow on the story while not depriving us of the (admittedly remote) possibility that maybe things don't work out.

In hindsight, the direction this goes does kind of make sense in that his son Tom's problems (more severe than expected) would get in the way of Danny's "happy ending" and redemption. After all, as likable a guy as he is, he's also an egomaniac who thinks the world revolves around him. Pacino plays these two sides of him so well that it's a blast seeing him bounce off everyone else.

Aside from Bening, who invests Mary with more depth than anticipated, Christopher Plummer smoothly and sarcastically conveys the experience of a music industry vet who simply tells it like it is. Jennifer Garner also gets some solid scenes opposite Pacino as the spouse more receptive to having Danny in their lives, despite the emotional risks to her husband and daughter. And as Hope, Giselle Eisenberg (no relation) accomplishes the rare child actor feat of being the precocious center of attention without becoming overbearing.

There's an alternate moviegoing universe in which Danny Collins tops the box office and becomes a giant hit for Pacino, possibly even earning him a nomination. That universe is the 1990's, when crowd-pleasing, star-driven adult dramas were still filling multiplexes. Consider the fact that this was released at all, and turned out this well, a victory in itself. And those justifiably lamenting that studios aren't making intelligent mainstream movies about older people anymore will find a lot to appreciate here. It's formulaic in every sense, but proof that in the right hands, the formula still works.

Jack and Jill

Director: Dennis Dugan 
Starring: Adam Sandler, Katie Holmes, Al Pacino, Eugenio Derbez, Tim Meadows, Nick Swardson
Running Time: 91 min.
Rating: PG

★★ (out of ★★★★)

It's usually bad practice to go into a movie with your fingers crossed that it won't be as bad as everyone's saying. But when that movie's the Razzie-nominated Jack and Jill I can be forgiven. And that's coming from someone who really likes Adam Sandler. So much that at the risk of losing whatever credibility I'd built up as a critic I actually recommended the likes of You Don't Mess With Zohan, Grown Ups and, more recently, Just Go With It.  If you stopped reading now I wouldn't blame you, but those films, despite signaling a disappointing direction for his career, were mildly enjoyable, if not anywhere near the disasters most critics made them out to be. This is another story. While Jack and Jill's still maybe not quite as bad as you've heard (though it's really close), it represents a new low for frequent Sandler collaborator and Happy Gilmore director Dennis Dugan. But what's more alarming is that for the first time Dugan doesn't even seem to be trying and I've actually liked most of his stuff. Everyone's going through the motions of a one-joke premise, even as I continue holding out hope Sandler's career choices are some kind of elaborate social experiment or practical joke on the ticket-buying public. But I'm probably being too optimistic.

What we have is the shell of Sandler comedy hiding behind the thin conceit of ( and it hurts to say this) an Eddie Murphy movie. This time he's Jack Sadelstein, an advertising exec who lives in L.A. with his beautiful wife, Erin (Katie Holmes) and two kids Sofie (Elodie Tougne) and Gary (Rohan Chand). Jumping right into things with practically no set-up and seconds after a somewhat inspired opening credit sequence, Jack's needy and annoying twin sister Jill (also Sandler) arrives from New York to spend Thanksgiving with them. Needless to say she's a nightmare and initially a major distraction for Jack in attempting to land Al Pacino (Al Pacino) for a big Dunkin' Donuts commercial spot. At a Lakers game (featuring an unfunny cameo from Johnny Depp who seems weirder as "himself" than any eccentric character he's played), Pacino develops a crush on Jill. Seizing the opportunity, Jack realizes this infatuation may not be such a bad thing, but most choose between his career and the feelings of his boisterous, insecure twin with whom he shares an uneasy love/hate bond. 

With this outing Sandler has now finally released a full-blown, feature-length version of one of those fake bad comedies his character from Funny People starred in with the only difference being he doesn't seem in on the joke this time. It does have its moments, like a couple of great lines delivered from Jack's adopted Indian son and a funny running gag about how Jill can't remember famous movie titles. And even in dreck like this Sandler proves he's a substantial talent who deserves better and can deftly handle both roles, even impressively playing Jack pretending to be Jill in one sequence. The problem is everything else related to Jill, who's too annoying for anyone to root for, which makes Dugan's inexplicable attempt to deliver a warm-hearted family comedy seem that much more delusional. Obviously, she's supposed to be a pain but that doesn't make it any less brutal or repetitive for audiences who have to watch Sandler prove its capable to irritate audiences for 91 minutes, then backtrack and try apologizing. Equally uninspired are the myriad of celebrity cameos than have become a staple in all his films but this time seem more unnecessary than usual. In addition to the aforementioned Depp, are appearances from Christie Brinkley, Shaq, John McEnroe, Jared Fogle, Bruce Jenner, Dan Patrick, Billy Blanks, Dana Carvey, Rob Schneider, Norm MacDonald and Drew Carey. Stuff like this can work in small doses to create well-timed laughs (as they have in past Sandler vehicles) but when there's a cameo a minute just to show off, its novelty wears off fast.

One person who definitely isn't relegated to a cameo is Al Pacino, who's featured in so many scenes it's a wonder he didn't get top billing over Sandler. I'll give him this though: He doesn't phone it in. While Pacino's recent career slide is often compared to that of his contemporary Robert De Niro, at least Pacino has some degree of self-awareness and commits to making each new trainwreck he stars in more entertaining than it has any right to be. He's justifiably been singled out as the best thing in this and the actual Dunkin Donuts commercial is a hoot, but after a while even his presence starts to seem like too much of a good thing. Dugan beats a good joke into the ground, slathering crazy Pacino all over the film to the point of overload when it would have been more effective to just pick the right spots.

Most bothersome to me is the idea of Sandler and Katie Holmes co-starring in a film together and this being the result. As a huge longtime fan of both performers there's no advance buzz bad enough that could have dissuaded me from wanting to see them together as onscreen spouses (and I still say a great comedy or drama could come from the pairing). A welcome presence in any film, the lovely, talented Holmes isn't given a whole lot to do as Erin besides sweetly support and encourage Jill while her husband does the exact opposite. She's essentially playing the perfect wife which, come to think of it, is actually pretty good casting. Her petrified reactions to the insanity sometimes create (un)intentional laughs, like when she's attacked by an in drag David Spade. While I wish she had more to do it's likely no one will remember her or anyone besides Sandler and Pacino were in this, which might be a blessing since the former should deservedly take the blame for also producing it.
   
I'm not sure Sandler thinks there's a problem here or he if he even cares. He's clearly settled into an auto-pilot mode of making these bankable family-friendly comedies but the formula's become worn and predictable, with the poor box office returns for this indicating audiences may finally be catching on. If he isn't careful he'll soon head into that dreaded Eddie Murphy territory, which would be a shame considering the talent he's previously shown when his strengths are highlighted with the right material.  But what's become increasingly frustrating with these Sandler films is how much wussier each one gets. If he wants to make more family-oriented movies as he gets older that's understandable, but why can't they be smart? Or if he wants to continue cashing big paychecks for low brow comedies that's fine also. But at least extend us the courtesy of making them angry and R-rated, minus a sappy message the film doesn't earn. Either way, playing it safe just doesn't suit him.

Eagle Eye, Righteous Kill, Ghost Town

Eagle Eye (** out of ****)
(Director: D.J. Caruso, Starring: Shia LeBouf, Michelle Monaghan, Billy Bob Thornton, Rosario Dawson, Running Time: 118 min., Rating: PG-13)

Rather than actually review Eagle Eye I was contemplating instead sending out a distress signal hoping maybe someone could explain to me a single thing that happened in it. It’s a relentless assault on the senses, fusing the worst work of Michael Bay and Tony Scott, but boasting a script far stupider than either of those directors’ worst efforts. Sadly, that Steven Spielberg executive produced this mess doesn’t come as nearly as much of a surprise as it should after enduring Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I know it’s too late to strip him of his Oscar, but can we do something about that Cecil B. DeMille award he just won? If asked about the film, I can actually picture him rambling on about how it evokes memories of North by Northwest or The Manchurian Candidate. It doesn't. At all.

Jerry Shaw (Shia LeBouf) is an unmotivated Stanford dropout who unwittingly finds himself in the midst of a massive government conspiracy. He returns home to his apartment to find weapons and bomb making ingredients and is soon on the run as a wanted terrorist. He and single mother Rachel Holloman (Michelle Monaghan) are brought together and by a mysterious cell phone voice that somehow controls all forms of transportation and communication. They must complete a series of VERY complicated tasks if Jerry wants to live and Rachel wants to see her kidnapped son again. And not a lick of it makes any sense at all. I couldn’t explain to anyone anything that happened and if I were given a quiz (even multiple choice) on the film’s events I’d undoubtedly fail.

The nicest I can say for director D.J. Caruso (who directed LeBeouf in 2007’s Disturbia) is that he keeps things moving at such a breakneck pace that you have no time to think about how absurd and illogical the screenplay is (which is incidentally credited to about 50 writers). Shia runs fast and screams his head off. It isn’t much of performance. Monaghan is worst than that as her character may as well just be referred to as “SINGLE WHITE FEMALE” playing Rachel with a blandness that doesn’t even live up to that meager description, surprising since I usually like her.

There’s no chemistry at all between the two leads and I don’t even necessarily mean romantic chemistry (the movie is at least smart enough not to try that), but the chemistry that should exist between two characters thrown together in a perilous life or death situation. An attempt to give Jerry an emotionally compelling backstory involving his twin brother goes up in flames as does any attempt to humanize Monaghan’s single mother. Billy Bob Thornton and Rosario Dawson collect paychecks as government agents with the former playing the sarcastic, grumpy Bad Santa card yet again. The final minutes are especially preposterous and unbelievable even for a movie like this. Sure, Caruso’s Disturbia had some issues, but it could be considered a certifiable masterpiece next to this. Shia really needs to re-think his game plan moving forward because this won’t work long-term, despite what the box office receipts say now.

Righteous Kill (** out of ****)
(Director: Jon Avnet, Starring: Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino, Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson, Carla Gugino, Running Time: 101 min., Rating: R)

Here we go again. I’ve made it no secret that Jon “The Hack” Avnet is among my favorite bad filmmakers and found his 88 Minutes to be a fun, goofy guilty pleasure. While this film does feature shades of that endearing Avnet goofiness and probably would have been far worse with another director behind the lens and without the two legendary leads, it’s one of his limpest efforts. It actually accomplishes something I didn’t think was possible from an Avnet picture in that it’s kind of limp and dreary. Normally, he at least has more fun than this. Something tells me movie buffs salivating over the thought of DeNiro and Pacino re-teaming, a Direct-to-DVD rip-off of a gritty ‘70’s cop thriller that you’d catch on Cinemax at 1 a.m. wasn’t what they had in mind. And the thought of Pacino calling his pal in the middle of the night after wrapping 88 minutes and telling him he has to work with Avnet is too funny for words.

The ridiculously nicknamed “Turk” (DeNiro) and “Rooster” (Pacino) who have been partners and best friends for years, are now on the trail of a serial killer who preys upon criminals who have unfairly gotten off on technicalities. A videotaped confession that opens the film and reappears rather clumsily as a framing device throughout the film suggests that Turk is the murderer. Detectives Perez (John Leguizamo) and Riley (Donnie Wahlberg) start to put the pieces together while Carla Gugino gets in on the action as Turk’s girlfriend Karen, a police forensics expert who likes it rough. The “big twist” is telegraphed literally 5 minutes into the picture and when the reveal finally comes one character (or rather Russell Gewirtz’s pedestrian script) is overcome with the desire to spend the last 15 minutes of the film needlessly explaining it.

Both DeNiro and Pacino give serviceable (if unspectacular) performances under the most thankless of circumstances and it helps since those two at half-speed is still better than any other actors would have given in the roles. The film isn’t quite as awful as you’ve heard and falls on the higher end of 2 stars, although that’s coming from someone with an unusually high tolerance for Avnet’s junk. For these two icons it’s an embarrassment. DeNiro’s probably done with but I think Pacino still has one masterpiece left in him somewhere. But it isn’t Righteous Kill, which should be coming to a Wal-Mart bargain bin near you soon.

Ghost Town (*** out of ****)
(Director: David Koepp, Starring: Ricky Gervais, Greg Kinnear, Tea Leoni, Running Time: 102 min., Rating: PG-13)

Whenever a brain dead romantic comedy like Fool’s Gold finishes first at the box office we’re left scratching our heads asking, “Why?” So what a shame it is that finally a smart, enjoyable comedy geared to all ages and genders is released and no one goes to see it. While Ghost Town doesn’t re-invent the wheel it’s a textbook example of how to execute a romantic comedy well and a reminder of how enjoyable this genre can be when the right script, sure-footed direction and likable lead performances converge. It’s a surprise (no scratch that, a flat-out shock) that it was directed and co-written by Spielberg’s got-to scribe David Koepp who cruelly inflicted the aforementioned Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull on us. But the real story here is the charming performance of Ricky Gervais. If you’ve enjoyed his antics on awards shows recently, know that it was just scratching the surface. This guy needs to star in more movies immediately.

Cranky, anti-social dentist Betram Pincus (Gervais) awakens from his routine colonoscopy to discover that he died for approximately seven minutes before being miraculously revived. This near-death experience has given him the ability to see dead people, really annoying dead people who have unfinished business. Chief among them is Frank Herlihy (Greg Kinnear) who wants him to break up the impending marriage of his widow, Gwen (Tea Leoni) to smug do-gooder Richard (Billy Campbell). The humorless Richard may or may not be a complete jerk but Frank certainly was one when he was alive having cheated on her. Pincus is no better (if not worse), but the plan is for him to charm her just enough so she has doubts and calls off the engagement. It’s a tall order, especially when he’s stealing her cab or letting elevator doors slam in her face. Of course she eventually warms up to him and they start to fall for each other.

Gervais has to sell a difficult transformation here, going from pretty much the most unlikable person you’d meet to someone who slowly breaks his walls down, allowing love into his life. He pulls it off perfectly and manages to be equally funny doing both, impressively juggling the off-color and warmhearted humor. It’s a rare event when Leoni even co-stars in a film but a very welcome one because she always raises the level of any material she’s handed and projects a natural, down-to-Earth quality most actresses have to work hard at projecting. I wish she’d work more because few actresses play this type of part better. All three stars have great chemistry, which helps carry the admittedly run-of-the-mill premise to a satisfying and smart finish with ease.

The movie plays as kind of a cross between Roxanne and The Sixth Sense with a dash of Heart and Souls thrown in as Pincus tries to win over Gwen with Frank’s help and the sub-plots involving the ghosts pestering him is wisely underplayed, only showing up at the right moments and actually handled poignantly at the end. In fact, it's surprising how restrained the finale is considering the circumstances. It didn’t end how I thought it would, which is a good thing considering the paint-by-the-numbers screenplays lazily churned out by studios these days. Ghost Town is definitely "mainstream fluff" but this time I actually mean that as a compliment. It’s fluff done well and it’s difficult to think of any reasons why someone wouldn’t enjoy this.

88 Minutes

Director: Jon Avnet
Starring: Al Pacino, Benjamin McKenzie, Alicia Witt, Leelee Sobieski, Deborah Kara Unger, Amy Brenneman, Neal McDonough
Running Time: 110 min.
Rating: R

*** (out of ****)

Agent: Al, I’ve got this part you’ve gotta to take.

Pacino: I’m listening.

Agent: It’s a real-time thriller called 88 Minutes. You play a forensic psychologist with only 88 minutes to live.

Pacino: So the film’s 88 minutes?

Agent: No, actually it’s 110.

Pacino: Who’s in it?

Agent: So far, just that kid from The O.C.

Pacino: I loved that show!

Agent: They promised me your hair will look great. Plus, it’s full of hot, young women lusting after your character.

Pacino: HOO-HA! Who’s the director?

Agent: Jon Avnet.

Pacino: Doesn’t ring a bell.

Agent: You know, the guy who directed Up Close and Personal.

Pacino: I’m in.

According to Rotten Tomatoes, 6% of critics in the nation gave the thriller 88 Minutes a positive review. So I guess now is the time for me to extend my heartfelt condolences to the 94% who were unable to share in the joyous, gut-busting experience I had watching this film. But most of all I'm sad that they can't partake in my 88 Minutes drinking game in which I take a shot whenever Dr. Jack Gramm’s cell phone rings, each scene in which his hair doesn’t move, his students leer at him creepily, or when he dances to 50 Cent in clubs with women young enough to be his granddaughter. Everyone warned me in advance that I‘d hate this film but when I saw the director attached was Jon Avnet I just couldn’t resist. Even if it's bad at least I know he won't phone it in.

You see, unlike other Hollywood hacks like Gregory Hoblit who play it straight and torture the audience, Avnet possesses something rare among pedestrian filmmakers these days: a genuine sense of fun. Fully aware of the possibility the film could be awful I was hoping the man behind the funniest drama I’ve ever seen, Up Close and Personal, was capable of making a thriller so bad that it’s great. He did, but Avnet also goes a step further and reaches levels of unintentional hilarity I thought would be unattainable even for him. I could lie to you, go along with the consensus and bash the film, but in doing that I’d deny that I loved watching it and was on the edge of my seat. Its many problems actually work in its favor and the movie would be far worse off without them. They help create an endlessly entertaining and often times hilarious thrill ride that in the hands of another director would have been a bore.

I’d accept any argument against the film except one stating that those involved in the making of it in any way sleepwalked their way through, especially Pacino. If anything, almost TOO MUCH EFFORT was poured into this in an admirable attempt to make an over-the-top crowd pleaser. If only every thriller could have that problem. It takes talent to make a great bad movie and it’s a skill Avnet seems to have mastered. This could be considered the Up Close and Personal of mystery/suspense thrillers You can actually tell the same filmmaker made both, which is kind of frightening. But, hey, if critics can recommend something like last years silly legal thriller Fracture, then I can recommend this with a relatively clear conscience.

In 1997 the expert testimony of world-renowned F.B.I. forensic psychologist and college professor Dr. Jack Gramm (Pacino) helped put away madman Jack Forster (Neil "Direct-To-DVD" McDonough) for the brutal, Hostel-style murder of a young woman. 8 years later, just as Forster’s scheduled execution by lethal injection is on the horizon, a string of copycat murders are starting up that call his conviction and Gramm’s controversial testimony into question. Is Forster actually innocent or just staging an elaborate plot from behind bars? After one of party animal Gramm’s one night stands turns up dead and evidence points to him as a suspect, he receives a phone call from an ominous voice informing him he has only 88 minutes to live. “TICK TOCK TICK TOCK.”
Gramm discovers this information while giving one of the most ineffective college lectures in university history in which he’s interrupted with about 75,000 cell phone calls within a two-minute period while sprinting up and down the stairs looking for suspects… in his own class! And there are plenty of them. Like his T.A. (which could stand for something other than “Teaching Assistant”) Kim (Alicia Witt) who not so secretly harbors a schoolgirl crush on him, his star student Lauren (welcome back Leelee Sobieski) and the annoying Mike (Benjamin McKenzie) who’s obsessed with the Forster case and spends most of his time making outlandish, groundless allegations. He also looks an awful lot like Ryan Atwood from The O.C. But the pool of suspects isn’t just limited to Gramm’s students. There’s also the mousy university Dean (Deborah Kara Unger, hilariously cast against type) who can’t stand him and his loyal assistant, Shelly (Amy Brenneman), the only woman in the film he can't sleep with because she’s a lesbian. She’s probably a little too old for his taste anyway.

It’s a cliché to say that in a thriller like this everyone is a suspect but here EVERYONE actually is a suspect (including completely random people) as Gramm struggles to uncover the culprit in mad race to beat the clock and uncover the truth. There are so many twists and turns I have to wonder how anyone could possibly say the script was lazy. Ridiculous yes, but definitely not lazy. Given the amount of intricate detail and exposition it must have taken screenwriter Gary Scott Thompson anywhere from 25-30 years to construct it. Actually, that this only has one credited screenwriter is a shock in itself.

Ads (and the film’s title) misrepresented this as a real-time thriller similar to the 1995 Johnny Depp vehicle Nick of Time but Avnet made a wise move not going that route because there’s just too much narrative to fit in 88 minutes. It made sense to put in a prologue because many of those early details play an important role later in the film, rewarding viewers who pay attention. If the film has one major flaw it’s that we’re so distracted by the bizarre goings on and Gramm’s creepy interactions with his students that it’s almost easy to forget that minutes are ticking away on his life.

While the “real time” aspect isn’t exactly exploited as well as it could be and some dramatic tension is lost, Avnet more than makes up for it with barrels of high-octane fun. And I have to be honest and say that for the first time in a while watching a thriller I had literally no idea who the killer would be right up until the climactic scene. And what a hilariously entertaining reveal it is. Avnet is smart enough to let this person really ham it up in the closing minutes. No one could watch the excitingly staged final scene and tell me Avnet and his actors didn’t go all out and give it everything they had. I was howling with laughter. It’s great to see people involved in making a movie actually know what kind of a movie they’re making for a change.

The entire supporting cast is fine, with a few even impressing. Alicia Witt proves she’s good enough to hang with Pacino delivering a lot of the script’s expository dialogue and tagging along with him for most of the film’s running length. She’s up for it, creating a sympathetic, but mysterious character. Another actress from the “Where Are They Now” file, Leelee Sobieski, delivers strong work as well in a smaller role. One of the funniest stories to come out of filming was Sobieski admitting to have developed such a huge crush on Pacino that she found it difficult to show up on set. It's important to keep this in mind in case you happen to flip on the news and see authorities dragging me from Sobieski’s property in a black wig and a glued on goatee.

Sorry, but I must have seen a different performance than everyone else because I thought Pacino was just terrific in this. While do I consider Pacino to be among our best actors I don’t have nearly the same reverence for him everyone else does and could easily name 10-20 actors whose work I enjoy more. Maybe that’s why I’m not so offended and can just laugh it off when he takes a part like this. I have a theory that the true test of how great an actor is comes when they’re handed material far below them. I can’t say Pacino elevates this silly material to high art but no one else could have played this role as well or made it as interesting as he does. And regardless of what anyone says, it looks like he’s having a blast doing it.

No, this isn’t Serpico or Dog Day Afternoon but it’s still an important entry on Pacino’s résumé because it proves that he can rise to occasion even when handed trash. If anything this actually increases my appreciation for him as an actor because I had no idea he was capable of slumming it like this. And let’s be honest, Pacino has earned the right to do this film. At this point in his career, he probably realizes the window of opportunity to take fun roles like this may be closing so he’s taking advantage of it. Good for him. Despite my jokes about his age I don’t think he seems too old for the part and it’s great to see an actor of his caliber having this much fun.

Avnet gets something out of Pacino in this that's similar to what he got out of Robert Redford in Up Close and Personal. Avnet is a filmmaker who specializes in making glossy, mainstream pictures meant to get movie star performances out of big movie stars. There’s no shame in that. Someone has to do it, and few accomplish it with as much panache as he does. It’s a gift. If Pacino wants another Oscar, he could always appear in a Scorsese film but to have a good time in an entertaining genre flick he picked the right guy.
The only way I know how to defend this picture is not on the basis of quality, but on the grounds that it’s an absolute hoot and I would recommend everyone see it, if only just to say they saw it. It’s completely cheeseball and kind of reminds me of those suspense thrillers from the mid-90’s like Copycat, except with the goofiness factor ratcheted up a few notches. It scares me to think what Avnet could do with BOTH Pacino and Robert DeNiro in the recently released A Righteous Kill, a movie I previously had zero interest in seeing. My stance on that has changed a little now. You can tell me all day how bad this movie is. “And your point is?” would be my response. I’m always in need of some laughs and with 88 Minutes Jon Avnet tops himself again, proving that it’s still possible to make a dumb but enjoyable thriller.

Ocean's Thirteen

Director: Steven Soderburgh
Starring: George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Al Pacino, Ellen Barkin, Elliot Gould, Don Cheadle, Bernie Mac, Casey Affleck
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: PG-13

**1/2 (out of ****)

If there's a common thread that links the Ocean's films it's that they all feel like they were more fun to make than watch. That's not to say they're not fun to watch because they are and Ocean's Thirteen, which is a marked improvement over the first sequel, is no exception. Still, I bet they had more fun making it. I just read a book, Rebels on the Backlot, that chronicles how six "maverick" directors stormed Hollywood and changed the face of the film industry. Those directors are Quentin Tarantino, David Fincher, Paul Thomas Anderson, David O. Russell, Spike Jonze…and Steven Soderbergh. When I finished it I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that one of those names just didn't fit. I'll let you take a wild guess which one.

In recent years it seems no director has been less of a rebel or has gone more "Hollywood" than Soderbergh, foregoing his earlier risk taking projects to make movies like this. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that but there comes a point where enough is enough. I think we've reached that point with Soderbergh and while this Ocean's franchise may have been mildly enjoyable an overall aura surrounds them that Soderbergh has been wasting his considerable talent and should move on to something more ambitious. Not necessarily over-ambitious (like Traffic), but something with more substance.

Ocean's Thirteen is an enjoyable and entertaining flick that carries with it a "been there, done that" vibe it can't seem shake no matter how fun it is at times so I can't fully get behind it and give it a strong recommendation. Fans of the series will enjoy it though and for everybody else there is at least a bravura supporting performance from one of our greatest actors to keep you engaged.

The gang is all back again and the list of names is simply too long to get into, but as usual the major players are Danny Ocean (George Clooney), Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt), and Linus Caldwell (Matt Damon). Part of me was hoping they'd just skip the formalities this time and call them George, Brad and Matt. It really doesn't make much of a difference. This time they're out to destroy the obnoxious and arrogant Willie Bank (Al Pacino) who screwed Reuben Tishkoff (Elliot Gould) out of a partnership in his new Vegas casino, "The Bank," the stress of which sent him to the hospital with a heart attack.

The plan is for the group to $250 million dollars in diamonds, which is more difficult than ever considering Bank's casino has the most state of the art security system in history. It'll take time and money. They seem to have the former, but for the latter they go visit their old nemesis casino kingpin Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia), who has an ax to grind with Bank, but could also have some devious tricks up his sleeve.

After re-introducing the characters and introducing us to Bank the rest of the film, just like the rest, is spent exploring every single detail of the complicated heist. And also, like the previous two films, despite it being laughably implausible, it's undeniably fascinating to watch. For anyone who's ever been to Vegas or is intimately familiar with gambling it'll be even more fun. The movie is a procedural through and through, but the material is lifted to a slightly higher level because the actors look like they're having fun with the breezy, witty dialogue and Soderburgh has a great eye for visuals.

It does help when you have a great director behind the camera of a creatively modest picture like this one. If you didn't already want to go to Vegas (and who doesn't?), by the time this film's over you'll have probably booked yourself a flight. Upping the energy quotient is Pacino, who chews and spits out scenery as this prickly egomaniac. Without his commanding and oversized presence in that role we probably wouldn't care one way or another if the guys pulled this off and this popcorn movie would be even fluffier than it already is. As per the norm with the Ocean's movies, it ends exactly how you'd expect: With a whimper, not a bang.

The movie does have two sub-plots that were hilarious. One involves David Paymer as the V.U.P. staying at Bank's hotel, while the other follows Damon's character's attempts to seduce and manipulate Bank's assistant (played by Ellen Barkin) while donning a prosthetic nose. Outside of Barkin this is the first of the three films that doesn't seem to have much of a female presence at all as Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones decided to sit this final round out. I can't say I blame them. It would just be a paycheck role with no sustaining value to their career.

As funny as the interplay between Damon and Barkin is it's clear Barkin isn't given anything that resembles a character and was just thrown in so everyone can compliment her on what a "cougar" she is and how she looks so great for her age. Hollywood loves a comeback so Soderburgh probably made it a special point to cast her. After all, what are any of these Ocean's films except the self-congratulatory spectacle of Hollywood translated to the silver screen? If we walked around the soundstage with a camcorder we probably wouldn't see anything that isn't already onscreen and anyone who enjoys watching Clooney and Pitt (who's given ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do here) massage one another's egos for two hours will probably enjoy in this. Even if you don't you'll still probably find something else to enjoy because, admittedly, the whole thing is fluffy, but kind of fun.

There's a real old-fashioned "Rat Pack" feel to the picture that starts with the retro opening credit sequence and continues right until the finale. As I watched this I couldn't help but picture someone sitting next to me on the couch. He'd be about 70 years-old, in a suit, wearing a bowler hat and chomping on a cigar. When the film ends he turns to me and says, "That was SNAZZY!" That's what we're dealing with here. If you're into that kind of thing you'll have a great time. If you're like me and never really understood the appeal of these films you'll still be serviceably entertained. Anyone who skips this though isn't missing anything. It's the same as the rest, give or take a few plot points.

Soderburgh's had his fun and I do think it's kind of cool and endearing that a maverick indie director wanted to dabble in the mainstream Now it's time to move on and start making real movies again. I wouldn't include Out of Sight, The Limey or Solaris on any list of my favorite films but I at least respected the ambition and creative vision behind them. Ocean's Thirteen is fun, but ultimately very empty. If you've seen one, you've seen them all.