Coming to Terms with Ocean's 11 / Eleven

One of my family traditions growing up was to watch the 1960 version of Ocean's 11 (more or less) every New Year's Eve, a not uncommon tradition, since it airs around that time on TCM most years as well. Having seen it so many times, the eleven-twelve-thirteen year-old me loved Ocean's 11, I knew many parts of it by heart (including the various musical interludes), I loved pointing out the cameos (even if I hadn't really seen any other movies with those stars in them), I even had a cheap cardboard poster (purchased from, where else, Target) of the pool playing Rat Pack hanging in my basement hangout room. What's more, I thought that Ocean's 11 was a great movie, not just one I liked, but a great movie. Of course, Ocean's 11 isn't a great movie, it's not even a good one, though it is an enjoyable one. (Another of our other traditional New Year's watches, North by Northwest, has dated much better in this regard, since it really is a great movie). However, good luck telling Young Me this, who would probably have ranked it in my top five favorite movies.

Forever and always, a kick in the head.

Sufficed to say, in 2001, when the remake, Ocean's Eleven, was released I, your typical snobby young man who thought they knew everything, dismissed as just another example of how Hollywood had run out of ideas and could only make poor imitations of lesser movies! So I never saw it, never even thought about seeing it, assured in the rightness of my opinion on the movie. (While this type of thinking is understandable in a young man, barely a teenager, it's something many adults do in much more extreme ways, judging, dismissing, and condemning media without ever seeing / reading / listening to it. *cough* burning Harry Potter books *cough* Mignonnes *cough*.) That Ocean's Eleven was soon followed by that nadir of Hollywood, the sequel, only confirmed my thoughts on the matter. Of course, I had no idea who Steven Soderbergh was and it wouldn't have meant much to me if I had.

Well, as the years passed I learned a heck of a lot more about movies, I read countless books, watched many thousands movies, wrote dozens of blog post about movies, I even wrote books about them myself! Over this time, it became clear to me the original Ocean's 11 was not the masterpiece I thought it was, it was actually bad. I read about the careers of the people involved in the movie, saw many of their other (better movies), I realized that Dean Martin and Angie Dickinson had appeared together already, in the classic Rio Bravo; and Martin, Sinatra, and Shirley MacLaine in the great Some Came Running. I got to know the non-Rat Pack 11, like Richard Conte, the star of so many great film noir, or Richard Benedict, so memorably trapped in a cave in Ace in the Hole. I saw Shirley MacLaine light up the screen in The Apartment and Sweet Charity, I learned to despise Red Skelton, and I marveled at young, attractive Cesar Romero being tortured by Marlene Dietrich in one of my favorite movies, The Devil is a Woman. The behind the camera talent was the strangest revelation of all: I realized that co-writer Charles Lederer was one of the most important and talented screenwriters of Hollywood's golden age and that cinematographer William Daniels had been Garbo's favorite cameraman and had shot Foolish Wives and Greed for von Stroheim in the early twenties; I saw the many supremely stylish movies directed by Lewis Milestone in the 1930s and 40s, including one starring Akim Tamiroff almost a quarter century before Ocean's 11. Put this dream team together and I thought, what the heck happened? In other words I gained an unholy amount context and perspective on this movie that had been such an important part of my youth. 

Stars and cameos

The funny thing is, what I loved about Ocean's 11 as a kid are still what make it fun to watch today: a bunch of stars being stars, painful attempts at seriousness constantly undercut by actors who just want to hang out, dumb cameo appearances, oh so au courant 1960 pop music (lots of vibraphone for you), kitschy cotton-candy color designs, neon lights, and an image of warm and sunny Las Vegas that had great appeal to an adolescent living through yet another snow filled winter in Virginia, a young man who'd never been further west towards that sunshine than Tennessee. (For this reason, I always enjoyed watching the Rose Parade and Rose Bowl. Now I live in Southern California and beg the weather gods daily for a cloud, just one.) I know it's a bad movie, but I still like it because you watch Ocean's 11 to laugh along with it 65% of the time and laugh at it the other 35%, to hang out with a bunch of charming, likable actors and see some early-sixties eye candy. Movies can do an awful lot and being dumb fun is far from the worst of those things. (A latter Rat Pack film, Robin and the 7 Hoods is even dumber and more fun. 4 for Texas is too just dumb.)

Sometimes you just want to look a garish colors on a screen.

Even after coming to terms with the truth about Ocean's 11, so much time had passed since the remakes had released and so many other movies had loaded up on my docket that I never got around to watching them. This, even as a fan of Steven Soderbergh's myriad of talents, from the complex grittiness of Traffic to joyous fun of Logan Lucky and much of what was in-between. Well, with all three of Soderbergh's Ocean's movies on Netflix and diversions from the blasted hell-scape of 2020 always welcome, the time finally came for Older, Wiser Me to confront Young Me. Knowing Soderbergh, I was expecting a movie that was well-made and even if the parts didn't click for me, it would never be dumb or uninteresting. 

Much to my pleasure, Ocean's Eleven captures much of what is enjoyable about the original: the feeling of putting together a heist, having the carpet pulled out from under you, then landing on your feet. The light, color, and sick vibrancy of Las Vegas and pitch-perfect heist music by David Holmes that is to 2001 what the original's score was to 1960. It even nails the original's funny, self-effacing cameos! Most importantly, Ocean's Eleven gives you the feeling of hanging out with a bunch of stars, or really star personas, slyly making fun of themselves. Everything with a wink to the audience. Of course, the real advantage that the remake has is that it's all the good parts of original but far more competent and at times, brilliantly put together. It's the original, souped-up to the Twenty-First century and, crucially, not directed by an over-the-hill old timer (sorry Lewis). The direction, editing, and pacing pack more excitement into a few scenes than the original had in its entirety.

Ocean's Eleven may have been enjoyable, but Ocean's Twelve was the revelation. It takes everything from the first film and refines it: it's funnier, cleverer, and more intricate, Holmes' music is better, it's more self-aware and referential (to almost ridicules extremes), and Soderbergh completely changes his filmmaking style: gone is the standard heist-thriller mode and in it's place is a wild, experimental, half-nouvelle vaugeian, half-art house Pakula in the 70s grabbag, with a mobile camera, zooms, and shifting perspectives perfect for a movie that loops around back on itself in such a stunning way. Not only is it better than the original or the remake, it's one of the director's best as well. (As of this writing, I've yet to see Ocean's Thirteen or Eight.)

I don't know if Young Me, having not seen nearly any of the movies that Twelve references, would have appreciated all that Older, Wiser Me loved, but I am fairly confident that I would have recognized that both films really understand the spirit of what made the original enjoyable and I know I would have liked the movies quite a bit. But sadly, my juvenile self-importance and confidence in my own knowledge and taste prevented me from experiencing this pleasure for nearly two decades, serving as a reminder not only to myself, but also to you, dear reader, not to do the same thing. Give stuff a chance, even if you're 99% sure you won't like it, there's always that 1%. And really, even if the 99% part comes through, there's nothing so fun as a little righteous outrage and indignation; in fact, in 2020, a healthy and non-destructive outpouring of dislike is all but a necessity. So really, what do you have to lose? 

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