The least we could hope for from Rat Pack remake Ocean’s Eleven was cool. Effortless cool. Painful cool. Hey-I-wanna-hang-with-those-guys cool.
Like the best dealer on the strip, director Steven Soderbergh offered up twin aces — and we didn’t have the heart to split ’em. Start with Clooney, 40. Sporting that trademark smirk and roguish glint, he not only channeled the chairman of the board, he out-ring-a-ding-dinged him. His Danny Ocean is a thief so debonair he strolls out of prison in a tuxedo. Twice. (And did we mention he ends up with Julia Roberts?) Then there’s Pitt, 38 — the perfect hipster foil — scruffy but smooth, charming but tough. His master thief beamed bemused confidence from under aviator shades. (And who knew that with a pair of horn-rims, he looks just like The Corrections author Jonathan Franzen?) They were twin klieg lights of charisma in a movie already as glittery as the Vegas strip — strolling through America’s Playground like they owned the damn place. As they outsexied Julia, outshined Matt, and outacted Andy, who could help but think: Here are two honest-to-God movie stars, at the very peak of their powers. Thank you, Mr. Soderbergh. Thank you.
The ultimate partners in crime, Clooney and Pitt sauntered, glinted, and grinned. If these two bellied up to a craps table, is there any chance they’d lose? If one moved on your girl, do you think she’d stay? Don’t bet on it.