Ocean's Thirteen

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When casino owner Willy Bank (Pacino) double-crosses Reuben (Elliot Gould), it has such an effect on him that he suffers a heart attack on the spot. With Reuben confined to bed, Danny Ocean (Clooney) and the boys, proving that there is honour among thieves, band together to bankrupt Bank on the opening night of his new casino. However, because the plan is the most elaborate yet, they need the help of their former enemy Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) and his asking price ups the stakes some more. That's the plot, but most of us just want to see Clooney and co. do their smug thing one more time for smugness' sake. Like Twelve, it's best to put the plot - that includes (among others) Carl Reiner's hotel inspector, a trade union dispute in Mexico, simulated earthquakes and Vincent Cassel's revenge - to one side and sit back and enjoy the verbal back-and-forth, the close calls, the funky soundtrack and Soderbergh's sexy '70's approach. Everything that worked in the previous two instalments (although there's no sign of Julia Roberts) makes a welcome comeback: Pitt and Clooney's 'going nowhere' dialogue is honed, Damon is given more room to manoeuvre and the male camaraderie is very much to the fore (Ellen Barkin's 'cougar' is the only femme on show). Even Pacino is reserved. The Ocean's trilogy is terrific and nigh-on perfect entertainment, but another one would be asking too much. Wouldn't it?