Ocean’s 8

After putting the kids to bed, we drove out to Dartmouth Crossing, a retail park a few miles away from where we’re staying, where we always try to catch a film during our visit. Memorable previous distractions: Guardians Of The Galaxy and The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Tonight we’d watch another retread of Ocean’s Eleven – the distaff version, Ocean’s 8.
One of my favourite Soderbergh films of recent years was Lucky Logan, the redneck remix of Ocean’s Eleven with a cast-against-type Daniel Craig doing a very good job of eating hardboiled eggs in a disgusting manner. Soderbergh didn’t direct Ocean’s 8, but the formula is by now well defined.

As there are only seven women (until the patented Shock Twist near the end), it should be easier to keep them all in mind, but there’s a few times I couldn’t tell if there were two blondes or one. There’s a bit of stunt casting, but both Rihanna and Awkwafina do their jobs well – Cate Blanchett was unmemorable by comparison, and in any case you’re watching an elaborate watch being made, characters are very much secondary.

Oh, and I dozed off and missed out on a few minutes of exposition midway. I don’t think that made much difference, but who can say?

There’s a columbarium with lots of dead people’s names – George Clooney’s Danny Ocean died in his fifties, apparently, and I wonder if I should ask the Internet about all the rest of them – but there’s very little mystery to the rest of the film. All surface, no depth, but that’s not such a bad thing every so often.

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