It is Sunday morning. I have taken my exercise walk. It is humid this morning and the real feel temperature will be 105 around noontime. On my walk I thought about last night and I am embarrassed that a man of my age would fall for the latest hype, glitz and glamour of Hollywood. I went to see "Oceans 13," the Clooney, Pitt, Damon, etc. sequel to the sequel. What a farce. What a waste. Better I stayed home and washed my socks. (That's a question the CIA asks applicants: would you rather go to a party or stay home and wash your socks?) No one in the film ever breaks a sweat. Geppetto, of Pinochhio fame, could have made wooden dummies for this film. Al Pacino is the bad guy, Willie Bank. He screwed a friend of the Danny Oceans' (Clooney) gang. There is something about men who "shook Sinatra's hand" are not supposed to screw each other. What passes for action is a bunch of guys sitting and standing around talking about taking "revenge" on Pacino (who in any other crime scenario would have shot the lot of them.) Julia Roberts (congratulations on the new baby) is to be admired for having the good sense to stay out of this "Oceans" film. She was in the two earlier films. Ellen Barkin, a one-time sex pot in films and on TV, sadly comes across as a post menopausal broad with large mammilla and she gets turned on because Matt Damon has some scent around his neck. It is hard to believe Barkin and Damon (think mother and son) in a sex scene. The music is good, "Lara's Theme" is part of it. The best, however, is the ending when we hear Sinatra sing "This Town."
