Ocean’s 11 made sense. There were 11 gangsters in the group, and they were headed up by Danny Ocean. They were, in the most literal sense, Ocean’s 11.

Then came the sequel, Ocean’s 12, and then another one, Ocean’s 13, and each time around the name got just a little less accurate.

Fortunately that doesn’t matter. Neither does the fact that I skipped Ocean’s 12 and dived straight in last night at number 13, for two hours of mindless, fun entertainment.

Even if you don’t like a heist movie it’s worth a go, if for nothing else than the wonderful post-production, which has alternately bleached out, or over-saturated the scenes to make the whole thing look like it was shot 50 years ago, lost for half a century and then recovered from a dusty vault. Only the bang up-to-date Vegas strip gives away its true age.

The three leads, George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Al Pacino are completely at ease in their characters, and utterly convincing. The cast of extras runs into the thousands, and the sets are vast enough to comfortably accommodate them all. All at once.

I read two reviews before booking our seats (me and dad), and while one gave it four out of five the other gave it only half that much. That, I think was unnecessarily stingy.

Go see.

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