This quietly sardonic crime thriller demonstrates anew the captivating power of star wattage. Because — to be blunt — writer/director Jon Watts’ film wouldn’t be such a much, absent George Clooney and Brad Pitt. They make it sparkle.
Watts clearly designed this project with them in mind, playing to their unruffled charisma, and the fact that both — along with their characters — gamely make the most of being in their early 60s. You’ll also detect a strong echo of the Danny & Rusty vibe from “Ocean’s Eleven” and its two sequels, including some familiar bits of dialogue: “What’s the play here?” (Clooney) and “I don’t work that way” (Pitt). Or, for those with longer memories, the similarly well-bonded banter between Paul Newman and Robert Redford, in 1969’s “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
” But it doesn’t begin that way here. Watts opens his story with a bang, as ambitious New York politician Margaret (Amy Ryan), blood splattered all over her dress, finds herself in a fancy hotel suite with the body of a young stud. Panicked, knowing full well that this could destroy her career, she dials a number listed in her phone solely as a pair of brackets.
That reaches Clooney’s anonymous character — known solely, from this point forward, as “Margaret’s Man” — who shows up sporting a fashionable black turtleneck, leather coat ...
and latex gloves, along with assorted other, um, tools of his trade. That would be “cleaner,” or “fi.
