Steven "Club" Soderbergh cost Cinemavenger some pussy. You see, the first time I ever saw Stevie's early career, Spader-starring Sex, Lies, and Videotape was on a date. Before we popped the movie in, the intelligent, witty, hot piece of ass I was with was all Niagara Falls. The orchestra was tuning up for "The Mattress Mambo," if you know what I mean. Afterwards, she was drier than the Sahara, and ol' Cinemavenger was left with balls bluer than Zooey Deschanel's peepers.
As much of a cockblocking son of a fuck as he is, I don't bear Soderbergh any ill will. He makes better than average small scale flicks (Haywire, The Limey), and he churns out memorable if imperfect big budgeters like Traffic and the Ocean's series. His latest, Logan Lucky, is so much a spiritual successor to his earlier caper comedies it should've been called Ocean's: County Road 11.
Instead of suave con men robbing a casino in Vegas, Logan Lucky gives us Southern-fried yokels robbing a racetrack in North Carolina. The brothers Logan, Jimmy (Channing "Po" Tatum) and Clyde (Adam "Baby" Driver), decide to steal from the racetrack because, well, they want more money than they have. How's that for compelling motivation?
Jimmy and Clyde say they need incarcerated explosives expert Joe Bang (Daniel "Jenny" Craig) to blow the door off the bank-style vault at the track. The only thing is that blowing the door of the vault is never part of the actual fucking plan! The Logans break Bang out of jail - and break him back in again before anyone notices he's gone - so he can jury-rig a smoke bomb, which the Logans could've done themselves after watching a one-minute YouTube video.
What the grits-at-a-gala fuck?! And that's not even the fatalest of flaws in this horseshit, hillbilly heist. Logan Lucky is the worst type of arrogant-ass Hollywood take on the sister-fuckin' South. It's all bobbin' for pigs' feet, toilet seat horseshoes and lawnmower racin'. The characterizations begin and end with Charlie Daniels Band and Bob Seger t-shirts. The "heroes" are typo-tattoed trailer trash.
With so little of interest onscreen, the Interwebs have manufactured a mystery about who wrote Logan Lucky. Some say it's another Soderbergh pseudonym special. Others think it's the screenwriting debut of Soderbergh's saucy spouse, Jules "Ed" Asner. Does it matter? Less than a Junebug in a cotton gin.
Hey Soderbergh. Just retire again already. And you owe me a lay.
August 25, 2017