Review: While not a howler, 'Wolfs' struggles to summon the easy charm its stars once had on tap
Wherever a story goes with our precious viewing hours, we'll gladly follow it if there are real movie stars in it, even when those locations are just a smattering of hotel rooms, car interiors, alleyways and garages. Movie stars make anywhere feel special, mysterious and transportive.
That truism is needlessly tested in the comic thriller “Wolfs,” which should feel like a celebratory reunion of George Clooney and Brad Pitt playing beautiful men with suave personalities who banter with ease across perilous situations. Those “Ocean’s” movies were 20 years ago. Instead, paradoxically, it’s as if these seasoned idols have been churning out copies ever since and are finally getting a little tired of it.
Not that the stars don’t show flashes of the vinegary Butch-and-Sundance spark that gave us all pleasure highs in the post-indie-era aughts. But as respectful as writer-director Jon Watts is toward creating opportunities for wise-ass capering, the movie is curiously both a labored and a lax attempt at restoring that luster. The dedicated “Spider-Man” steward, working outside the mechanics of Marvel for the first time in years, is no Steven Soderbergh, who knows a thing or two (OK, a dozen things at least) about the artistry that best allows movie stars to shine.
Most shockingly — although it starts with a crash, a scream, a body and a scared D.A. (Amy Ryan) — it takes at least half an hour for “Wolfs” to get in gear. Worried for her career but armed with a get-out-of-trouble phone number, the district attorney summons Clooney’s solitary fixer: deadly serious, plan-ready. Then, unbeknownst to either, the hotel’s go-to problem solver (Pitt) arrives; he also prefers to work alone. The two men have never met and instantly don’t like each other. But when the matter gets more complicated — there’s also a stash of drugs in the room — the voice of Frances McDormand (as the hotel's impresario) insists they work together. Ours is not to ask why.
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Why is this all initially so boring? As soon as Ryan departs (and she’s missed), it becomes painfully clear how small the stakes are for this all-in-one-night adventure. The drugs are a yawn-worthy McGuffin, there’s no villain to speak of, and after they chase a hapless kid (Austin Abrams) through an after-hours Chinatown, catching him doesn’t help us care any more about the mystery. And mystery is a strong word for what transpires here.
Which leaves only the Pitt-Clooney magic, middle-aged vintage, to latch onto. These two are all we have, as they see the job through. Whatever that job is. After Ryan gets to leave early on, it’s never entirely clear. Fine, so it is a mystery.
Still, what Clooney and Pitt ultimately offer, whether deadpan or with raised voices, bored or engaged, is still above what passes for bunker onscreen charisma these days. Toward the end, there’s a none-too-subtle nod to a famous earlier screen duo, and one of their famous goodbyes. It makes sense too, if not necessarily as the cool shout-out Watts intended. Because the only takeaway from a shrug like “Wolfs” is to thank these lucky stars for being perfectly handsome and enjoyable companions, especially when everything else falters.
This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.