Yeah, I would like the last 2 hours of my life back NOW.

A couple of years ago, a little movie called "Ocean's Eleven" came out. This film was well-received; critics enjoyed it, audiences like it, and it was overall a pleasant experience for everyone involved (and, for further proof that God is a female, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon co-starred in it. Delightful.) And, as it turns out, this little film was actually a remake. The 1960 original starred The Rat Pack. After seeing the remake, one might assume that the original probably had the same storyline, and was probably equally as good, if not better. It was probably campy as all hell, but probably good. Right? Right.
Such were my assumptions as I settled into my seat in Ballentine 109 this Monday evening for my Hollywood Italians class film night, sipping my chai latte and lamenting the fact that I blindly signed up for this stupid class that is held twice a week, with an additional requirement of attending movies every Monday night; TWO MOVIES every Monday, from 7-midnight, if we are lucky and the TA remembers how to operate the SAME EQUIPMENT THAT SHE HAS TO USE EVERY SINGLE MONDAY. Little did I know that after that fateful evening, everything that I thought I knew would be proved false, causing me to question my life and everything that I thought was true in this world.

Belief One: "This movie will be really fun. It will be cool, slick, and probably have a really creative plot, something similar to the sequel."
FACT: It's not, it's not, and it doesn't. The first 20 confusing, convoluted minutes were the longest in my life. I had no clue what the hell was going on. All I knew was that, like in life, they made the only Jewish black guy in the film dance and sing some ridiculous song while standing on a cooler in front of a bunch of men, in some bus station or something. True story. Poor Sammie Davis. All the other men are lounging in hotels, speaking crazy words that I didn't know, and Davis is crooning lovingly to a bunch of dudes. Also, about the eleven? They look like a bunch of my friends' dads. Really, no one would suspect them of jack shit. Just a bunch of balding, middle-aged men hanging out in Vegas (which was SO. DAMN. LAME looking back in the day. ) And can we please talk about the end? SPOILERS SO STOP READING IF YOU CARE, BUT SERIOUSLY, I AM DOING YOU A FAVOR BECAUSE WHAT ENDS UP HAPPENING IS A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING. Ok, so they rob these casinos and blah blah blah and in the end.....THEY DON'T EVEN GET THE MONEY. And that's how it ends. They rob the banks, and all of the money gets accidentally cremated along with one of the eleven WHO DIES AND NO ONE REALLY CARES!!! They are all like "eh, whatev, more cash for us". Seriously, the guy drops dead in the middle of the strip and Sinatra and Dean Martin just shrug it off and peace out. So I thought that maybe it was some kind of trick and he wasn't really dead, it was all part of the plan or something. Nope. Turns out they are all just really, really bad at crime. Also, there is this creepy ass guy who is like the stepfather of one of the guys who just creeps around, looking creepy. I don't know, I was too distracted by Mr. Martin, which leads me to item number 2....

BELIEF TWO:Dean Martin was so effing cool, and kind of hot too. Also, I love the song "Ain't That A Kick In The Head."
FACT: Oh my dear Lord. Here is my recreation of what the character description said about Dean's character: "He should spend the entire movie walking around in a tux, completely wasted out of his mind, smoking a cigarette, and sweating profusely. Also, it shall be written in his contract that Mr. Martin must sing the song "Ain't That A Kick In The Head" at least 47 times in the film, in every scene in which he appears". TRUE. STORY. He was still kind of hot though. But so, SO drunk. And that song? Literally sang it 6 different times. IN SIX DIFFERENT SCENES. SIX DIFFERENT PIANOS!! Literally, every time he came on screen, I was like "ok, where's the piano?" an there it would be. In a bar, in a casino, in another casino, IN A HOTEL ROOM. Enough already. If I never have to hear that song again in my life, it might be too soon. I don't mind him singing, but COME ON DINO, choose another song.

BELIEF THREE: Sammie Davis Jr. was a crazy, tiny little man.
FACT: Confirmed.

BELIEF FOUR: Casinos are hard to rob, even in the 60's.
FACT: No, they are not! Because apparently in the 1960's, casinos kept MILLIONS OF DOLLARS IN TINY CUPBOARDS, NOT SAFES, CUPBOARDS, NOT REQUIRING A KEY. I kept waiting for the ingenuous way that thy were planning to pull of the heist. They were all paratroopers, maybe they will parachute down into the casinos!! Maybe Frank Sinatra will call in some favors from the mob! Maybe Dean Martin will shock everyone by singing a new song, thus distracting the guards because oh my god, we thought he was required by law to meet a certain quota of singing "bee-uuu-tiful" every day!!! The way they ended up pulling it off? THEY TURNED OF THE LIGHTS AND CONFUSED EVERYONE. For real, ya'll. They turned off the lights and, using this special, magical infrared paint designed by Sammie Davis Jr. which made no sense because the guy was like driving trucks for a living or something, that they had put on the floor, follow the paint to the rooms and get the money from the little stupid cupboards. No locks. No doing anything to the guards except for SHINING FLASHLIGHTS INTO THEIR EYES AND CONFUSING THEM EVEN MORE AND MAKING THEM SING "AULD LANG SYNE". It was like being held up by ABBA or something. This just made me think how crazy smart I would be if I was transported back in time. People would think that I was an effing genius. I would tell the casinos (which, to be fair, they probably had much better security but the Mensa members making the movie didn't even bother to check it out) that, while the darkness can be very scary and debilitating, maybe we shouldn't completely lose our shit and let people steal all of the money. Because what if that happened, like, in a daycare or something? The lights went out, the teachers went batshit, and just let the kids run out of the building by themselves because no lights=we lose all control over our bodily functions and cognitive thinking. Also...maybe the money should be stored differently than the bag of tostitos. TAKE IT OUT OF THE CUPBOARD AND PUT IT IN AN ACTUAL SAFE OR SOMETHING. The people of the 60's would love me. Also, I would tell them that very few women can actually pull off the whole miniskirt thing, and white lipstick never looked good on ANYBODY.

Jenn's Final Word On The Movie: Someone kick me in the head. Please.