Ocean’s 8 (12A)

To date, the gender revolution in cinema has made more of an impact behind the camera than on screen. But that tide is turning also, and one immediate, if slightly unsubtle way is with the female recasting of male-dominated buddy movies. New scripts would be preferable (when are we going to see another Thelma & Louise?), but if we want to allow actresses to showboat in the mainstream, this is one way to start.

After last year’s hugely enjoyable Ghostbusters remake, we now have Ocean’s 8, a femme-centred riff on Steven Soderbergh’s crime caper trilogy from the noughties – Ocean’s Eleven through Thirteen, themselves inspired by the Rat Pack movie from 1960 and sharing with the original an ineffable sense of cool.

What a shame, then, that this one feels like a seriously wasted opportunity, and that, ironically, its biggest failing is that it doesn’t make anywhere near enough of its leading ladies. Having cast some amazing women, it largely squanders them. The fault isn’t that of the actresses, but with director Gary Ross and his co-writer Olivia Milch, whose work is resoundingly average.

A tell-tale sign of the problems ahead comes in the opening scene, as the incarcerated Debbie Ocean (Sandra Bullock) tells deadpan porkies in her parole hearing, before switching to her true, cynical mode when she’s released. Those ringing bells are of George Clooney’s Danny Ocean (Debbie’s brother) doing exactly the same in Ocean’s Eleven. Ross and Milch will go on to lift many more tropes from the earlier film, each stolen without the pizazz that made it work first time around.

The Soderbergh films were grounded in the cracking pairing of Clooney and Brad Pitt as Danny’s street-savvy sidekick. Here, Bullock is teamed with Cate Blanchett, the pair setting out to enlist their own crack team: genius hacker Nine Ball (Rihanna), ace pickpocket Constance (Awkwafina), jeweller Amita (Mindy Kaling), all-rounder Tammy (Sarah Paulson) and fashion designer Rose Weil (Helena Bonham Carter) who has no thieving credentials but is hungry for cash and will provide the team’s access to their objective.

The gang is noticeably smaller in number than the male version, no doubt because women aren’t fixated on size. And yes, that list totals seven, the identity of the eighth being a surprise down the road.

Their target is the annual gala at New York’s Metropolitan Museum and, in particular, a $150m diamond necklace being worn by the show’s celebrity host, actress Daphne Kluger (Anne Hathaway).

Under Soderbergh, the cons were complex and the film’s direction bravura: here, both are pretty bland, lacking tension, wit or ingenuity. At the same time, there’s barely any chemistry. Bullock and Blanchett are given none of the comic banter that Clooney and Pitt had to play with, the pair’s immaculate complexions facing each other across a vacuum. Of the others, Rihanna, Kaling and Awkwafina do display, respectively, some attitude, oddball humour and charm. The best value is afforded by Hathaway, who makes hay with her delicious diva, the character deserving a comic showcase of her own.

But overall, Ocean’s 8 is no more than mildly entertaining. When Soderbergh’s team savour their Vegas success, before a magical fountain and with Debussy’s Claire de Lune on the soundtrack, it was a classic cinema moment. Here, when one of the team suggests it would be so much more fun to go to the gala than rob it, she could be speaking for the audience.

Later this year we’ll see director Steve McQueen’s adaptation of Lynda La Plante’s television series about female bank robbers, Widows. We can expect that to have a lot more punch.