More than a caper

At first glance, Steven Soderbergh’s latest release, Logan Lucky, might look like a parody of his 2001 heist hit, Ocean’s Eleven. In that film, a team of the world’s most cosmopolitan criminals pools its talents to rob three opulent Vegas casinos. Their level of expertise is broad and impressive, ranging from professional acrobat to tech and surveillance specialist.

Logan Lucky riffs on this same setup with a cast of characters that are in nearly every respect the Ocean crew’s opposite. Jimmy Logan (Channing Tatum) isn’t an expert con man. He isn’t an expert anything. A redneck ex-athlete whose dreams of football glory were blown out along with his knee, he now lives in a trailer and scratches out a living doing piecemeal construction work. That is, until a corporate type notices Jimmy’s limp and gets him fired for not disclosing a pre-existing condition.

His ex-wife (Katie Holmes) rips this small wound to gaping proportions when she announces that she and the wealthy husband she traded up for are moving with Jimmy’s daughter to Tennessee. Since Jimmy doesn’t have any money, she points out, he can’t hire a lawyer to stop them.

Desperate times, sinful measures—Jimmy sees only one way to change his luck: He’ll rob Charlotte Motor Speedway on the day of the Coca-Cola 600. The only problem is he doesn’t have a team of sophisticated whizzes to help him out; he can only draw on the talent pool lower-class Boone County, W. Va., offers. Like his doleful bartender brother, Clyde (Adam Driver), who lost his arm in Iraq and believes the Logan family is under a curse; his sassy hairdresser sister Mellie (Riley Keough); and finally, the hillbilly boys of the Bang family, led by eldest brother, Joe (an unrecognizable Daniel Craig).

It would be easy to suppose that Logan Lucky displays Hollywood’s typical derision for red-state, Trump-voting types, but as we get to know the characters, it becomes clear that something deeper is going on.

For all the short skirts, glittery eyeshadow, and games of toilet-seat horseshoes, there’s a dignity to the Logans, with their loyalty to each other and their love for their country. Soderbergh seems to suggest that in our culture’s rush to put people like this in the rear-view mirror, we lose something valuable.

The entire crew also has an innate wiliness that sophisticated city dwellers dismiss to their peril. In one particularly hilarious scene, Joe, in a drawl thicker than molasses, diagrams the complicated chemistry he’s using to build an explosive out of gummy bears and imitation salt. “What,” he sneers. “You thought I was just gonna bring some dynamite?” They may be simple, but these guys are no dummies.

In fact, though it’s rated PG-13 for language, the film takes far more aim at the entertainment industry than it does at flyover folks, subtly skewering the way it defiles the minds of kids with violence, materialism, and sexual objectification. Trying his best to parent his little girl from the fringes of her life, Jimmy constantly questions his ex-wife and her new husband’s permissiveness in raising her. Why do they let her see violent movies like The Fast and the Furious? Why do they expose her to pop music that fills her head with sexual imagery belittling to women?

To offset their influence, Jimmy tries to teach her that good music honors good things, like his favorite song, John Denver’s “Country Roads.” The tune plays a role in several scenes, essentially becoming the film’s anthem.

Logan Lucky does strike a few sour notes. Hilary Swank is strangely wooden as the FBI agent pursuing the gang, and Seth McFarland takes his usual obnoxious antics to new heights as a British NASCAR sponsor. But these are fairly minor quibbles in this bittersweet caper that will have many viewers longing to sit a spell and listen to more stories of people who call Mountain Mama home.