The gang of eleven, the ersatz Rat Pack, reconvenes (Clooney, Pitt, Damon, et al.); the newcomer, the apparent twelfth, is not a member of the gang at all, but a member of law enforcement (Catherine Zeta-Jones). Even the victim of the previous heist returns (Andy Garcia), rounding up each of the thieves in a laborious preamble, demanding repayment plus interest, or roughly $19 million per head, after having been informed of their identities and whereabouts by a rival heister known only as the Night Fox (Vincent Cassel), who wants to force them into a bragging-rights competition to swipe the "famous Fabergé coronation egg" on exhibit in a Roman museum. Smugness, rather than the promoted "coolness," would seem to be the predominant attitude, not only of the cocksure crooks but also of the filmmakers, fresh from laughing all the way to the bank. Steven Soderbergh, as he found out on the first film, has built up enough credit with critics (some of it well earned) that they will go a long way to make excuses for him. This time they will need to go a long way and a little farther. It oughtn't to be necessary, though, to pick apart the nonsensical plot in detail in order to demonstrate the contempt of the filmmakers for their material and their audience. It ought to be sufficient to cite the lame comic twist whereby the character played by Julia Roberts is asked to put on a Southern accent and impersonate the real Julia Roberts; is accepted as such by the Roman press as well as by Bruce Willis (playing himself); and is put in the position of speaking over the telephone to "herself" on her Taos ranch. Far from being some postmodern Pirandellian prank, this smacks of the desperation of an old-time middle-of-the-road Hollywood comedy such as Take Her, She's Mine, in which the character played by James Stewart gets hounded in France on the grounds that he looks like James Stewart. Of course an old-time middle-of-the-road Hollywood hack such as Henry Koster had no one to make excuses for him. (2004) — Duncan Shepherd