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The script by Ted Griffin dovetails the heist's success with Danny's success in winning Tess back and that sort of emotional investment simply isn't merited. I realize it's an odd contradiction for me, a champion of characters and emotions to make this criticism, but every film is different and needs to be true to itself. The two tonally perfect scenes are Elliot Gould's countdown of the three greatest near-heists in Vegas history (a sequence that foreshadows the stylishness on display in Ocean's 12) and the poker table sequence with Topher Grace, Shane West and other Hollywood young'uns. The poker-faced self-mockery of themselves while in the company of BRAD PITT and GEORGE CLOONEY is priceless. But the film for all its charms feels like the skilled work of an anonymous director for hire. In short, it doesn't play nearly enough like a Steven Soderbergh film. Ocean's 11, did play like gangbusters with the masses over the 2001 holiday season becoming Soderbergh's highest-grossing film at the time (it remains so today) with just over $180 million grossed domestic against an $85 million budget.

Closing credit from Ocean's 12: "And introducing Tess as Julia Roberts."

From beginning to end, Ocean's 12 has the air of an inside joke. A $110-million dollar inside joke, to be precise. I hate inside jokes - loathe them would be more accurate and I briefly make a nod in the direction of Desperado as an example of both a film and Chapter Two that must be a lot more fun to contemplate if you are on the right side of the joke with Rodriguez, Tarantino et. al. And yes, I am prepared to back that up in full some day.

This makes my positive reaction to Ocean's 12 that much more bewildering to me. This is the conundrum I faced opening weekend in 2004 when I caught it and knew that it had provided more entertainment to me than had Ocean's 11. Five years later, I still scratch my head. Ocean's 12 is a heist film where the heist (or heists) are beside the point. They're throwaway moments. The "let's take the house" attitude of the first has been replaced with a more whimsical "oh what the hell" travelogue/stroll of Europe from Amsterdam to Italy and points in-between. The plot is as ridiculous as it is complex as it is inane as it is masterful. It doesn't so much pull twists on the audience as stage a disappearing act in plain sight. There's less action and suspense and gunplay in this film than there was in Ocean's 11. (I swear that Soderbergh has Rusty's car blown up early on to both fool the audience and so there was a hint of menace to provide for the trailer.) Topher is back for a splendid three minutes in a trashed hotel room with an anguished ramble that name checks Frankie Muniz and Dennis Quaid. There are unexpected references to Miller's Crossing, guest star cameos up the wazoo and most of Danny Ocean's gang winds up in a local Rome jail before it's all over. When all is said and done, there's the realization that absolutely nothing was at stake. It is, truly, the apex of entertainment for entertainment's sake. For this it was raked over the coals (more so as time has gone by) and did not hold up as well over the holidays, dropping off quickly after an ever so slightly larger opening weekend than the first film, and finishing with $125 million domestic.

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