Filled with the stench of stars bullying us to love them almost as much as they love themselves, this useless sequel succumbs to all the pitfalls deftly avoided in Steven Soderbergh ’s initial pic. (see above) The preposterous set-up (return the loot or Andy Garcia will rub you out); the gamesmanship art robbery plot device (newcomer Vincent Cassel wants to prove he’s the world’s greatest thief); the sentimental wrap-up for Catherine Zeta-Jones & Papa-Bear Albert Finney; and the gag-me-with-a-spoon gag of Julia Roberts pretending to be . . . (wait for it) Julia Roberts (and she should look so good; make you feel that you’re on a press junket for the sequel to the sequel. Damned if they didn't go ahead and make one.
NOTE: Just for the record, one of the reasons George Clooney gave for making THIRTEEN was that he knew what a dog TWELVE was. Call Diogenes.