Ocean’s Eleven succeeded largely because of the atmosphere it was able to establish. The slick, Las Vegas environment is lost in Ocean’s Twelve, and so is a good deal of its appeal. In Twelve we roam about Europe, with no sense of atmosphere, and with a bunch of guys reluctantly together, with no sense of drive for what’s going on. The characters in Ocean’s Twelve seem bored, and that’s boring to watch.

That’s not to say that Steven Soderburg doesn’t still have a sense of style. Ocean’s Twelve has its own hipness to it, although it’s in a much messier flavor. And though it’s not nearly as funny as its predecessor, there are moments of comic greatness. Near the start of the film, after each of the group members have discovered that they have to pay back their full share – with interest – we find them gathered together in a heated argument. The members of the group aren’t upset that they have to return their multi-million jackpot, though, they’re all peeved that their team was referred to as “Ocean’s Eleven” and they don’t think Danny Ocean deserves all the credit.

The film is self-referential in other ways, always pushing the fourth wall and never taking itself seriously. The whole thing would have been a much better ride if there had been a real story behind it though. As is, there is none to speak of.

Andy Garcia wants his money back and so the team goes to Europe to try to pull a job to get it for him. In the midst of pulling off a mediocrely portrayed heist, there are unnecessary storylines includes Brad Pitt’s former girlfriend, Catherine Zeta-Jones, who is investigating the group, and a random subplot with her father, Albert Finney. Not to mention Bruce Willis and Topher Grace playing themselves. Meanwhile, Matt Damon is tries to gain some respect, Bernie Mac is nowhere to be found, Julia Roberts, who was pregnant at shooting, pretends to be pregnant as a disguise, and George Clooney just does his thing.

It’s all more of the same, except less.