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Ocean’s Twelve

Ain’t that a kick in the head: Ocean’s 11 was the epitome of cool two years ago. The smart, inventive director Steven Soderbergh put charm meister George Clooney at the head of a new Rat Pack with Brad Pitt playing Dean Martin to his Sinatra and old pros Carl Reiner and Elliot Gould stealing scenes like grand larcenists. Soderbergh orchestrated a Vegas heist that shimmered with what could only be called deadpan excitement.p>It all seemed effortless, which isn’t easy. How easy it isn’t is on display in Ocean’s 12, a comedy caper with the same glam cast and new glam European locations (Amsterdam looks especially smashing). Soderbergh tries for the kind of insouciance that director Richard Lester brought to A Hard Day’s Night and Help. Sadly, the ship won’t sail. It’s not enough to watch privileged , including Julia Roberts and newbie Catherine Zeta-Jones as a Europol cop, enjoying their privileges. It has to look like the whole thing rolled off their backs. Clooney and company work it too hard this time. You can tell they’re huffing and puffing to stay afloat. But all I hear is: glug glug glug.

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