Counting Ellen Barkin and Mr. Soderbergh himself, more than a baker’s dozen of very talented people are completely wasted in this redundant bore. I get the idea all involved are having a blast making these movies, but by the second sequel of the first remake, the breeziness has turned smug and the exceedingly baroque casino-busting shenanigans have become tiresome. Who cares how Clooney & Co. get the remote-controllable magnetic ingredient into the factory that mixes the plastic which goes into the dice that an inhumanly tan self-parody of Al Pacino uses on his craps tables? Not even entertaining enough to while away the time on a transatlantic flight.

Ocean’s Thirteen. Steven Soderbergh, 2007. *