Film - The stars cash in, but their fans are short-changed. By Mark Kermode Ocean's Twelve (12A)

In a memorable moment from his Oscar-winning classic Annie Hall, Woody Allen silences a loud-mouthed college professor, who is merrily spouting off about his media studies course on Marshall McLuhan, by pulling the real Marshall McLuhan out from behind a poster to inform the arrogant fat-head that "You know nothing of my work". As the professor is duly humbled, Allen turns to camera and says: "If only life were like this . . ."

While life may continue to fall short of the mark, the appearance of "real" celebrities playing themselves is becoming ever more commonplace in an increasingly self-reflexive movie market place. In recent years, we've chortled appreciatively as Cher and Meryl Streep gamely parodied their Hollywood A-list status in the likeable Stuck On You; cringed at the "Will Smith as Will Smith" cameo in the God-awful Jersey Girl; and roared with knowing laughter at the sight of Tom Cruise, Kevin Spacey, Danny DeVito and Gwyneth Paltrow having a good-natured go at themselves in the rudely popular Austin Powers in Goldmember. All of these celebrity stunts owed a debt to Robert Altman's The Player, which climaxed with the "real" Julia Roberts being carried off by the "real" Bruce Willis, as an earnest screenwriter's downbeat script ("No stars!") is duly transformed into so much self-aggrandising Hollywood mulch.

In a key scene from Ocean's Twelve, one of the film's galaxy of stars (I won't tell you which one for the sake of preserving the gag) gets away with something ridiculous because they look just like someone famous - themselves! In other circumstances, this would constitute an unforgivable breach of trust between the film-makers and their audience, who have been blithely pretending up till now that "character" is more important than celebrity. But in Ocean's Twelve, which plays less like a properly plotted movie than a Las Vegas variety show featuring George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts, Elliott Gould et al, it's simply business as usual. Despite the jazzy nouvelle vague jump cuts and picturesque European locations, this is simply another slice of star-spangled confectionery, with no more dramatic legitimacy than one of the plays what Ernie would write for a Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special. Which is not to say that it isn't fun - just that it isn't really a film.

In his original remake of Ocean's Eleven, director Steven Soderbergh took a forgettably tatty Sixties Rat Pack picture and updated it into a hip, slick thriller of surprising substance and style. For this sequel, however, the creative team has simply stepped back in time, playing a numbers game that should leave those involved wealthy enough to pursue more "personal" projects (Clooney, for example, showed real promise as a director with the offbeat Confessions of a Dangerous Mind), while short-changing their devoted mainstream fans. The result is an oddly self-referential piece of cynical fluff, which merrily acknowledges its own box-office-driven raison d'etre even as it battles to overcome the logistical nightmare of co-ordinating so many celebrity diaries. This time, the team had one more star schedule to contend with, thanks to the appearance of Catherine Zeta-Jones - the television star turned sexy screen siren whose own top-flight Hollywood status was officially confirmed when she played (guess what?) a pampered Hollywood star in the not very funny comedy America's Sweethearts, alongside Ocean's Twelve's very own "knowing" co-star Julia Roberts.

If you're wondering about the plot, then so are the film-makers, who admit to dreaming up this sequel while having a jolly time on an Ocean's Eleven press junket in Rome, and who appear to have crowbarred a George Nolfi screenplay entitled Honour Among Thieves into something that vaguely suited their franchise needs. Recall, if you will, the recent remakes of The Thomas Crown Affair and The Italian Job, throw in the celebrated arse- waggling set piece from the high-tech Zeta-Jones/Sean Connery vehicle Entrapment, add the merest snifter of Soderbergh's little-seen Full Frontal (in which Pitt played himself) and voila - you've got all the background you need for this particular Mission Implausible.

Otherwise, it's end-of-the-pier stuff all the way, with Clooney and Pitt watching Happy Days reruns in Spanish, Matt Damon self-effacingly exploiting the fact that so many people think he's dim (think of the monosyllabic caricature in Team America: World Police), Robbie Coltrane and Eddie Izzard providing smirking comic cameos, and Don Cheadle doing his sub-Dick van Dyke cockernee drawl while doling out advice on the importance of doing accents properly. All very postmodern; entertaining enough, but ultimately (even appropriately) all a bit of a con. Let's hope the sums don't add up for an Ocean's Thirteen.

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