Starring Michael Douglas and Robert De Niro. Rated PG. Now playing

Is Morgan Freeman wearing a codpiece in this movie? Seriously, when he gives us a side shot in his brown corduroys in the early moments of Last Vegas, you can’t help thinking, “That’s nice. Daddy’s packin’.” Other than that, one vaguely recalls Freeman and Kevin Kline sucking vodka from the nipples of a naked-woman ice sculpture, which they appear to enjoy. More Oscar winners should probably consider bonding in this way. 

Nothing really happens in this Vegas, but the nothingness doesn’t stay there—it thoughtfully comes to us! We feel fairly good-humoured about this because we like Michael Douglas, Robert De Niro, and their two thirsty friends, and they obviously like each other and the zillion girls who forget to get fully dressed in this movie. See: the thoughtfulness is never-ending.

To give these four an excuse to hang together—couldn’t you guys just meet at Morgan’s house?—director Jon Turteltaub’s movie has a “plot”. Billy (Douglas), a Hollywood mogul type, is poised to marry his girlfriend who’s either 12 or 29, I can’t remember. He dials up childhood buds Archie (Freeman), who lives with his patronizing son, and Sam (Kline), who’s gone Florida geriatric, to get down in Vegas, baby. And then have trouble getting back up. Oh, and Paddy (De Niro) comes too, even though he’s nursing some old angry wound about Billy. We must not let wounds get angry or old, people.

Right. They judge a bikini contest. We don’t know why. But they seem to enjoy this activity, so okay. They have a penthouse-suite party that is inexplicably attended by female impersonators, Cirque du Soleil performers, and many hot women, but 50 Cent is not permitted entry. Throw a fit, Fiddy!

Also, Mary Steenburgen is warm and lovely as a lounge singer whom two of these senior-citizen boys want. All four famous pensioners themselves are lovable too. Just remember, you crazy party animals: Last Vegas 2 is an oxymoron.