Starring Sean Connery, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Ving Rhames. Rated M.

Robert 'Mac' MacDougal (Connery) is a world-renowned cat burglar. At least world renowned in the cat-burgling fraternity. He is the cat-burglars cat burglar. The cream of the crop. The cat's pyjamas. The king kitten. (Sorry - cliche runaway)

When a Rembrandt goes missing from a well-protected high-rise office, all clues point at Mac.

Virginia 'Gin' Baker (Zeta-Jones) is a lusciously-gorgeous insurance investigator who comes up with the theory and the circumstantial evidence to finger the great thief. She implores her boss to allow her to go under cover, to trap Mac.

Understandably, the boss is very reluctant to agree. Gin is too precious to endanger on a mission that has already claimed the lives of two of his best agents. But, as Gin points out, they were both men.

It doesn't take Mac long to notice that he is being followed, but instead of confronting his shadow, he leads her on a merry trail, acquiring enough photographic evidence to implicate her in a hoist he just pulled off in broad daylight. "That's entrapment" she protests. "No my dear, that's blackmail. Entrapment is something cops do to thieves."

Entrapment is more of a mind-game movie than an action blockbuster. Having said that, I reckon the scarcity of action is more a fault of the script than any attempt to protect the slowing bones of the veteran Scottish star. The plot takes more twists and turns than a cat-o-nine-tails (sorry, puns again). I found it a little hard, but ultimately entertaining, trying to keep up with all the backflips.

Catherine Zeta-Jones is simply lovely. She was obviously done no harm by the reflected brilliance of her leading man. She was equally believable as the cunning and beguiling investigator or the under-cover thief.

My only criticism is that, as lovers, the magic didn't seem to spark. There was obvious chemistry between the two stars but that, for me, was confined to their professional relationship - thievery.

Sean was excellent. His rugged good looks and chiseled face serve the old man well. For once (and I praise him immensely for this) he dropped his, what I call, pouting lisp. The Scottish accent dripped from his lips like mountain-heather honey, but ...  (God! I crap on a bit sometimes).