Garfield, The Chronicles of Riddick

Scrat fix: Gone Nutty's acorn nut almost makes Garfield the Movie bearable

Pity poor Breckin Meyer, Jennifer Love Hewitt and Stephen Tobolowsky, whose acting careers are certified--and certifiably--dead and buried. In Garfield the Movie they're hopelessly out-acted not only by the titular plump, computer-generated sourpuss (voiced by an indulgent, or maybe indigent, Bill Murray) but a veritable menagerie of live-action dogs, cats and rodents.

Surprisingly, director Pete Hewitt's shameless exercise in milking an oh-so-familiar brand, from Jim Davis' antediluvian comic strip, is not as unbearable as you might expect. If you're stuck with bored kids this weekend, you might consider shelling out a fat cat's ransom for tickets--but only if you save cash by smuggling your own tub of lasagna, or other Garfield-worthy snack, into the multiplex.

Sure the "plot" is only outdone for sheer awfulness by the overacting. Veterinarian love interest Hewitt persuades Garfield's owner, Jon (Meyer), to adopt the odious pooch Odie, who, revealing an unexpected terpsichorean talent, is dognapped by Tobolowsky's "idiot" TV host.

And of course there are more laughs in 30 seconds of hair-ball spewing by Antonio Banderas' Puss-in-Boots in Shrek 2 than in Joel Cohen and Alec Sokolow's entire Garfield script.

Nonetheless, you should be able to amuse yourself, at least briefly, with "how'd they do that?" ruminations on the sophistication of modern filmmaking technology that--as in the Stuart Little and Doctor Dolittle flicks--gives the photo-realistic animals real presence. If only they could devise software to make the hopelessly wooden human performers look half as convincing.

Best of all, though, Fox wisely precedes the feature with a computer-animated short, Gone Nutty, featuring a welcome return appearance by Scrat, Ice Age's adorable, bug-eyed, acorn-crazed squirrel rat. Those first five anarchic minutes are almost enough to make you forgive the 80 minutes of product placement and horrible histrionics that follow.--Anthony Allison

Dismal Diesel

It was hard to hear everything during a recent screening of director David Twohy's science-fiction bounty hunter adventure The Chronicles of Riddick, because people around me were taking loud verbal potshots at the film.

But is that worth writing about? Don't most people who pay good money to see a film like this know exactly what they're getting? And aren't the rest of us smart enough to avoid this particular type of, uh, stuff?

So what should we discuss here then?

Well, Vin Diesel is in good shape.

I'm happy to report that since his 2000 breakthrough Pitch Black (to which Chronicles is a sequel), Vin has apparently continued to work out. His arms are big. Very big. His neck is testosterone-ish. He's obviously spent time making sure his face's one expression--you know, that "don't fuck with me" glare--is still attached. He hasn't spent quite as much time with his speech coach, so his lines sometimes resemble a warrior robot battling English as a second language. But a lot of young males, for whom this picture is intended, seem to feel real men don't talk, so I doubt this matters much.

Vin's female foe is Thandie Newton, who slinks around in low-cut gowns, dripping in innuendo. No doubt the kid males will be too busy thinking bad thoughts to care about her performance being smothered in her breasts.

The dialogue--to the point, lest any actor be stretched too far--tends to have a "Me Tonto, him Lone Ranger" kind of cadence. And the special effects bring to mind parts of 1977's Star Wars. The bad parts.

For some reason, the great Judi Dench is in this thing. But I doubt if the kids will be impressed by her. They'll be too busy wishing they could grow up to be as talented as the talent-challenged Diesel's pecs.--Anthony Del Valle