Garfield

or "How Hollywood punished Bill Murray for being nasty to Charlie's Angels".

A film so bad, so misplacedly heart-warming, that it's not even so bad it's good.

The only child in the audience gave up laughing feebly and spent most of the movie running up and down the cinema pretending to be a plane. Normally, I hate badly-behaved children at the cinema - but this time it was nice to have something less annoying than the film.

For a few seconds, you think this may be some good. Then you realise....

• That Breckin Meyer really is as stupid as a personal trainer (see his "I. Am. Thinking. With. My. Eyebrows." expression).
  
• That they've missed the bitchy fun of the original Garfield entirely.
  
• That all the vermin are voiced as Black Homeboys. Ouch.
  
• That, in a terrorist-paranoid America, they take the unusual step of showing Garfield co-ordinating several head-on train collisions.
  
• That Bill Murray didn't even phone it in - he used a yoghurt pot and some string.
  

And then, when it can't get any worse....

... Garfield sings. A song. About friendship.