As bereft of imagination and ingenuity as its generic title suggests, Henry Jaglom's latest puerile non-film places us amidst a group of movie people (and wannabe movie people) at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival. Obviously shot on the fly while the festival was going on around it, the film-a "biting romantic comedy," as the promo material has the gall to call it-is more a series of random encounters between the extremely self-involved than it is cinema.

Alice Palmer (Greta Scacchi) is a mid-level Hollywood actress with a script idea that she's determined to turn into a movie. "Kaz" (Zack Norman) is an obnoxious "producer" who forces himself on Alice and her companions and convinces them that he's the man to get Alice's movie made. Legendary French actress Anouk Aimée plays legendary French actress Millie Marquand, who may or may not take the lead in Alice's film. Millie's husband Viktor (Maximilian Schell) is a director, as famous for his womanizing as he is for his many art films (think Fellini crossed with, well, Maximilian Schell). Troubled big time Hollywood producer Rick Yorkin (Ron Silver), may or may not help Alice get her film made-but he will certainly romance her as his finances crumble around him. As boring meeting after boring meeting takes place, we are supposed to care about these venal, self-absorbed egomaniacs. Umm... I don't think so.

Even at his best, Henry Jaglom divides audiences-his low budget, sometimes-amateurish films (Last Summer in the Hamptons, Babyfever) are an acquired taste. But he's hit a new low here. Festival in Cannes is artless in the extreme and devoid of any style or structure. The entire film is made up of dialogue scenes (usually stilted) between two of the characters, followed by a montage of characters walking on the Croisette while famous French crooners Charles Trenet or Edith Piaf warble on the soundtrack, followed by another dialogue scene, then a montage, etc. The effect is as uninvolving as it is vacuous. That none of the characters ever goes to a film (the festival is all about meetings and money) is both the best joke in the movie and a confirmation of why we care so little for any of them. Conjure up the most extreme stereotype of a smarmy movie person drinking cocktails and gossiping, and then multiply it by two and you'll have an idea of the people on display here.

At one point, the famous director-played by a glazed Schell as one part zombie to two-parts heavily sedated neurotic-sighs wearily and says, "What with the cost of making movies these days, perhaps it is enough just to dream them." If Henry Jaglom is determined to make movies like this one, the best thing he could do is heed his character's advice, pull the rocking chair onto the porch and be content with his dreams. At least we wouldn't have to see any more movies like this one.