im Frost Fox

FrostFox recommeneds you to buy a Bravia LCD TV to watch all your videos and movies.

best LCD in the market currently is X Series - KLV-52X300A.

below are the specs of the LCD TV :

• Full HD 1080
• BRAVIA Engine Pro
• Motion Flow Technology
• S-Force Front Surround
• Voice Zoom
• 10-bit Panel
• x.v.Colour
• PhotoTV HD
• 24P True Cinema
• 3 HDMI Connections
• BRAVIA Theatre Sync
• 2 Tuner PAP
• PC PIP
• Ultra-Slim, Space Saving Design
• Cinema Mode

Watch two separate pictures from different

sources on the screen at the same time!

Theatre Mode

Collaborating with Sony Pictures Entertainment, Sony has created Theatre Mode, Sony’s authorised picture setting for films that accurately balances the colours of dark scenes and with the right amount of “film-grain”. You can now experience every movie exactly the way the director intended!

BRAVIA Engine Pro

BRAVIA Engine Pro provides the highest quality image processing available for your maximum viewing experience. This advanced processor utilises an advanced technology known as Digital Reality Creation which improves your High Definition signal and ensures that you see every single detail.

Motion Flow

Enhance the excitement of watching sports and movies on your BRAVIA! Motionflow actually creates artificial pictures which it inserts into fast-moving sequences to effectively double the number of pictures, or frames, that make up the sequence. This enables BRAVIA to display even the fastest sports scene with total precision and smoothness.

BRAVIA Theatre Sync

Watch as your entire entertainment system comes alive with the push of a single button! With BRAVIA Theatre Sync, each entertainment device synchronises itself with the others so that a single command can bring every system online and playing your favourite programmes instantly.

S-FORCE Front Surround

After years invested in developing totally virtual surround sound technology, Sony has created S-Force front surround. This amazing technology utilises a complex process of sound delay to bring a surrounding sound atmosphere to any space whatsoever from just two front speakers!

10-bit Panel

With a new and improved 10-bit panel, BRAVIA LCD TVs are now capable of displaying up to 1024 individual steps of colour gradation. Compared to conventional 8-bit panels, you will notice remarkable smoothness in the colours and details of every image.

Deception, starring Hugh Jackman and Ewan McGregor, is being sold as an “erotic thriller.” Any experienced cinemagoer knows that this phrase, which promises two things, usually indicates a film that will fail to deliver either. American studio films either tiptoe around sex or stomp on it with clown shoes, and the modern thriller often relies on activities that are not, and cannot ever be, thrilling — electronic funds transfers, typing, mouse-clicking. Deception, directed by Marcel Lanegger from a script by Mark Bomback, begins as Ewan McGregor’s lonely auditor Jonathan McQuarry labors late into the night in a huge conference room, vast windows looking out over the lights of the city. Shut in, walled-away, cut-off, Jonathan is worse than miserable; he’s invisible. But then Hugh Jackman’s brash, blunt Wyatt Bose waltzes in, makes some small talk, sparks up a joint. It’s not what Jonathan’s used to. Then again, he hates what he’s used to.

Jonathan and Wyatt become fast friends, but Jackman’s wolf-like smile makes it clear he’s the alpha dog in the friendship. But a mishap of swapped cell phones means Jonathan and Wyatt have crossed lines — and lives — and Jonathan gets an enigmatic call over and over, different women’s voices all saying the same thing: “Are you free tonight?” One time, he says yes, and stumbles into a bizarre new social circle — The List, where well-to-do men and women connect anonymously and briefly for, as one woman explains to Jonathan, “intimacy without intricacy.” And, for a while, Jonathan — lonely, uptight, Jonathan — goes for it. Hotel rooms, frantic couplings, the pleasures of contact without the pressures of connection. Wyatt doesn’t mind Jonathan taking advantage of Wyatt’s membership in an exclusive group; have fun, go for it. But soon Jonathan meets someone on The List, a woman he only knows by her initial, ‘S’ (Michelle Williams), one who actually makes him feel something more than lust, and you sense that rules will be broken.

And then the twists and turns are revealed, but it’s not as if we’re being taken through terra incognita; instead, we’re going back over a route we’ve traveled many times before, with more capable people at the wheel. There is a startling moment of violence; there is a revelation; there is a demand made that, if complied with, may prevent even worse things from happening. And Bomback — who also wroteLive Free or Die Hard and Godsend – does not vary that familiar plot enough to make us feel truly engaged by any of it. 

For a while, you can slide along on the silvery sheen of Deception; photographed by Dante Spinotti (Heat, The Insider), Deception at the very least looks great. Shooting on film for daytime scenes and with digital cameras for scenes set at night, Spinotti captures the brute, blurry rush and push of modern urban life as Wyatt and Jonathan cruise clubs, or Jonathan races through the streets trying to figure out what’s being done to him. But beauty, as we know, is only skin deep, andDeception goes through the zigs and zags of its plot like a figure-skating champ doing the compulsory exercises — not without skill and not without energy, but completely without any spark of creativity or individuality.

The actors are all better than this material, and that makes a few scenes shine; McGregor actually conveys Jonathan’s loneliness and self-doubt, and when The List unfolds itself to him, he dives in like a kid at a candy store, albeit one where the candy comes wrapped in expensive lingerie. Jackman gets to show off a nice snarl as Wyatt’s easy grin breaks open to reveal sharp teeth. And Williams manages, in one scene, to be both earthy and sensual, combining warmth with real heat. In fact, the cast is so good that it made me wonder what Deceptionwould have been like if it did not have to turn into a story about a con — if it could have simply explored the complicated territories and transactions of desire and discretion in the modern age, if it could have been about how all these people wanted to live instead of about what some of these people wanted to steal.

And there are a few moments in Deception that have some small flicker of an erotic charge to them, but they’re swiftly passed over so we can get to the lying and the stealing and the hitting and the chasing. And so we get scenes full of modern thriller clichés — foreign bank accounts, the slowly-moving animation of the progress bar during an international funds transfer. People get uncomfortable thinking about sex in terms of desire and want, but no one gets uncomfortable thinking about money in terms of take and steal. Sex, in American films, is reduced to either mainstream Hollywood’s blue-lit close-shot faces or the grim industrial product that is modern pornography. And there are occasional exceptions to that on both sides of the spectrum, but mostly, a Hollywood film cannot be erotic; it has to be an erotic thriller. And much like other recent erotic thrillers – Derailed, Perfect Stranger, Basic Instinct 2, Taking Lives – Deception is star-filled and competently crafted, but so afraid of real sexuality that it instead offers us soft-lit perfume-ad images, and is erroneously convinced that moviegoers won’t be able to spot lazy storytelling once their glasses are steamed up by a few flashes of skin. Erotic stories are about want and feel; thriller stories are about take and kill. And you can combine those very different things into a cohesive film – Vertigo’s the best possible demonstration, but there are others — but Deception doesn’t come close to that level of quality; if Deception’s good, glossy cast and gorgeous visuals elevate it a little above the likes of similar recent films, that’s not so much praisingDeception as it is noting how far down our expectations have been lowered.

Fast & Furious

Release Date: June 5, 2009
Studio: Universal Pictures
Director: Justin Lin
Screenwriter: Chris Morgan
Starring: Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez, Jordana Brewster, John Ortiz, Laz Alonso, Gal Gadot, Shea Whigham, Tego Calderon, Liza Lapira
Genre: Action, Thriller
MPAA Rating: Not Available
Official Website: FastandFuriousmovie.net | MySpace.com/FastandFurious
Review: Not Available
DVD Review: Not Available
DVD: Not Available
Movie Poster: Not Available
Production Stills: View here
Plot Summary: Vin Diesel and Paul Walker reteam for the ultimate chapter of the franchise built on speed — “Fast & Furious.” Heading back to the streets where it all began, they rejoin Michelle Rodriguez and Jordana Brewster to blast muscle, tuner and exotic cars across Los Angeles and floor through the Mexican desert in the new high-octane action-thriller.

When a crime brings them back to L.A., fugitive ex-con Dom Toretto (Diesel) reignites his feud with agent Brian O’Conner (Walker). But as they are forced to confront a shared enemy, Dom and Brian must give in to an uncertain new trust if they hope to outmanuever him. And from convoy heists to precision tunnel crawls across international lines, two men will find the best way to get revenge: push the limits of what’s possible behind the wheel.

The strangest, most intriguing thing about The Strangers is that the two main characters are already dead — before the masked psychopaths even show up outside their door. (Don’t worry, that’s not a spoiler.)

Kristen (Liv Tyler) and James (Scott Speedman) are metaphorically dead. Their relationship is on the rocks; there isn’t a trace of love or joy between them — or in either of them, for that matter. It’s clear they’ve sucked each other dry and they’re staying together out of habit. This is how the film draws us in: We pity the characters, and it’d be great to see if they can kick-start their relationship — provided they can avoid getting stabbed to death first.

Just who are these masked strangers, and why do they want to kill this couple? As you watch the film, you’ll find these questions aren’t all that important, which is good, because you’ll never know the reasons, anyway. In fact, there don’t seem to be any reasons to murder them at all. Presumably inspired by Alfred Hitchcock, director Bryan Bertino is breaking a traditional filmmaking rule by giving us antagonists who don’t have a motive. That’s a respectable decision, because psycho killers in movies never have very valid or interesting reasons to kill people anyway.

Bertino, however, makes a mistake when he breaks another rule — by showing the ending of the movie at the beginning. We’ve seen it done before (think Memento), but it doesn’t work in Strangers. A title screen in the introduction says this movie is based on a true event, and FBI agents still don’t really know what happened to this couple. OK, well, that means they’re going to die, right?

That’s great — so we know the two main characters are going to die. Where is the element of surprise? What is there left to hope for? What is there left to anticipate? In effect, all we can do now is wait for Kristen and James to croak. And that’s just a disappointing mistake, because the actors do a fine job at getting us to feel sorry for them — like I said earlier, drawing us in — but knowing they’re going to die only pushes us away.

Don’t get me wrong: Strangers is really scary. Tyler has the perfect scream to get you shaking in your seat. The villains’ minimalist masks and the way they slither around in the dark add up to a 10 on the “creepy” scale. And you can tell they’re getting a sadistic kick out of torturing the poor couple.

But after about 45 minutes of watching the masked villains chase Kristen and James around the house with various melee weapons, you’ll probably wonder how long this premise can go on for. Fortunately, Strangers ends just before it’s about to putter out — with a surprisingly short run time of just 90 minutes.

Did I mention there’s a line at the end of the movie that opens the door to a sequel? It’s difficult to imagine how Bertino could possibly use the same chase-and-stab premise if he makes a part two. Perhaps he should hand off the baton to someone who loves making bad sequels, like Brett Ratner: He’d give us a horror movie with a love triangle, explosions, and maybe a car chase… if we’re lucky.

If she’d made the bed this wouldn’t have happened.

It’s likely that the younger generation of moviegoers knows Mike Myers primarily as the voice of Shrek. It has been five years since “The Cat in the Hat,” his last live-action movie, and six since the third “Austin Powers” picture, so a bit of reintroduction may be in order. Kids who wonder just who this guy is — and grownups with a merely casual rather than morbidly obsessive interest in pop-culture ephemera — will need some remedial instruction.

Back in the ’90s, they should be told, Mr. Myers was without peer in a challenging and intensely competitive pursuit: the manufacture of comical catchphrases that, while not especially funny in themselves, would call forth peals of knowing laughter when repeated out of context.

Party on, Garth! Touch my monkey! Groovy, baby, groovy! I’ve got shpilkes in my geneckteckessoink! He had a million of them, or at least a half dozen. But to judge from “The Love Guru,” a new feature film directed by Marco Schnabel, Mr. Myers, a writer and producer as well as the star, seems to have lost his touch. The movie’s takeaway catchphrase is “Mariska Hargitay,” which is used by the title character as a fake-Hindi spiritual greeting. This is almost hilarious the first 11 or so times he does it, but by the time Guru Pitka (Mr. Myers) says “Mariska Hargitay” to Ms. Hargitay herself, it’s somehow less amusing than it should be.

Which might sum up “The Love Guru” in its entirety but only at the risk of grievously understating the movie’s awfulness. A whole new vocabulary seems to be required. To say that the movie is not funny is merely to affirm the obvious. The word “unfunny” surely applies to Mr. Myers’s obnoxious attempts to find mirth in physical and cultural differences but does not quite capture the strenuous unpleasantness of his performance. No, “The Love Guru” is downright antifunny, an experience that makes you wonder if you will ever laugh again.

And this is, come to think of it, something of an achievement. What is the opposite of a belly laugh? An interesting question, in a way, and to hear lines like “I think I just made a happy wee-wee” or “I’m making diarrhea noises in my cup” or to watch apprentice gurus attack one another with urine-soaked mops is to grasp the answer. Please don’t misunderstand: I’m not opposed to infantile, regressive, scatological humor. Indeed, I consider myself something of a connoisseur. Or maybe a glutton. So it’s not that I object to the idea of, say, witnessing elephants copulate on the ice in the middle of a Stanley Cup hockey match, or seeing a dwarf sent flying over the same ice by the shock of defibrillator paddles. But it will never be enough simply to do such things. They must be done well.

Instead Mr. Myers floats through “The Love Guru” with the serene confidence that everything he does will have us rolling in the aisles. He follows nearly every joke with his trademark facial tic, baring his teeth, pushing his head forward and widening his eyes, as if to grant uncertain viewers permission to giggle. Sometimes he does this to indicate the character’s attempt at levity — Guru Pitka making a joke at someone else’s expense rather than Mr. Myers making a joke at Guru Pitka’s — but the distinction hardly matters. The delusional narcissism of the Guru, who dreams of a spot on “Oprah,” is of a piece with Mr. Myers’s own.

The rule seems to be that no one may upstage him and all must adore him. The “Austin Powers” franchise fulfilled the first mandate by casting the star in several roles. He is supported by a cast that includes Justin Timberlake (as a well-endowed Québécois goalie), Romany Malco (as a hockey star with love trouble) and Jessica Alba, as the owner of the Toronto Maple Leafs. A further list — Stephen Colbert! John Oliver of “The Daily Show”! Ben Kingsley! — would only create the misleading impression that there is something worth seeing here. If there is — Did I miss it? Darn! — I’m sure it will show up on YouTube before long. In the meantime talk amongst yourselves.

“The Love Guru” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). It has crude sexual humor and naughty words.

These are some movie signatures that i found on the internet.Feel free to edit and use them.

It would be one thing if You Don’t Mess With the Zohan was simply bad; after the recent string of Adam Sandler comedies like I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, Click and The Longest Yard, You Don’t Mess With the Zohan continues the Sandler career path where low comedy is intended to result in high profits. Sandler’s films now seem to function mostly as a kind of philosophical experiment: How lazy, sloppy and stupid can a film be and still make money? And let’s not mince words here, or hem and haw and add caveats about a few laughs or good intentions: You Don’t Mess With the Zohan is astonishingly, impressively, depressingly bad.

And no, this is not some sneering, soft-handed ivory-tower resident looking down on Sandler’s work from a lofty height; this is someone who loves a good smart dumb comedy telling you that if you see You Don’t Mess With the Zohan, you’ll witness a moment where Zohan — the Israeli commando-turned-hairdresser played by Sandler — wishes a sad farewell to someone with his junk. We get a close-up of it — bulging, frame-filling — and it waggles a little wave to us, sadly, as Zohan wishes goodbye to a girl he might have loved, eyes sad and crotch engorged.

And I think of myself as hard to startle, or fairly inured to the depths to which Hollywood will go to get what they think might be a laugh, but I actually shook my head vigorously at that moment in the theater on the off chance that I might simply be dreaming this in some unsettled nightmare where a major motion picture studio not only thought a sentimental wang-wave was funny but paid for the construction of the cock-animatronic in question, so that we could witness Zohan demonstrate the breaking of his heart by the shifting of his bulge. And if you think I’m obsessing over Sandler’s penis, let me assure you that its nothing compared to Sandler’s own obsession; I’m just relaying a portion of the smutty, unfunny sex-comedy in Zohan, where the whole comedic enterprise seems to revolve around the axis of Sandler’s stuffed man-bits.

I haven’t fully explained the plot, but there’s not much to explain; credited to Sandler, Robert Smigel and Judd Apatow, You Don’t Mess With the Zohan’s script can be summed up in a series of brief sentences: Israeli counter-terrorism commando tires of fighting, fakes his death, moves to New York to pursue his dream of being a hairdresser, is pursued by his Palestinian nemesis, finds the melting pot of America more peaceful than the constant battles of the Middle East, ultimately joining forces with his mortal enemy The Phantom (John Turturro) to stop a gentrifying developer who’s trying to drive a series of Israeli and Arab-owned business out of a New York block in the name of building a mall.

I can’t say if this pitch would have been funny with better execution, but I can say definitively that even this reed-thin spine is twisted and bent by supporting the crushing weight of Sandler’s sneering narcissism and infantile sexuality. Zohan can only get a job cutting hair at a Palestinian-owned salon, under the direction of the lovely Dalia (Emmanuelle Chriqui), but he soon becomes popular with the shop’s older female patrons — not solely because he flatters the customers and gives good style, but because he also takes them into the storage closet after each cut and services them sexually. So we’re expected to laugh, not just at the goofiness of Zohan’s dream and his ’80s styles (Zohan’s only hairstyling reference book is a Paul Mitchell Salon photobook from two decades ago) but also at the thought of virile, young Adam Sandler giving older woman a good solid rogering. When he shares his dream of hairdressing with his family, Zohan’s asked if he’s a “faygeleh” — gay — which he’s quick to assert he isn’t; perhaps Sandler, fearing collateral gayness, is overcompensating in the worst possible way. Or perhaps Zohan’s constant mentions of “making sticky” is an attempt at crafting a Borat-style character, the blithe idiot adrift in the modern world — but if we’re supposed to believe in Zohan as a bold, brilliant killing machine, making him dull and dim about sex and hairstyles actually works counter to the thrust of the film, or at least the parts of the film that don’t revolve around thrusting.

Amazingly, Zohan tries to position itself as a film with a message beneath the laughs, depicting how, in America, Israelis and Palestinians kinda sorta get along. But Zohan trafficks in stereotypes as Zohan uses hummus as everything from a toothpaste to a fire retardant. It has shameless mis-casting, with Rob Schneider expanding his long list of makeup-smeared missteps here as a supporting Palestinian character. It gives us weird woman-hating moments like Zohan’s sex-stud idea of extended service or explaining how Zohan’s nemesis Phantom has a stable of 20 wives or showing us Israelis and Palestinians bonding over which female politicians or political spouses they’d like to do. It’s nearly impossible to see Zohan’s can’t-we-all-just-get-along message as anything but sad posturing to rationalize bulge, buttock and breast jokes.

The idea behind You Don’t Mess With the Zohan — that a weary warrior would want to paraphrase the proverb and beat his sword not into a ploughshare but instead a curling iron — could have been funny, yes. But that would take filmmakers who can stick to an idea and explore it with wit and intellect, not a director like Dennis Dugan who has built a career out of saying “That was awesome, Adam ….” no matter how lame or bizarre or over-the-top his moneymaking star’s performance and ideas become. It would also take a comedic actor who thought there was more to shaping a character than stuffing your pants, and a supporting cast who were offered more to do than make jokes about their goat or look great in a low-cut top. It would take a script that respected human dignity even as it exposed the foibles in it, not one that made mealy-mouthed wishes for peace between men while degrading and insulting women. It would take someone, somewhere, with enough courage and judgment to tell Sandler the mass appetite for his films does not make them good, merely popular, and that standing on a high pile of hateful, dimwitted wreckage like what Sandler’s offered audiences shouldn’t be confused with a place at the top. “Don’t Mess“? More like “Don’t Bother.”

“Rogue” is the latest entry into the “pissed off croc” subgenre, which is basically a subgenre where some stupid humans travel into croc territory in some far away place, and end up food for the scaly beast. “Rogue” follows the same pattern, only it’s smart enough to make the human victims victims of circumstance, instead of dumb teens looking for a quiet, remote place to screw and smoke dope. The pic which stars Michael Vartan, has the “Alias” star playing a travel reporter…who takes a boat tour in Australia so he can gather up material for his latest article.

The tour, led by Kate (Radha Mitchell), goes smoothly at first. That is until some of the other tour members think they notice an emergency flare coming from a high up mountain. When Kate goes to investigate…she mistakenly leads the tour into crocodile territory, which results in the beast capsizing the boat and stranding the group on a remote island. Now it’s a race against time as the hungry crocodile looks for ways to pick them off one by one, while they look for ways to contact help before it can. “Rogue”, as an action/horror film does not measure up. It’s actually a bit, short…in the tooth.

However, it avoids the typical cliches of this particular subgenre…and does manage to put together a few nicely done and intense attack sequences here and there. That withstanding, it does manage to come out of the pile to be better than the grossly disappointing “Primeval”…but still does not reach that platform of being as good as “Lake Placid”. A film which has been the measuring stick for a badass killer croc flick since the late 90’s when it was released. Greg Mclean, who directed “Wolf Creek”, also directed “Rogue”. While he does manage to fill the movie with wonderful sceneries, and a few nice camera shots and angles….he seems to forget that his movie is a “killer gator” film.

And having your antagonist simply chill out for most of the picture is not a good thing. The gator, while vicious, and damn sure hungry…doesn’t attack often enough. And without many attacks, you can’t feel any fear for the characters…and without that element present…your film just comes out flat. Most of the few attack scenes that there are also take place in the dark, which is another major issue. I think this was mostly done for budgetary reasons…as having to show the croc in it’s full form in the daytime scenes would cost more money. As opposed to simply building a croc head, and having it latch onto, and snatch away victims in the pitch dark nighttime.

We hear more snarling, breathing, and growling from the crocodile than we see any real limb ripping, or bloodshed. Certainly not good. Radha Mitchelle and Michael Vartan do manage to keep this would-be-sinker afloat somewhat with their good on-screen chemistry, and decent performances. Which is what sunk “Primeval” pretty much. Lack of croc action, and NO good performances. But anyone who is not interested in Michael Vartan as an actor or never was a fan, and isn’t that big on Mitchell either….will not like this movie. If you’re coming into this thing looking for croc action at every turn, arms, heads, and bodies being torn asunder, and chase sequences which will give you the chills, then look elsewhere.

Mclean’s “Rogue” is the type of crocodile film that takes it’s sweet time doing anything, and tries to make the viewing experience methodical…instead of action-packed like it should be. You add a poor supporting cast to the equation, and you have a film which should’ve been alot better than it turned out to be. “Rogue” doesn’t live up to it’s title to put it simply. A rogue is defined as someone or something which goes against the grain, who calls his, her, or it’s own shots, and in some cases…strieks fear into the hearts of others.

But this crocodile doesn’t put any fear into the viewer at all. It comes off more as a pissed off animal, angry at the humans who invaded it’s territory…rather than a vicious, hungry hunter which acts as king of it’s domain by annihilaitng anyone and anything that enters it, accidentally or not. While “Rogue” does have a few decent kills and a very exciting finale, it’s lack of blood, gore, action, and intensity for most of the duration, hurt it immensely.

Positives:Mitchell and Vartan deliver good performances, the final 15 minutes finally deliver some much needed action.

Negatives:Poor supporting cast behind Mitchell and Vartan, not enough daytime kill scenes, the crocodile doesn’t make enough appearances nor do enough damage.

Overall:Another disappointing croc tale from the swamps.

With, presumably, no more live-action episodes coming, what can fans reasonably expect from “Star Wars: The Clone Wars,” the theatrical pilot for the upcoming animated television series?

Well, there’s knockout animation, facsimiles of popular characters and plenty of action. But anyone older than 8 with the majority of brain functions intact will have a bad feeling about this.

It’s all but given that the wonder of actual humans inhabiting the “Star Wars” galaxy would be lost in any animated feature. Still, these characters are so beautifully rendered and meticulously crafted, they resemble hand-painted wooden puppets — they’re works of art. Textures and inanimate objects look fantastic, often as convincing as in the live-action features.

But where new characters, plot threads and better dialogue might have made up for much, “Clone Wars” simply doesn’t aim high enough. For those who had expected improved writing from the last four films, your hopes will be dashed on the ornately realized rocks of Tatooine.

The off-putting narration replacing the characteristic opening crawl is the first omen that this movie is not aiming much above the new-reader level. You know it’s not your good old “Star Wars” when you hear electric guitars, a tween character call Anakin “Sky Guy” and the future Mr. Vader make a “Poltergeist” reference before a fight (”They’re ba-aack!”). All that’s missing is a skateboarding dog with sunglasses.

And the maddeningly repetitious dialogue is the worst of the series. Even die-hard fans will admit that’s an awfully low bar to crawl under.

Perhaps the greatest sin of “Clone Wars” is its abominable mimeographing of the “petulant apprentice/exasperated mentor” dynamic that so dragged down the last few movies.

Unstable hothead Anakin (the millstone around the series’ neck) improbably gets a Padawan, or apprentice — the carefully calculated-to-be-cute Ahsoka Tano — and their relentless back and forth brainless sniping, often amid combat, is parsecs from engaging.

After some poorly thought-out action sequences, “Clone Wars” plunges into a nonsensical and ultimately inconsequential plot involving the kidnapping of Jabba the Hutt’s baby. Seriously. Along the way we meet Sith henchwoman and likely series regular Asajj Ventress and Jabba’s fey Southern uncle, apparently Capote the Hutt.

Now, if you’re already watching a “Star Wars” product, you’re willing to go with sound in space and faster-than-light travel and all that good stuff. But achieving the suspension of disbelief required by these plot mechanics, large and small, is like bull’s-eyeing womp rats from a T-16.

Despite some absolutely gorgeous animation and adjusting expectations for what “Clone Wars” is meant to be, the Force is not strong with this one.

“Star Wars: The Clone Wars.” MPAA rating: PG for sci-fi action violence throughout, brief language and momentary smoking. Running time: 1 hour, 38 minutes. In general release.