Directed by John Hamburg

Written by John Hamburg

Starring: Ben Stiller, Jennifer Aniston, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Debra Messing, Alec Baldwin, Hank Azaria

Rated: PG-13 (Sexual Content, Language, Crude Humor and Some Drug References)

Length: 90 Minutes

In a word: Disappointing

Ben Stiller's career was going great, and then along came Polly…

Let me be blunt: "Along Came Polly" is one of the most disappointing films that I have ever seen.

Going into it I was excited—expectant—the plot showed promise as another offbeat Stiller comedy.  Ruben Feffer (Stiller), a risk analysis expert, returns to the New York dating scene after being jilted by his newly wed bride (Messing) who breaks their vows mere hours into their honeymoon.  He is an obsessive, compulsive worrywart; as bland as plain toast, and as dangerous as a game of yahtzee. 

As often is the way of these tales he falls madly in love with Polly (Aniston), a raging hurricane of free spirit with a debilitating fear of commitment.  Somehow their relationship thrives despite jarring differences, disastrous misadventures, and some horrendous advice from Rueben's best friend (Hoffman), a washed-up actor and the most disgusting human being ever.

Have you seen the previews?  Then you have seen every single funny moment in this movie.  They're all there: Stiller spanking Aniston (who doesn't exactly appreciate the gesture), the blind ferret running into walls and other sundry objects, the plugged-up toilet, Salsa Stiller smacked by flinging hair, and that disgusting, flabby, sweaty, basketball playing sasquatch. 

That's it; there's nothing else remotely funny in the rest of the film—and actually, those parts really aren't that funny anyway.

So what happened?

Usually this is the type of movie where the cosmos glimmer as the planets move into perfect alignment in a dazzling celestial display of brilliance.  All the ingredients of a witch's comedic brew were there: a hefty dose of Ben Stiller—a veritable god of comedy in Hollywood today; Writer/Director John Hamburg, the scripting genius behind "Zoolander" and "Meet the Parents"; and a dash of stellar radiance in Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Alec Baldwin, and the luminous Hank Azaria.

What went wrong?

My bet: small-screen starlets destroyed the big-screen magic. 

Aniston and Messing were boring.  Their performances were plodding and predictable—even more lackluster than their usual offerings on NBC (don't get me wrong, "Will & Grace" and "Friends" definitely have their moments, but it's not because of these ladies).  Both acted as black holes from which nothing could escape: not talent, not star power, not comedic genius, nothing.  Their dreary, uninspiring performances set the pace for the entire piece.  No one was funny, not even Hoffman or Azaria, two actors I've admired for years, and least of all Hamburg's script, which was tired and banal.

The saddest causality of all in this stellar mess was Stiller himself who has so much more to offer, he's shown us what he can do—he didn't do it this time.

In case you are still tempted, let me make this crystal clear: do not go see this movie, there is nothing redeeming about it.  So much potential, so much expectation, so much possibility, none of it realized.

What a disappointing waste.

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