CARS, directed by John Lasseter, written by Dan Fogelman, Lasseter, Joe Ranft, Kiel Murray, Phil Lorin and Jorgen Klubien, 114 minutes, rated G.

Pixar’s beautiful-looking yet boring new computer-animated movie, “Cars,” is the weakest in what has long been one of the more inspired and celebrated collaborations to come out of Hollywood – the relationship between Pixar and Disney.

You can’t win them all, and this time, the studios haven’t even come close.

At nearly two hours, this dull movie, which is sandbagged by a joyless, sputtering mid-section that goes nowhere, feels so long, some might want to climb into their own cars, find a cliff and pull a Thelma and Louise just to be done with it.

You enjoy the film for its polished animation and are grateful when it offers the occasional chuckle, but in spite of featuring no fewer than six screenwriters (itself a rather telling indication that the script stinks), the film fails to offer much in the way of wit, energy, heart and entertainment, which is what audiences expect from Pixar.

Financially, the movie will do well, but that’s because of the considerable goodwill the two studios have generated within audiences, some of whom will go to “Cars” hoping for the brisk innovation of, say, “The Incredibles” or “Monsters, Inc.,” while others will seek the spirit of the “Toy Story” movies and “Finding Nemo.”

“Cars” tries for a mix of both, but since it’s so focused on achieving the best in cutting-edge animation (which it does), it fails to remember what matters–the story and characters–and so it creates the odd movie that you forget while watching it.

Directed by John Lasseter from a script he co-wrote with Dan Fogelman, Joe Ranft, Kiel Murray, Phil Lorin and Jorgen Klubien, the film follows Lightning McQueen (voice of Owen Wilson), a hot-rod showoff on his way to battling his foes–Strip Weathers (Richard Petty) and Chick Hicks (Michael Keaton)–at the Piston Cup Championship in California, when he gets lost along the way and winds up in the forgotten town of Radiator Springs.

There, on Route 66, the highway has long since passed the town by, leaving the good-natured residents nearly destitute because people wanted a more direct route to their destination, not to mention 10 minutes shaved off their drive time.

With McQueen stuck in Radiator Springs thanks to a traffic violation, he is sentenced to pave the road he destroyed before he can leave, which gives him just enough time to meet-cute with Sally Carrera (Bonnie Hunt), a come-hither Porche, as well as a slew of other characters, the most notable of which are Paul Newman’s grumbling Doc Hudson, who has a secret past, and bucktoothed Mater (Larry the Cable Guy), who is so thick, he wouldn’t recognize his past if it hit him.

For a car, McQueen has a lot to learn about humanity in Radiator Springs–not to mention what’s important in life–and so the script manipulates him toward a manufactured personal awakening while also reaching deep into nostalgia for a lost time. Toward the end, the story gels, but it’s the getting there that might leave some in the audience asking, “Are we there yet?”

Grade:C

On DVD

U-571 – HD DVD

The Chronicles of Riddick – HD DVD

Unfortunately for Jonathan Mostow’s submarine potboiler “U-571,” which arrives this week on HD-DVD, its high-definition transfer doesn’t detract from the underwhelming experience of the bad dialogue and weak script.

The film does generate heat in its well-staged battle sequences, and Mostow proves masterful in swinging his camera around the ship’s tight, claustrophobic interiors, but unlike superior submarine thrillers–“Run Silent, Run Deep,” “Das Boot,” “The Enemy Below,” “The Hunt for Red October” and “Crimson Tide,” which deserve the high definition treatment – the movie isn’t interested in human drama.

Instead, the focus is on the plot: A German U-boat carrying the Nazi Enigma machine has been damaged in the mid-Atlantic. Desperate to retrieve the machine so it can crack the Nazi radio codes, the U.S. devises a mission to remove it from the crippled boat and get it into the hands of the Navy.

Mostow gets a fair performance out of Matthew McConaughey as the young naval lieutenant faced with carrying out the film’s mission, but Harvey Keitel is wasted, Jon Bon Jovi is reduced to showcasing his jawline, and Bill Paxton has the distinction of delivering the worst performance of his career.

Also on HD-DVD this week is David Twohy’s “The Chronicles of Riddick,” which is fittingly set in Crematoria, a sun-baked planet whose blistering heat is so intense, it fries the film’s joints. A loose sequel to the solid, 2000 breakout hit, “Pitch Black,” “Riddick” is light years away from that movie, whose tense mood of dread unfolded in the dark.

“Riddick” wants to switch on the lights, which is fine since it reveals Holger Gross’ terrific set design, which embraces a more-is-more sensibility that makes the film appear more interesting than it is, particularly in high definition, where visually, it comes alive.

The story, however, is a mess, featuring more shaved beef than a deli. In it, Riddick (Vin Diesel) must battle the vast army of the Necromongers, a fundamentalist group of leatherclad muscleheads determined to subjugate the universe by bending its inhabitants to their will. Should these folks refuse to conform, they’ll have their souls sucked out of their bodies, which can’t be pleasant.

Acting for those in the balcony are Colm Feore as Lord Marshal, Thandie Newton as the mincing Dame Vaako and Dame Judi Dench as Aereon, a ghostly ambassador of the “Elemental” race Riddick is trying to save. When she appears onscreen and it strikes you that the actress might have dementia, it ceases to matter. “Riddick” has already become “The Chronicles of Arthritic,” so lame that it needs a cane to lumber into its final act.

GRADE

U-571 – C-

Riddick – C-

Visit www.weekinrewind.com, the archive of Bangor Daily News film critic Christopher Smith’s reviews, which appear Mondays in Discovering, Fridays in Happening, and Weekends in Television. He may be reached at Christopher@weekinrewind.com.