Burlesque (Steven Antin, director and writer). Disparities (an aspiring showgirl plot whose high suspense turns on air rights!) and derivatives abound in a movie geared to capitalize on the blockbuster glow of a trend spurred by Chicago, and killed by its cousin, Nine. Burlesque gleefully rips these films off while scavenging every other small-town-girl-searches-for-big-city-fame trope without adding anything original to the mix. Disney-sexy women traipse through Cabaret-inspired numbers so over-edited it’s hard to tell a high kick from a pas deux beurre, and interspersed with book scenes so hackneyed you can anticipate what characters are going to say and do five minutes prior. What a shame about Cher: close your eyes, and you can still hear the fresh attitude of a once-original screen presence; open them, and you’ll be too distracted by her face’s surgical overload. Stanley Tucci again outclasses the material as her confidante, and glimmers of charm occasionally spring from the pairing of Christina Aguilera and Cam Gigandet, but their efforts are all in vain. Paging Fosse—quick.