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“Tropic Thunder” is kind of a half-assed motion picture. You won't like it for the action, though it is marketed as though you might. You will interminably find parts of it funny, so it might pass as a comedy, but there are some flat stretches, too. Ultimately, there is a continuous undercurrent of satire that courses throughout the film. That is, for some, enough to save the film. Is it enough for you?

The one thing that “Thunder” understands is American showbiz. They know that film stars, when not on set, are contractually housed in an absurdly nice hotel. They know that oddities requested by the stars, like a TiVo, often are so sacrosanct as to appear in the contract. And heaven forbid breaking a contractual tenet – there's a clause stating exactly how much more money is owed if such should happen. They furiously understand that showbiz is about money, and not art. Good pictures make money at the B.O. Bad pictures don't. Forgot any nonsense about having a characters, a conflict, or a resolution. And the people in Hollywood – the sycophantic agency rep, the hairy veep at a media conglom, the Aussie arthouse pic thesp – this movie understands them all, just like “Wall·E” understands the human spirit. It knows that what makes those people tick are private jets and money. And contractual liaisons promising the above.

Whether or not you find all this funny is the remaining question. Looking for humor in an abyss of hollowness is challenging. “Thunder” is willing to try, though. The whole film is a tirelessly presented exaggeration of Hollywood. But that's all – no higher level comedy, no genius parody. It’s just a continuous cinematic portrait of the town that makes movies, played for the worst side. Nobody on the project was able to push to anything greater than that, which is why some will take this film, and some will leave it. If you already find showbiz funny, this inane movie will probably remind you of that. If you don't find it funny, then “Thunder” is a lame comedy with a few good laughs.

Perhaps the very existence of the film is a bright spot. It means that somebody in Hollywood can still recognize their very raison d'être enough to make fun of it, even if they want to make money by that very method while doing it. That's the interesting kind of self-satire that better films seek to instill. Here they just chanced upon it. Good for them.

Some will find this jaded cynicism unsettling. Don't look to the film's narrative for relief. The only redemption in this movie is financial. Failing careers are redeemed and everyone gets paid – that is, everyone who survived until the third act. And that's a happy ending.