There I was, my packet of wine gums at the ready and 'er indoors allowed out for the evening to come with me to the cinema.

Chicago! It had to be a great experience, a marvellous treat. I had brushed aside the whispered warnings from a friend whose critical faculties I usually regard as impeccable.

She had suggested a night out at McDonald's might be more fun. Instead, I was seduced by the multi-million dollar advertising blitz and the strategically selected reviews of (gullible?) critics.

After all, with armfuls of awards already in the bag and no less than 13 Oscar nominations for the ceremony in a week or so's time, it must be a goodie.

Thirteen nominations put it on a par with Gone With The Wind, From Here To Eternity and part one of Lord of the Rings. They even put it ahead of wonderful musicals such as My Fair Lady, West Side Story and Oliver - which all took Best Picture awards.

But what a disappointment. After all the hype I had uncharacteristically succumbed to, I was finding it hard to stay awake before the film was halfway through.

And judging by the gentle rumblings emanating from the slumped figure of 'er indoors in the next seat, I was not alone.

A serious problem is the implausible casting. While Catherine Zeta Jones may look a stunningly beautiful Velma and dance passably well, I could never for a moment believe in Richard Gere's money-grabbing Irish lawyer.

Casting him was an aberration. And no amount of clever editing could hide the sad inadequacy of his tap dancing.

As for Renee Zellweger, she is rightly known as the Hollywood stick insect. As well as the sickly appearance of her bony figure, she is by far the least attractive of the current crop of Hollywood stars.

No, let's not mince words. She is downright ugly.

So it is a mystery how any casting director could have thought she would be a convincing Roxy, a vamp who was supposed to be utterly seductive.

But such criticism is almost frivolous when you consider the quality of the music - or lack of it - from John Kander and Fred Ebb, the writers who gave us the magical Cabaret.

Apart from And All That Jazz there is nothing recognisable in Chicago. Even worse, there is nothing you can whistle or hum as you leave the cinema. And after all, this is supposed to be a musical!

If all that was not enough, Rob Marshall's dreary directing lacked any pace, any oomph, until the final routine when Roxy and Velma got together for a real showstopper. By then it was far too late.

Having said all that, I have no doubt producer Harvey Weinstein's dollar propelled bandwagon will career through Oscar night on March 23, picking up a raft of awards. It is simply the nature of the beast.