In some distant bizarro world, “Be Cool” is a hilarious romp, propelled by an all-star cast of Hollywood legends. But here and now, “Be Cool” is as flat as the lifelines of a has-been/should-be cast.

Picture a group of Hollywood suits sitting around a boardroom, thinking about a way to make another sequel to “Get Shorty.” One suit yells out, “How about The Rock as a gay cowboy?” Another – “Let’s get John and Uma to dance again!” One asks, “Have any of you seen ‘Get Shorty?’” He’s fired immediately.

“Be Cool” feels like a movie made by people who know nothing about the movies. It constantly nudges the audience, as if asking if it’s funny. The Rock as a gay cowboy, Vince Vaughn as a white guy who thinks he’s black, John Travolta with a full head of flowing hair – that’s funny, right?

No. It is not funny. There is nothing funny about this movie. It has been some time since I have seen a movie with such a high-profile cast inspire such nervous snickering from an audience – especially on opening night.

Travolta reprises his role as Chili Palmer, the mafia goon-turned-movie producer in 1995’s “Get Shorty.” This time, Chili wants out of the movie business. Conveniently, one of his buddy music execs gets whacked by the Russian mafia (nudge, nudge).

This enables Chili to take over both his friend’s international corporation and his widow.

Uma Thurman plays the widow. How do I know this? Because she wears a T-shirt with “widow” written on it.

But Chili’s bud was not as successful as he seemed. A group of gun-toting gangsta rappers (nudge, nudge) show up to collect more than $300,000 in royalties. But as the widow tells us moments before, “the books” are empty.

By “the books” she means two thin leather-clad “books” that detail the entire corporation’s finances. The gangstas’ producer (Cedric the Entertainer) demands that he be able to look at “the books” for proof. This segment inspired some laughter from the audience – maybe from some accountants.

Just in the nick of time, Chili acquires a new young phenom. By acquires, I mean stole from an R&B group called “The Chicks.” These “Chicks” are bossed around by their producer, the jive-talking Raji (Vince Vaughn) who would typically say things like “What up, G?” and “You bettah check yo self” (nudge, nudge).

Both Raji and his boss Nick Carr (Harvey Keitel) know they need to get their phenom back. Before you know it, Steven Tyler is talking to us, the Russian mafia is killing people and our “American Idol” reject is performing on stage with Aerosmith.

“Be Cool” is no movie – it’s a cry for help. Perhaps a filmmaker will rise to place each of these sad actors in a film with witty characters, not just bad punchlines. Travolta needs to invest his salary in a Q-Signal – a spotlight summoning Quentin Tarantino to again rescue the falling star before he’s in “Look Who’s Talking Again!”

Not only is “Be Cool” a bad movie, it’s a mean-spirited, insulting, racist, homophobic mess that belonged on a shelf much longer than it was. Roger Ebert gives a dreary movie a weak review and he’s racist.

But when F. Gary Gray directs a movie insulting to blacks, whites, homosexuals, cowboys, actors, audiences and Asians – he gets a pass.

Maybe this is bizarro world, after all.