You can already hear the crowds as they exit the megaplex: "When that ornery, no-good fella bit the big one with that thud, I thought I was gonna die !"

Yep, the old guy Harrison Ford and the young guy Josh Hartnett have got themselves a movie. This one starts off with all kinds of street signs with Hollywood in their names. Why? Just because, I guess.

"Hollywood Homicide" is like that. It's like "Charlie's Angels" in that once it's over, you don't really remember what went on. Trouble is, it's not like "Charlie's Angels" because it's never so continuously fun that you don't care you don't really remember what went on.

Ford and Hartnett are cops. Or kinda cops. They both have second jobs. Ford's feisty Joe Gavilan is a struggling real estate agent. Hartnett's earnest K.C. Calden is a wannabe actor and yoga instructor (how better to get female behinds into a movie with male stars?).

They're either smart cops or bumbling cops (the movie never makes up its mind) investigating machine gun slayings at a hip-hop club. That's machine gun as in they make a lot of noise and make a movie appear dramatic.

The hip-hop element allows writer-director Ron Shelton to introduce a bunch of rap stars, including Master P, Kurupt and Atlanta's own Dré. It's never quite clear why they're really there except they sure widen the movie's audience demographic.

Ford's the cantankerous old coot, making Viagra jokes and alimony jokes and bedding Lena Olin, whose role here amounts to being an extremely attractive middle-aged woman.

Hartnett, we must assume, is here because Ford is here. What young Hollywood up-and-comer wouldn't want to be in a buddy movie with Indiana Jones?

The subplot in this near disaster is that while Ford's Gavilan is investigating homicides, another cop (Bruce Greenwood) with a grudge is investigating him. You know it's serious because up on the wall board Greenwood's overzealous character has written, up with Gavilan's name and photos, the words "dereliction of duty," "co-mingling of funds" and "tax evasion." As if Ford has a habit of playing the bad guy.

Ford does convey a bit of his patented charm. He dons sunglasses for one of his romps with Olin and, between smooches, bites into a doughnut covered in white icing and chocolate sprinkles.

The meandering script is peopled with a whole bunch of characters. Eric Idle shows up for two lines. Lou Diamond Phillips wears a dress. Gladys Knight, Smokey Robinson, Martin Landau, Keith David, Lolita Davidovich (offscreen, she's married to the director), Isaiah Washington and a hatless Dwight Yoakam all have bit parts.

Many scenes designed for laughs simply lie there. Moments designed for drama muster none.

What does gel is that final chase scene. It's as though everyone involved knows this cop movie's a clunker and it's time to pull out the stops.

Everybody does.

And by the end, if you look hard, there's one more Hollywood sign you can see. It reads, "Hollywood Waste."

Unintentional, I'm sure. But right on target.