Don’t believe it. This new take on the stage classic starring Jamie Foxx, Beyoncé Knowles and Eddie Murphy is solid entertainment to be sure, but for those expecting something resplendently earth-shattering they should probably prepare for melodious acres of brightly sequined disappointment. Condon’s movie is shockingly inert for giant gobs of its running time, its emotional lifeblood of heartache, superstardom, broken friendships and celebrity dreams nowhere near as compelling as they perhaps should be.

What “Dreamgirls” does have is former “American Idol” also-ran Jennifer Hudson. There is no greater lock (save maybe Helen Mirren of “The Queen” for Best Actress) than for this young woman to be taking home the statue for Best Supporting Actress. Hudson is compelling, so wondrously spectacular there just aren’t words to express just how fantastic, just how perfect, this girl is. Without a doubt, Hudson delivers the tour-de-force performance of the year, and any and all mileage this film gets as a major awards contender is due pretty much entirely to her.

That’s probably overstating things a bit. Condon isn’t exactly a hack behind the camera and after having written the screenplay for “Chicago” he certainly knows a thing or two about making musicals. The old-school razzle-dazzle on display here is suitably eye-popping, the singing, dancing, cinematography, costumes and sets ranking as some of the best I’ve seen this year. The director knows how to weave an intoxicating web, and for all the film’s faults I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t admit to walking out of the theater tapping my toes and singing a couple of the project’s signature songs.

The story hasn’t changed any since Tom Eyen (book and lyrics) and Henry Kreiger (music) first premiered it on Broadway in the 1980’s. Deena Jones (Knowles), Lorrell Robinson (Anika Noni Rose) and Effie White (Hudson) dream of being stars. Thanks to the help of confident car salesman and wannabe music producer Curtis Taylor, Jr. (Foxx) they get the opportunity to sing backup for Detroit sensation James “Thunder” Early (Murphy), touring the “Chitlin’ Circuit” with him as he electrifies Black audiences with his thrilling combination of soul and rock ‘n’ roll.

You know the rest. Effie’s got the talent but not the looks, while Deena can’t sing near as well as her friend but is drop-dead gorgeous. Curtis launches them as a solo act but sidelines the one with the chops to backup, choosing to focus on the one with the bod to headline his new trio. Drama, elation, success, heartache and tragedy ensue, all of the girls learning that what they’d dreamed about most as youngsters might not be as valuable as the friendship they forgot to cherish along their road to superstardom.

Other than Hudson, the other knockout here is Murphy. This is the best role he’s had since Steven Martin’s “Bowfinger,” maybe the best he’s ever had in his long, highly successful career. He has a moment as the James Brown-esque Early dealing with the devastation of a crushing blow from Taylor that’s absolutely superb. It’s a sit-up-in-your-seat-and-open-your-mouth-in-awe sort of moment, so good you’d be forgiven for having forgotten the guy was quite this talented. Murphy’s extraordinary, and if there is any sort of cinematic justice in the world this will be the year he finally gets that long-deserved Oscar nomination.

If only the rest of the movie were as good as those two. Whenever “Dreamgirls” drifts away from them it oddly runs out of steam. I fully expected Knowles to be incapable of carrying the dramatic load of the motion picture (she’s a fine singer, and the new Kreiger song “Listen” is great, but an actress the woman certainly ain’t), but to find Foxx lacking is something close to a shock. He appears to be sleepwalking through this, however, wearing a smarmy look of inflexible egocentricity that gets old far too fast.

This is a problem, because at a certain point the film turns from Effie and focuses entirely upon them. (A side note, if Diana Ross ever felt the Broadway play made a mockery of her life than she’s going to just love the twenty minute browbeating she takes here.) My interest waned. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. I looked at my watch. I did everything I could to pass the time, watching the movie during these scenes an almost ponderously unbearable affair.

Thankfully Effie returns, her rendition of “One Night Only” so stirring I’m tempted to say I’ve never even heard of Jennifer Holiday (emphasis on the tempted, Holiday is a legend, after all, and Effie is her signature role) or listened to that singer’s version of the classic. The film suddenly takes off like a missile, hurtling towards its climax with so much passion and energy I couldn’t help but get swept up within its comforting wake. Condon gets everything going back in the right direction almost instantaneously, Foxx even waking from his mannered coma to deliver a whammy of a moment that knocked my socks clean off.

I realize I’m probably going to be in the minority on that particular viewpoint, but than that’s happened before so I’m not exactly going to lose any sleep about it, but even with this rousing final this movie isn’t the end-all/be-all of 2006. Viewers watching “Dreamgirls” certainly won’t be going home unhappy, but to think they’ll be sent out of the theater with anything more than a smile just simply isn’t true.

As for Hudson, this film could very well be a springboard fifty times greater than “American Idol” ever could have been for the performer. She’s a driving force to be reckoned with, a talented dynamo with unlimited potential leading me to believe that the chances that she’s going to be leaving without Oscar come February a virtual impossibility. No no no no way, no way at all, because, for her, “Dreamgirls” really just might be the best she really has ever known.

Film Rating: êêê  (out of 4)