Picture this: the rare blood of a pregnant pop star (Sarah Michelle Gellar) who’s protected by a two-bit loan shark (Brendan Fraser) who can see the future – both of whom are wanted by a ruthless gangster named Fingers (Andy Garcia) - is needed to save a dispirited surgeon’s (Kevin Bacon) first love (Julie Delpy) from a potentially lethal snakebite.

Now, throw in Emile Hirsch as Fingers’ wigga nephew and Forest Whitaker as a miserable businessman suffering from a midlife crisis, tie it all together with a premise drawn from a Chinese proverb, et voila: you have The Air I Breathe, an early contender for most bombastic – and unintentionally hilarious - film of the year.

This should come as no surprise however considering we are now well into January or, as Hollywood honchos like to call it: purgatory. It’s a time when the studios dump their leftovers on the pliable public and concentrate their efforts on late-night deals at Sundance and awards campaigning which is why The Air I Breathe, a film that made it’s U.S. debut at the Tribeca Film Festival last April, is now seeing the light of day.

The film is “inspired” by a Chinese proverb that divides the human experience into four fundamental emotions: Happiness, Sorrow, Pleasure, and Love. And, each of the film’s vignettes follows a character that symbolizes one of these states of being.

In “Happiness,” Forest Whitaker – following his 2006 Oscar-winning turn in The Last King of Scotland – stars as a miserable, feeble money manager who bets all his money on a fixed race; “Sorrow” boasts Sarah Michelle Gellar as an up-and-coming pop star whose contract is sold to a vicious kingpin named Fingers (Andy Garcia), and his callow nephew (Emile Hirsch); Brendan Fraser is Fingers’ money collector who can see the future in “Pleasure”; and in “Love,” Kevin Bacon plays a doctor who covets a married woman (Julie Delpy), only to find that through a series of truly bizarre circumstances (see above), her life is in his hands.

Written and directed by newcomer Jieho Lee – the latest dropout from the Robert Altman school of direction - The Air I Breathe is another one of those “we’re all connected,” relentlessly bleak melodramas featuring a motley crowd of thinly drawn characters with dubious ties. Mr. Lee is a former director of Asian music videos, which explains why his debut feature – from the high-octane opening credits to the Marnie-esque ending – is all style and no substance.

All of the actors turn in solid performances but save Forest Whitaker, these are capable actors who are only as good as their material, which is nothing short of highfalutin nonsense. And even the casting choices are unoriginal. Here, Andy Garcia is reprising his role as the ruthless kingpin (Smokin’ Aces,, Ocean’s Eleven), Sarah Michelle Gellar as a pop star (Southland Tales), and Emile Hirsch as a wigga (Alpha Dog).

Much of the dialogue sounds like fortune cookie maxims - “You don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone,” “Scars are the road maps to the soul” – and when the characters “crash” into each other, through increasingly ridiculous circumstances, one can’t help but laugh in disbelief. Speaking of crashes, I can’t even remember how many people are either hit by cars, or narrowly miss being hit by a car, in the film.

Given the state of pop stardom – e.g. Britney Spears - almost anything is possible, although I doubt even Ms. Spears, for all her troubles would, like Ms. Gellar, find herself under contract with a mob kingpin, impregnated by a clairvoyant money collector, and possessing extremely rare blood that, despite all her boozing and pill-popping, is clean enough for an 11th hour blood transfusion.

Contrived, but good for a few inadvertent laughs, The Air I Breathe makes Richard Kelly’s epic debacle Southland Tales look like a masterpiece by comparison.