“Finding Nemo” it ain’t. After strutting its stuff this summer with the smart and rambunctious anti-fairy tale “Shrek 2,” Dream-Works Animation now serves up “Shark Tale,” and it smells like, well, yesterday’s catch. The studio, which plans to go public, better revise that prospectus.

An uninspired, undersea romp with jokes that could have been written by Jay Leno’s gag men a decade ago, “Shark Tale” seems cynically conceived to hook children who love Pixar’s “Nemo” but can’t wait another month for that company’s next CGI opus, “The Incredibles.” It’s chock-full of tossed-off celebrity-voiced performances, subpar animation, and low-quality puns (and whatever you may say, there is a hierarchy).

“Shark Tale” opens on a promising bit, ripped off from the inspired underrated Mammoth-adopts-a-human-baby movie “Ice Age.” An earthworm, holding its breath, struggles to free itself from a fisherman’s line, only to confront a giant, kind-hearted shark (played by Jack Black, in the best vocal performance of the movie). Mr. Black’s character is set to inherit the family business (more about that later). But he has a secret: He’s a closet vegetarian.

Meanwhile, whale-tongue-scrubber Will Smith, playing a scheming clown fish who dreams of easy money, can’t seem to catch a break from his boss and bookie (a blowfish played by Martin Scorsese, in one of the most bizarre and hilarious vocal performances of all time). When Mr. Smith’s fish gambles away an heirloom given to him by his lady friend (Renee Zellweger), he is consigned to sleep with the, um, fishes.

Things look bleak until Mr. Black’s character, who is being given a lesson in carnivorous ferocity by his brother, stumbles upon the clown fish, whom he just can’t bring himself to eat. The brother attempts to finish the job, but a falling anchor kills him. When the dust settles, the clownfish is left standing, and he immediately begins to cultivate a reputation as a “Shark Slayer” – as well as a friendship with his sensitive new shark friend. What follows is a madcap, if soggy, race to see when the ruse will be uncovered.

“Shark Tale’s” lessons aren’t terrible – that the person inside matters more than what other people think, that people are more accepting of who you really are than you expect they’ll be. Unfortunately, the much ballyhooed issue of racial stereotyping, while not as obvious as the minstrel crows of “Dumbo,” does overshadow the other various morals of the movie. The sharks are all portrayed as mobsters, from godfather Robert “You Talking To Me” De Niro to the brother, played by HBO wise guy Michael Imperioli. The problem with this has nothing to do with political correctness – it has everything to do with humor. “Shark Tale’s” Italian sharks, crazy homeless hermit crabs, and Rastafarian jelly fish hardly constitute hate speech. But the MC Hammer jokes and spaghetti-slurping Sicilian jokes are just cheap and lazy.

The best jokes in the film are simple, involving things like what happens when you pour a cup of coffee underwater. The racial humor is comparable to the classic sophisticate flick “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” where the buck-toothed Japanese neighbor who just can’t seem to pronounce his “Rs ” – harmless, but lame. One early racial gag, though, does answer the question: Do talking fish eat sushi?

***

Firefighters are the ideal representation of modern masculinity: An affectionately loyal, unpretentious, hard-drinking, family-loving, prank pulling brotherhood of muscle-bound heroes who risk their lives to run into buildings on fire while we mortals run out. The new sentimental tearjerker “Ladder 49” is predictable, maudlin, and plodding. Its characters are ingratiating, sincere, and two-dimensional. And to dislike it is to be a total jerk.

The plot of this love letter to smokeaters is simple. Joaquin Phoenix is firefighter Jack Morrison, who gets caught in the middle of a nightmarish blaze after rescuing someone. Broken and bloodied, he only has his memories of his time as a firefighter to keep him company – and alive – while his buddies desperately try to rescue him.

We’re privy to his first day on the job, where his stern, unfriendly future comrades relentlessly play pranks on him. We’re there for his first fire as a rookie, his first encounter with his soon-to-be bride, various drunken escapades, and tons of nail-biting rescue scenes. As the chief of the fire house, the terminally bland John Travolta is a soft-spoken father figure who calls to mind the thoughtful sergeants from an old World War II movie, whose green privates might turn to before a battle to confess, “I’m scared, Sarge.”

The only film I can compare “Ladder 49” to is Ron Howard’s epic “Backdraft.” But while “Ladder 49” falls over itself to honor firefighters, “Backdraft” incorporated the same cliches of fire houses (bawdy jokes, tough-guy swagger, widows choking up after a tragic death), but was able to throw in special-effects spectacle, an all-star cast, a mad-arsonist plot, and even a group of evil firefighters.

You couldn’t do that today. And, after the events of September 11, 2001, and the bittersweet tales of doomed bravery we became so familiar with, you probably shouldn’t. That makes it hard to make a fun movie. But you know what “Ladder 49” is about going into it, and if you find it occasionally boring that’s your own fault.

Needless to say, every young boy should, at one time or another, look up to, and desire to be, a man like the ones in this movie.