Five Atlantic City ’tweenage girls enter their singing group in a music video contest. The only interesting thing about this pathetic, wretched little mess is the timing of its escape from the direct-to-video bin into theaters—it comes along at exactly the right time to illustrate, by whopping default, the genuine talent that went into making Ramona and Beezus. The performers, young and old alike, range from amateurish to inept to obnoxious, and it would be cruel to name names and say who is which. We’ll make an exception, however, for writer-director Stewart Raffill, who manages to be all three. J.L.