THE NEXT BIG THING 1/2

Not this movie.

Running time: 87 minutes. Not rated (sex, profanity). At the Angelika, Houston and Mercer streets.

ANYONE who makes it past the amateurish first half-hour of “The Next Big Thing” will encounter a very mild and predictable art-world satire that’s also straining to be a mainstream romantic comedy.

Director P.J. Posner (who collaborated with his brother Joel on the screenplay) comes off as a lot less hip than he thinks with this fluffy tale populated by clichés, stereotypes and extremely uneven performances.

Whit Stillman veteran Chris Eigeman plays Gus, a struggling Brooklyn artist who becomes an overnight sensation when a scammer named Scumble (Jamie Harris) steals one of his paintings and passes it off as the work of a reclusive Vietnam war veteran.

Soon Gus, Scumble, a blackmailing detective (Mike Starr) and Gus’ grasping ex-fiancée (Marin Hinkle) are conspiring to fill the demand for the non-existent artist’s work.

This demand is being fanned by a gushing art critic (Connie Britton), a zealous society matron (Janet Zarish) and an opportunistic dealer (a rare appearance by Farley Granger, half a century after “Strangers on a Train”).

Better connected than most indies, “The Next Best Thing” has its non-existent hero designing an Absolut bottle and being feted at the Whitney Biennial.

But the movie neatly sums itself up when a critic complains that one artist’s work “cries out for attention but commands none.” Was he talking about a character in the movie or director Posner?