Grade: B-

Verdict: A lazy, yet likable, walk in the park.

Details: Starring Michael Gambon, Kristin Scott Thomas, Helen Mirren, Maggie Smith and Jeremy Northam. Directed by Robert Altman. Rated R for language and brief sexuality. Two hours, 7 minutes.

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Review: “Gosford Park” is less a whodunit than a who's-in-it. That clever old dog Robert Altman has gathered just about every actor in England still able to walk and talk for a weekend in the country, Altman style. A weekend that will include a murder and several revelations.

Set in autumn 1932, the film focuses on an assortment of guests and servants staying at Gosford Park for a hunting weekend hosted by Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon).

Given the number of famous faces in the gathering, a score card would be useful. Here are some of the major players on both ends of the staircase: Upstairs we have Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas), Sir William's snobby wife; Constance (Maggie Smith), a querulously haughty countess dependent on the financial graces of Sir William; Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban, who co-wrote the script with Altman), a Hollywood producer doing on-site research for his next Charlie Chan picture; and real-life matinee idol Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam), a distant relative to the assembled aristocrats. Downstairs we have Jennings (Alan Bates), the very proper butler; Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren, inching toward a best supporting actress nomination), the autocratic head housekeeper; Mrs. Croft (Eileen Atkins), the equally strong-willed head cook; George (Richard E. Grant), a sneaky footman; Elsie (Emily Watson), an outspoken housemaid; Robert Parks (Clive Owen), a new addition to the staff; and Mary (Kelly Macdonald), Constance's constantly put-upon personal maid.

Drifting mysteriously between floors is Henry Denton (Ryan Phillippe), the uppity Scottish valet attending Weissman.

Being an Altman murder-mystery, the movie meanders along, more interested in who's talking to whom and who said what than in who murdered whom. The director is clearly tickled by the inane institutionalized traditions of the English caste system, where servants are only known by their employees' names and service is seen — quite rightly in an odd way — as a noble calling.

Altman also is interested in the way those downstairs can't help but become entwined with those upstairs.

As an Altman group effort, “Gosford Park” is better than “Prêt-à-Porter”(1994) but not nearly as good as “The Player” (1992) or “Short Cuts” (1993). The mystery is so obvious that Agatha Christie must be choking in her grave. The social observations are the standard, “Gee, the rich really are self-centered and spoiled, aren't they?”

For all its pleasures, “Gosford Park” has a bothersome sophomoric streak.

It's certainly easy to sit through, but it's also lazy. It has the feel of a movie made by a director with so much cachet that he can summon A-list actors with a snap of his fingers — and give them minuscule roles (Derek Jacobi as Sir William's valet).

If you're looking for the cleverness of “Murder on the Orient Express,” or the acute humanism of “Rules of the Game,” look elsewhere. With “Gosford” you won't exactly feel cheated, but you may feel like you've seen a lame, star-studded game of Clue. Col. Mustard isn't in the study with a candlestick, but Robert Altman is behind the camera with a bludgeon.

— Eleanor Ringel Gillespie, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution