Actor/writer/director Christopher Guest has lined up the usual suspects (Catherine O’Hara, Eugene Levy, Parker Posey, Harry Shearer, Ed Begley Jr., John Michael Higgins, Fred Willard, Jane Lynch, Bob Balaban, Michael McKean and Jennifer Coolidge) for his latest “mockumentary-” style film, For Your Consideration.

This time out, Guest aims his power of satire at the hand that feeds him, deftly catching Tinsel Town and celebrity status in his crosshairs, scoring a cinematic bull’s-eye. The film feels even more accessible now that the death and subsequent circus surrounding Anna Nicole Smith and Britney Spears’ in-and-out of rehab adventures are chronicled as headline news on CNN. Plus, it’s certainly more entertaining than his last flick, the underwhelming A Mighty Wind.

The film follows Marilyn Hack (O’Hara), Victor Allan Miller (Shearer), Callie Webb (Posey) and Brian Chubb (Christopher Moynihan) and the making of their small, period film, Home For Purim, as it begins to generate Oscar buzz.

The focus seems to be on O’Hara’s character. Her makeover from semi-forgotten actress to possible Oscar contender is both frighteningly funny and a sad commentary on the lengths some actresses of a certain age must go to in order to compete in a youth-obsessed Hollywood.

And after a string of so-so roles, it’s refreshing to see Posey back in rare form, in a role she can sink her teeth into, particularly during her one-woman show, No Penis Intended. Levy seems a little more subdued than in Guest films past, but Coolidge (criminally underused in the aforementioned A Mighty Wind) is a hoot, bringing her brand of ditziness to her role as the film’s producer.

This movie, much like Guest’s Best in Show, is pretty much stolen by Willard as an entertainment show host; both he and Lynch nail the absurd nuances of TV fare such as “Access Hollywood” right down to a faux hawk for Willard and a slew of co-host stances for Lynch.

The first half of the film has some good guffaws, and the second half builds to a steady momentum of laughter. This offering feels a little less improvised than Waiting for Guffman or Best in Show, and it delivers the goods for those who like their comedy biting and infused with a healthy dose of goofiness.

Running With Scissors is yet another example of Hollywood maiming a beloved book with its adaptation of the popular memoir by Augusten Burroughs. There were early warning signs that the page-to-film version might run into a few snags; the trailers seemed to gloss over the fact that the main character (played by Joseph Cross) is gay, which is elemental to the story. (For the record, the film does not shy away from it, so who knows why the trailer did?)

Upon viewing the movie, the signs become painfully clear as to why this movie failed its source material. First off, in what could only be a misguided attempt to procure Oscar gold for the film, there is a much more dramatic vibe that has supplanted the laughs that were inherent in the book. There are very few to be had in the film, which is a shame because they were necessary for balancing out the storyline.

Speaking of the storyline, the movie version brings into question the validity of Burroughs’ unconventional upbringing; it comes off as too farfetched.

Another disappointment is that the characters are more or less caricatures of the people we were introduced to in the book; in particular, it’s Gwyneth Paltrow’s going-through-the-motions performance that comes off the worst, and she seems a little long in the tooth to be playing a hippie type. It was good and a little bit sad to see Jill Clayburgh back on film, as she has been reduced to playing a dog-food eating, semi-crazy woman, a far cry from the heyday she enjoyed in the 1970s. However, Annette Bening does a capable job of bringing pathos to the role of Burroughs’ tortured-soul mother, Deidre.

By the time the end credits roll and the real-life Burroughs is shown alongside the actor portraying him, the scope of the smugness that plagues this production is fully realized; it’s not like this was a movie biopic of Nelson Mandela or something. This book-to-film offering is one dull pair of scissors.