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Operating under the dubious assumption that a portly, mischievous, computer-generated cat with Bill Murray's voice can believably co-exist on screen with live actors and animals, the filmmakers of Garfield: the Movie have instead created an abomination that comes off as the mutant cinematic offspring of Scooby-Doo and Jar-Jar Binks. Jim Davis, I hope they paid you well.
Murray is a good choice to provide the title character's languid, sardonic wit; if only they'd followed the example of the Garfield and Friends TV show and animated the whole thing. But that incarnation also wisely kept the running time under half an hour. Since this is a feature-length film, it has to develop something called a plot. So we have to endure the belabored theatrics of our hero venturing outside to rescue a dognapped Odie. Please! The real Garfield couldn't be rustled from his bed with anything less than a huge steaming tray of lasagna.
I suppose this is all harmless enough for the kiddies, but it's less substantial than three rectangular boxes on a sheet of newspaper.