Insufferably yawnsome and largely forgettable, Wimbledon is another dollop of heart-fluttering gooiness from Working Title productions, the team behind Brit rom-com favourites Four Weddings And A Funeral and Notting Hill. It’s a film that seems designed to sculpt a celebrity poster-boy out of Master And Commander and Dogville actor Paul Bettany, making chick flick-consuming girls swoon at every appearance of his dreamy freckled face on screen. He plays Peter Colt, a tennis player once ranked 11th in the world who’s now plummeted to 119th. Returning for his last stab at Wimbledon, he bumps into up-and-comer Lizzie Bradbury (Kirsten Dunst) in an implausible, standard cute romance-sparking encounter where he enters the wrong hotel room and sees her in the shower (Dunst oglers don’t get too excited, the shower doors are misted up). They both make a likeable and attractive pair, but totally flat, uninteresting characters whose biggest dilemma is trying to balance their professional and personal lives. Sam Neill is the staple disapproving father who wants his daughter to perform without the distraction of love getting in the way. The rest of this stale sports comedy is a patchwork of endless Slazenger product placement, CGI-rendered tennis balls, mawkish montages, annoyingly flashy camerawork and banal interior monologues -- plus tacked-on happy-ending epilogue with babies. There’s never any surprise where it’s heading; just about any cliche you can come up with, the writers have devoured and regurgitated onto the screen especially for viewers who lap this kind of drivel up.