It’s too bad “Dreamgirls” is so — I hate to say this — lame.

It’s too bad because it hurts to say it. Because it’s like denouncing the play your budding actress little sister just finished starring in. Because it feels like telling your grandma her Thanksgiving turkey really stinks this year.

But it’s not about your grandma or your little sister, I mean Jennifer Hudson, or any of her talented, if one-dimensional friends — Beyonce, Eddie Murphy, Jamie Foxx. The fact that so many people, including the people who give out the Golden Globes and Oscars, got wrapped up in the predictable victory of the scrappy girl group that could is testament to its power — for some. But I don’t buy it.

To be a successful movie in the face of predictability, you’ve got to offer the audience something that will make that a minor quibble. But all “Dreamgirls” offers is cliche. There are no revelations in this movie. Greed can turn people into backstabbers? No! Overweight black single mothers in the 60s had it rough? Never! Left in the dark by the fickle flame of fortune, some fame-seekers turned to drug abuse? My laws! Soulless honkeys have gotten rich off of watering down good funk? Pat Boone, say it ain’t so!

Yes, Jennifer Hudson can belt it out. Yes, Beyonce can hold it in, letting Hudson upstage her as she should. And when Beyonce needs to show us that she can, actually, sing, she can make your gut tighten with talent. And yes, Eddie Murphy is a crazy yowler with enough talent to make a 30-second stomp about steak and cake stick in your head for days.

But we’ve seen everything in this story before: the drive of the wannabe fame-seekers, the perils of industry politics, the danger of drugs and the garish sparkle of the silly 70s pantsuit. A $75 million budget can buy a lot of silly 70s pantsuits — so why can’t it buy a pinch of originality to gussy up this gushing ode to the relentless Hudson?

Because it didn’t need to, to get all that hype and gushing.

“Dreamgirls” has gotten the sycophantic shrieking because of “American Idol,” but not for the reasons you might think.

It’s a no-brainer that we all knew the franchise would turn out someone whom 1) would be deemed a star by the Idol panel and the voters at home 2) would have to be deemed a star by the American public 3) would have to get the little gold man of approval in recognition of their melodic star power. The reason “Dreamgirls” has been so swooned over is because of Hudson.

Because she’s likable, lovable even by Simon Cowell standards. Because it’s not a movie starring Sanjaya or Clay or the so-plastic-she-emits-styrene-fumes Carrie Underwood. Deep down inside, we’ve got to cling to at least one “American Idol” personality who doesn’t make us wish for death via chewing up the batteries in our remote controls — before we can tire of the franchise in peace.

So, no, “Dreamgirls” didn’t need to be anything else to be a success. But it should have at least tried for that high note.

Ashley O’Dell reviews movies that aren’t in theaters anymore.