by David Roark

This predictable popcorn flick's few strong performances can't make up for its lackluster, derivative filmmaking style.

Judging by the trailers and cheesy tag line, She’s Out of My League would appear to be a standard romantic comedy, but it surprisingly turns out to fit nicely in the same genre as the juvenile coarseness of American Pie and all the latest garbage from National Lampoon. The romance – or lack thereof – between the characters played by Jay Baruchel and Alice Eve is merely the stage for a feeble arrangement of one-liners, slapstick, and perverted humor.

In his feature film directorial debut, Jim Field Smith goes where everyone else has gone before: He relies on a hockey puck to the nuts, a young man ejaculating too quickly, and an overabundance of offensive language to provoke a laugh – the kind of stuff teenagers will eat up. But luckily for Smith, a few solid performances save the movie from absolute failure, which ought to be enough to provide him with future opportunities to redeem himself.

The story centers on Kirk (Baruchel), a scrawny, geeky 20-something who works for the Transportation Security Administration at Pittsburgh Airport with his best friends from high school. His life feels pointless – he can’t go to college because his dad used the family’s life savings on a new swimming pool, and he can’t stop pining after his ridiculous ex-girlfriend, Marnie (Lindsay Sloane), who left him over two years ago.

But that all changes when Molly (Eve), a beautiful blonde, struts through Kirk's checkpoint at work, only to accidentally leave her iPhone behind. According to his pal Stainer (T.J. Miller), she is a "hard 10," perfect from head to toe. And not only that, Molly, a lawyer-turned-event-planner, is wealthy, separating the gap between her and Kirk even more – after all, he drives a Dodge Neon.

Initially, Kirk thinks Molly is only trying to set him up with her pissy friend Patty (Krysten Ritter), as do his buddies. Stainer and Jack (Mike Vogel) say the laws of love inevitably count him out because he's a 5 and she's a 10, and evidently it’s impossible to jump more than two spots. The only person to predict a fairytale ending is Devin (Nate Torrence), the married oddball of the group; though, with his constant, awkward allusions to Disney princess movies, no one takes his opinions too seriously.

Before long, Molly and Kirk are dating, and their relationship progresses quite quickly. She even takes on the risk of having lunch with his family, who are unbelievably bizarre, especially his jobless brother Dylan (Kyle Bornheimer). Kirk finally starts to believe that Molly may truly love him. Nevertheless, before you know it, there’s the predictable, melodramatic breakup endemic to this kind of movie. It turns out that every guy who Molly has ever loved thinks she is too perfect and, therefore, sets unrealistic expectations for her.

Molly's circumstances – and Smith's failed attempt to provoke sentimentality – are beyond shallow, making it easier to laugh than to feel sorry for her. And to make matters worse, Eve's performance isn't at all convincing. She feels like a cardboard cutout (a hot one, granted), and her lines are even worse – which can't, of course, be blamed on her. Thank Sex Drive writers Sean Anders and John Morris for the shoddy script.

In terms of talent, Baruchel is Eve's foil. He manages to make his character come to life, despite the second-rate writing. His sense of humor is unique and refreshing. If Smith didn't do anything else right, he made a brilliant decision to cast Baruchel as his gentle and twitchy nerd. Torrence's performance is uncomfortably humorous as well. However, the same can’t be said for Miller, whose attempts at humor only reduce him to a foulmouthed Napoleon Dynamite caricature.

As a whole, She's Out of My League is a crass and predictable popcorn flick that brings nothing new to a tired and dying genre. Not only that, its message is overly preachy yet superficial – a cringe-inducing combination. That’s not to say the movie won’t occasionally make you chuckle, as there are a few scenes clearly influenced by the far superior comedy of Judd Apatow. But in the end, the deficient wit and dependence on banal vulgarity outweigh a few strong performances and scenes of laughter, which simply mimic what’s already been done.

David Roark loves movies. And likes to write about them.