The Hollars review: mawkish John Krasinski comedy feels like long sitcom

John Krasinski’s gift as an actor is that he never looks like he’s trying. He appears so relaxed in front of the camera that his acting seems completely effortless.

As a director, his second feature following Brief Interviews With Hideous Men proves that quality doesn’t extending to his film-making. A mawkish family comedy, intent to please, The Hollars plays like an extended sitcom.

As John Hollar, a struggling graphic novelist living in New York with his very pregnant girlfriend Becca (Anna Kendrick), Krasinski ably leads the film, investing the predictable proceedings with enough heart to keep you mildly invested.

The paint-by-numbers plot is set in motion when John’s mother, Sally (the ever-reliable Margo Martindale), suffers a seizure while doing her hair, causing John to travel home to be by his family’s side.

The film’s pervasive broad humor reeks of a desperate attempt at quirk. It announces itself in a hospital sequence that sees Sally’s doctor enter her room apologizing for being late.

“I was golfing,” he deadpans.

When it’s revealed that she has an advanced brain tumor, Sally’s husband, Don (Richard Jenkins), begins to sob – oddly, it’s played for laughs.

The potentially tragic outcome of her surgery doesn’t visibly affect the lives of John and his brother, Ron (Sharlto Copley), who both go about their lives more concerned about their own dilemmas than about the health of their mother.

Ron, a divorced loon living in his parents’ basement, spends his days spying (with binoculars!) on his ex-wife and children from his car. John, scared of settling down with Becca, uses his time back home to visit an old flame (a wasted Mary Elizabeth Winstead), who still harbors deep feelings for him.

Krasinski attempts to go for the jugular during a sequence in which John shaves his mother’s head before she goes into surgery, but tonally it feels out of place with what’s come before – and therefore doesn’t feel earned.

There’s little nuance to be found in The Hollars despite the cast’s best efforts (Martindale is especially affecting). Fatally, Jim Strouse’s script mistakes character quirks (Becca works as a pet clothes designer; Sally’s favorite meal is pretzels dipped in ice-cream) for character development.

Even worse, Krasinski crams The Hollars with an endless playlist of soft-rock music to telegraph every emotional cue - a sign he lacks confidence in the material.