Zellwegeria

“My One and Only” tells the story of a life so interesting that they ought to make a movie about it.

Just not this one.

“My One and Only” is not quite a comedy, not quite a drama and not quite a movie. It is mostly just an idea, and it meanders and ambles around until it occasionally hits on it. But mostly it just meanders. And ambles.

This is the intermittently true story of Anne Devereaux, who comes home one day in the 1950s to find her no-good bandleader husband in bed with his lead singer. She piles her two teenage sons -- one by that husband, one by another -- into a new Cadillac Eldorado and sets off on a journey to find a husband who can support her and them. This trip takes them through a number of towns (mostly played by Baltimore) and introduces them to a number of men of varying degrees of inappropriateness.

All the while, the no-good bandleader husband lurks. That’s what he does, he lurks. He’s a little sleazy, this guy.

Renee Zellweger stars as Anne, and it has to be said that she is looking a little weird. Weirder than usual. Her performance is mannered and is marred by an inconsistent Southern accent, but either she improves or we become more used to her as the film rolls along. Although we never accept her belabored characterization, we do (perhaps begrudgingly) warm to the theatricality of the performance.

At first, her sons seem like appendages to the story, even though it is being narrated by the more bookish of the two, George, played by Logan Lerman of “3:10 to Yuma.” The other son (Mark Rendall) is gay, and his effeminism is thankfully treated with affectionate humor. The two boys eventually come into their own in the picture, and the film’s big surprise concerns one of them.

This surprise, incidentally, has been revealed by practically every other critic in the country. Sigh.

Veteran British director Richard Loncraine has made such notable films as “The Missionary” and the Ian McKellen version of “Richard III” -- and he directed an episode of “Band of Brothers” -- but “My One and Only” simply gets away from him. He seems at a loss about what tone to take, and all to often winds up with no tone at all. It is as if a somnambulist made the film; the actors are particularly lethargic, waiting half a beat too long to speak, and then in a near monotone.

And what they have to say is rarely interesting. Writer Charlie Peters has made a career of scripting terrible, terrible films, from “Paternity“ and “Hot to Trot” to “Her Alibi” and “My Father, the Hero.” Actually, “My One and Only” is one of his better efforts, if only because it boasts two genuinely amusing scenes. In one, a hitchhiking adventure takes an unexpected turn in the desert; in the other, David Koechner explains the secret to keeping women happy (they get cold a lot, so bring a sweater).

There are certainly worse movies than “My One and Only” playing at the multiplex. But if you see them, you’ll remember how terrible they are. If you see “My One and Only,” you’ll have forgotten it by the time you walk out the door.