C

An air of earnestness and manipulation hangs heavily over the new film by Irwin Winkler, about an eccentric father who tries to reconnect with his disaffected son by forcing the kid to join with him in constructing a long-planned seaside abode. Under other circumstances (and less a few instances of naughty language and explicit sexuality), “Life as a House” would be the perfect teleflick: had Kevin Kline not opted to take the lead role of the rumpled, cranky, terminally ill but devoted dad, it might have ended up as a Lifetime Cable entry. But whatever the venue, it remains as heavy-handed overall as its central metaphor (the pair are rebuilding their relationship by building the family home, of course). This is a “House” that seems entirely prefabricated.

One can understand why Kline was attracted to the part of George Monroe; it’s the kind of flashy character that enables an actor to showcase almost all the elements of his thespian repertoire. When we first encounter the fellow, he’s ostentatiously living almost a bum’s life amidst affluent neighbors who consider him a pain (though sometimes, as in the case of Coleen, the divorcee next door–played with her usual winsomeness by Mary Steenburgen–a charmingly disheveled one). Next we observe him at work as an architect, painstakingly preparing scale models of structures that now, it’s explained, could be much more efficiently produced in computer simulation. And we watch him visiting his alienated son Sam (Hayden Christensen), who’s kind of a male version of the characters that Thora Birch essayed in “Ghost World” and Leelee Sobieski in “My First Mister.” Sam dresses in gothic black, listens to his stereo far too loud, treats everybody with contempt, engages in physically dangerous behavior to get high, and even– it finally emerges–acts the part of hustler on occasion to feed his drug habit. We also glimpse George interacting with his ex-wife Robin (Kristin Scott Thomas), who–we can tell–still feels for him deeply although she’s remarried, to workaholic Peter (Jamey Sheridan), and has two adorable younger children with him. Before the picture’s even gotten traction, however, George’s life abruptly changes: he’s fired (giving rise to an emotional outburst that allows Kline to let loose in a particularly splashy way), and then finds that he’s only got a few months to live. He decides to spend his final days building the house his family had always dreamed of, enlisting the hostile Sam in the effort. As the weeks wear on, the boy’s resistance breaks down, he and the old man connect again, and even Robin finds herself drawn once more to her former husband. There are a few side plots tossed into the mix–Sam gets close to Coleen’s daughter Alyssa (Jena Malone), and Coleen herself becomes involved, in a self-consciously quirky twist, with one of Alyssa’s suitors–but the whole thrust of the piece is George as the emotional magnet who draws virtually everybody to himself. Such a high-focus, colorful figure would be irresistible to most middle-aged actors, and Kline is clearly no exception.

In truth, though, Monroe seems a literary construct rather than a real person, and though Kline throws himself into the role with his usual abandon, the result comes across more as an acting stunt than an authentic character. Christensen, on the other hand, is disappointingly bland, a fact that does not bode well for his assumption of the part of Anakin Skywalker (the young Darth Vader) in the upcoming “Star Wars” installment; Sam’s transformation from a rebellious kid to a hard-working son never becomes credible. Scott Thomas is unimpressive in a poorly written role (the vicissitudes of Robin’s relationship with husband Peter are handled especially clumsily), and Malone and Steenburgen overplay broadly.

The collapse of this “House,” however, shouldn’t be blamed on the cast, which gives the piece a game try, but on writer Mark Andrus; the attempt to meld “American Beauty” with “Terms of Endearment” proves shallow indeed. The script’s transitions from rather vulgar humor to overwrought drama to domestic soap opera to calculated uplift are indelicate to say the least, and Winkler proves unable to keep the seams from showing. Even worse is a twist at the close (related to some earlier actions by Sam that, at the time, seem entirely out of left field) that allows for a happiness-amidst-the-tears denouement. The phoniness here is palpable, and it reinforces the impression of calculation that dooms the picture.

There are, indeed, innumerable elements of “Life as a House” that feel false and forced, not least the many shots of the sunlight glistening on the ocean as Mark Isham’s music swells up more powerfully than the waves themselves. The score adds to the irritation: it features the tones of a xylophone tinkling away to create an atmosphere of cute, quirky charm, mingled with just a tinge of sadness. I’ve been convinced for some time that xylophones should be banished from film music entirely. Isham’s bathetic contribution to Winkler’s ham-fisted attempt at a touching family drama confirms that view.