Jay Baruchel played one of Seth Rogen's slobby friends in Knocked Up; now that he's been promoted to leading man, he has his own entourage of supporting, riffing dudes in She's Out of My League, the title of which could serve as an alternate for almost any Apatow romantic comedy. Baruchel plays Kirk, a dorky, lovelorn guy who works airport security with his slacker buddies Stainer (T.J. Miller), Jack (Mike Vogel), and Devon (Nate Torrence). It's at this Pittsburgh airport that he has a chance meeting with Molly (Alice Eve), a blond so foxy that no one ever mentions her struggle to contain an English accent. After displaying his nice-guy chops and some fumbling flirtation, he gets a date. But Kirk, his buddies explain with a little too much systematic and exposition-heavy precision, is a five, while Molly is a "hard ten." As Kirk and Molly begin a tentative romance, the boy-men are left wondering whether Kirk can overcome the five-point difference (two points, we're told, is the max). That's about all there is to the movie in terms of story. The screenwriters, Sean Anders and John Morris, have made a career of turning the stuff of banal dude conversations - the guy dating a girl way hotter than he is, or the guy who sets up an internet sex date many miles away (their previous credit, Sex Drive) - into Hollywood loglines. Your bar conversations become American Pie meets Knocked Up meets There's Something About Mary. It's this conceptual self-consciousness that keeps She's Out of My League, which is otherwise a mild, sometimes pleasant, occasionally amusing little comedy, from reaching either the more natural rhythms of an Apatow movie or the mangy energy of the Farrelly Brothers. Kirk has three friends not because they serve an organic function - like, say, resembling people who have actually known each other since high school, as opposed to just repeating that fact out loud - but because, you know, movies about dudes require groups of three or four. The designated breakout dude is Miller's Stainer; Miller is funny enough, but the character feels misconceived, as if the filmmakers were unsure how to fit misogyny, bravado, insecurity, and nerdy testiness into a single body. (It winds up looking harder than it sounds, a strange mixture of Jason Lee and Jon Heder.) But despite that lack of buddy-comedy skills, the movie can't stop pairing Kirk with Stainer, or with the squishy Devon, or Kirk's jerky brother and fiancée, or Kirk's unappealing ex-girlfriend (Lindsay Sloane)...almost anyone, in fact, but the hottie he's supposed to be courting. He and Molly seem like a reasonably compatible and, as such, mostly uninteresting couple. They get a few conversations, a few fights, and at least a couple of montages that drown out their relationship with curiously dated late-nineties/early-aughts radio hits. Maybe the movie keeps taking shortcuts or detours because it has so little in the way of characterization. The leads have little definition, aside from Kirk's dubious Screenwriting 101 dream - he aspires to snag a supposedly more prestigious job as a pilot. Baruchel did the fumbling nerd routine to better effect in the Apatow college series Undeclared, conveying just as much nice-guy angst without so much chatter about hotness, and without the Robert De Niro squint he sports here. Look, this isn't an actively irritating movie. I chuckled a few times, and smiled a few more. For a few minutes, it even looks as if it'll actually thwart a climactic rush through an airport. But it has neither the comedy nor the romance nor the insight to deepen its central gimmick. Almost everyone is nice and cute and competent, and they all come off as fives.