C-

The studio is comparing this flimsy farce to “The Hangover,” but it’s more like an insipid version of “Knocked Up,” minus the pregnancy. Whether you liked them or not—I didn’t—this movie isn’t in their league.

It’s a loser meets princess romantic fantasy with a slew of repugnant characters surrounding the cute-as-a-button lead pair. Kirk Kettner (Jay Baruchel) is a sad-sack TSA worker at the Pittsburgh airport who, after two years, is still pining for his erstwhile girlfriend, bitchy Marnie (Lindsay Sloane). His parents (Adam LeFevre and Debra Jo Rupp) are so oblivious to his feelings that they still open their home to Marnie and her new boyfriend. Kirk also has to put up with a brutish brother (Kyle Bornheimer) and his dippy fiancee (Jessica St. Clair).

So it’s a near miracle when he hooks up with the gorgeous Molly (Alice Eve), a well-to-do event planner who leaves her phone at the security checkpoint, giving Kirk the chance to return it to her. Coming off a bad relationship with egotistical pilot Cam (Geoff Stults), she’s taken with the safe, unassuming Kirk, and soon they’re an item—to the disbelief not only of his family, but of his posse of buddies—loudmouth but insecure Stainer (T.J. Miller), handsome hunk Jack (Mike Vogel) and bumbling but likable married man Devon (Nate Torrence)—and of Molly’s BFF, sharp-tongued Patty (Krysten Ritter). Naturally the pressure leads to a breakup—but rest assured it won’t last long.

The lead performers are, to be sure, an ingratiating duo. Though Baruchel seems more second banana than ladies’ man—rather akin to Anthony Michael Hall when he was moved up to “Weird Science” from “Sixteen Candles”—he makes a pleasant enough nerd. And in Eve’s hands, Molly is more than a standard-issue sex symbol; she’s a vivacious young woman who has real feelings too.

Eve can’t, however, make credible the fact that Molly not only tolerates but actually seems to enjoy Kirk’s insufferable family (even to the extent of going to Branson, Missouri, with them!) and the most obnoxious of his pals, the oafish Stainer, whom Miller plays like a pale imitation of Seann William Scott. He’s genuinely irritating, as are Sloane as the nasty Marnie, Bornheimer as the moronic Dylan, and Ritter as Patty, whose barbs are supposed to be amusing but come across as merely mean.

And for all the good-natured stuff at the center of “She’s Out of My League,” it features way too much of the assembly-line coarseness that afflicts American comedy nowadays. There’s a hockey puck in the groin in one unnecessary scene, and a sequence built around premature ejaculation, and loads of “naughty” language, and the inevitable moment when the nebbishy Kirk is taken to be gay.

But it’s doubtful that even the excess of off-color language and crude situations will be enough to draw in the crowds; the picture is just too slapdash to merit more than a momentary glance. Pittsburgh comes off reasonably well, though—the city exteriors, particularly during one of those crummy musical montages that are obligatory in studio product, look nice, despite the fact that Jim Denault’s cinematography is at most workmanlike. The background score by Michael Andrews, supplemented by tunes chosen by Deva Anderson, is mediocre as well.

This is forgettable sub-Apatow fare that even the personable leads can’t save from utter mediocrity.