It’s been a pretty mediocre summer. The “big hits” have almost uniformly failed to deliver, and more and more the only place you’ll find movies that deliver what they promise are in documentaries. Even typing that out makes me sound like a snob—I love a big-ticket thrill ride as much as the next schlub, but these days all we’re getting are bloated fanwanks in desperate need of creative control. Little Miss Sunshine comes in late enough in the summer to act as a tonic to all those pirates and supermen. At least, that’s the promise.

Greg Kinnear is Richard, the patriarch of the family. Dialogue and situation hints to us that his family is in dire financial straits, in large part because Richard has sunk everything he has into developing a 9-step success seminar along the lines of Zig Ziglar. Richard’s program is hawkish and uncompromising, never allowing for so much as an apology from its adherents; it is also a flop. This is Symbolism.

In fact, every character is rendered by no more than two or three distinguishing characteristics. “Quirks” might be a better word. Richard has his 9-step program thing. His wife Sheryl (Toni Collette) is the long-suffering, stalwart keeper of the homeplace. Their 15 year-old son, Dwayne (Paul Dano), wants to join the Air Force and has gone silent because he has discovered, like most 15 year-olds do, that he hates everyone. Grandpa (Alan Arkin) swears like a sailor and enjoys his heroin. He’s the “outspoken” one. Sheryl’s brother Frank (Steve Carell) is scholarly, heartbroken, and suicidal. The daughter Olive (Abigail Breslin) is the young daughter, and the plot’s primary motivator.

There’s a national Little Miss Sunshine pageant. Olive was runner-up in her area, but the front-runner had to bow out, and so the family has to make a cross-country trip over one weekend to get her there in time. It’s an enormous pain; money’s tight, everyone’s tense with everyone else, no one’s particularly glad to be there. But who can turn down the sweet, oblivious little girl?

So off we go. It’s a road trip, so there’s a fair series of episodic setbacks intended to be both melancholy and hilarious. And that’s where the central problem lies: Little Miss Sunshine aims for that sweetspot combination of melancholy and comedy that marks the greater works of Alexander Payne or Wes Anderson. Some have labelled Sunshine “dark”; I can only surmise these people have never seen a family comedy more challenging than something starring Steve Martin. Little Miss Sunshine is not “dark,” it’s harmlessly likable with occasional downbeats. No moments soar, and none cut to the bone. “Trite” is too harsh of a word—think instead of a puppy. Eager to please.

But there are moments that work. When the family finally manages to get Olive to the Little Miss Sunshine beauty pageant, it becomes clear she’s completely outclassed. She’s a plain girl, a little bit chubby, charming but not “beautiful.” And she seems to be the only one unaware that she can’t compete with the other tarted-up girl-women. The other contestants do their talent routines—young girls made up in a fashion that can be charitably called ‘grotesque’—and step off with plastered-on smiles. Olive steps up and does a routine she learned with her grandfather. It’s set to “Superfreak,” and it’s a striptease. The other parents are shocked; Olive’s family, to save her dignity, join her on stage in the dance.

It’s funny stuff, and a nice jab at the bizarre celebration of sluttiness that passes for little-girl beauty pageants. It succeeds in spite of itself. Even as the audience peals with laughter, there’s that little nag in the back of the head: Oh, what a touching moment. So carefully crafted to be one. And it works, not so much because of the material but because of the people delivering it.

Greg Kinnear. Toni Collette. Steve Carell. Alan Arkin. These are inoffensively attractive and charming people. The script is inoffensively attractive and charming. Even when someone’s being a bit of a jerk, we’re still rooting for them—we never quite get past feeling remotely affectionate toward everyone, warts and all. Is muted affection the intent of Little Miss Sunshine? It sure reads that way, and that’s a shame. The world has no shortage of charming, inert stories.