‘Life Itself’ gets lost in the messiness

Life Itself Rated: R (for language including sexual references, some violent images and brief drug use. Running time: 118 minutes. out of 4

The rambling “Life Itself” is a multigenerational drama about the messiness of life, but the emotional impact of the movie gets lost in the messiness of its screenplay. And though there is not one subpar acting performance, the film itself comes off as an exercise in self-consciousness.

Writer-director Dan Fogelman, behind the heartfelt TV show “This Is Us,” tries to mix elements of his hit series — a sprawling family, time shifts and sentimentalism — with overwrought nods to “Pulp Fiction,” Bob Dylan tunes and writerly musings about unreliable narrators. It’s an ambitious film, but unfortunately, an unqualified misfire.

Unlike his impressive work in “This Is Us,” Fogelman downplays character development in “Life Itself” in favor of heavy-handed plot machinations and ineffective voiceovers that can’t camouflage the lack of emotional heft in the five interconnected “chapters.” When in doubt, Fogelman resorts to the time-tested tactic of killing someone off — the body count here approaches that of a “Halloween” slasher film, thanks in part to the New York transit system.

The opening vignette — a jarring series of odd flashbacks, red herrings and unfortunate Samuel L. Jackson voiceovers — involves the emotionally distraught Will (Oscar Isaac), whose wife is no longer with him for reasons that will emerge during therapy sessions with Dr. Morris (Annette Bening).

Naturally, Will is a screenwriter, which gives him a chance to pontificate about the unreliability of our memory and our life stories. Even more convenient, his wife, Abby (Olivia Wilde, whom we see in flashbacks), is doing her master’s thesis on unreliable narrators, which

gives her a reason to wax poetic on that subject, too.

Eventually, Will’s therapy proves to be, shall we say, unsuccessful, and we are whisked away to the story of Will’s daughter, Dylan (Olivia Cooke). Then, because Dylan doesn’t have much to do, we quickly head to Spain, where the plot contrivances sprout faster than the weeds

in the vineyard. As a vintner, Antonio Banderas gives the most emotionally resonant performance of the film, but the strain of tying all these stories together really begins to show.

Even in failure, it’s clear that Fogelman has talent and

can work with actors — it’s just that his story is so unwieldy that it doesn’t allow us to relate to his characters. This is also a movie where time seems to stand still: It covers multiple generations, but all the stories (and art direction) seem thoroughly modern. The film is probably trying to make a point about unreliable narrators, or something to that effect, but like many things here, it gets overwhelmed in the muck.

David Lewis is a San Francisco Bay Area freelance writer.