Hiking the screwball

Actor-turned-director George Clooney wants to make ‘em like they used to. In Mr. Clooney’s “Leatherheads,” the leads talk snappily, the comedy is pure screwball, and the romance is G-rated despite serious sexual tension.

Still, simply rereading the 1930s playbook isn’t enough to capture the magic of those Frank Capra/George Cukor classics.

Mr. Clooney is Dodge Connelly, an aging football star in the early days of professional pigskin play. When his team runs out of money, he calls for a Hail Mary pass. He helps broker a deal to draft a college football hero named Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski) onto his ragtag squad.

However, Carter is more than just a gridiron great. He’s a war hero who captured a squad of German soldiers during World War I.

Or did he? Ace reporter Lexie Littleton (Renee Zellweger) is out to find the truth behind Carter’s heroism, but before she gets her story, she develops feelings for the lanky running back.

Meanwhile, Dodge is trying to make time with Lexie, too, and she isn’t sure which way to turn.

“Leatherheads” seems lightweight for Mr. Clooney, who usually explores big issues like Middle Eastern geopolitics (“Syriana”) or the sorry state of journalism (“Good Night, and Good Luck”).

Here, he takes some jabs at the current state of football by revisiting the dawn of professional play. The punches rarely land, though. Didn’t we just enjoy a Super Bowl for the ages?

The film fares better when it re-creates the witty repartee from Hollywood’s Golden Age.

Miss Zellweger handles the throwback banter with ease, and Mr. Clooney, channeling the zany spirit he tapped for “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” matches her syllable for syllable. Mr. Krasinski makes an appealing, albeit bland, hero, but his character arc saps all the drama right out of the film’s finale.

That last football match is a snore, a tension-free mess that’s as muddy as the rain-soaked field the teams play on.

“Leatherheads’ ” second half obsesses over the impact of football’s restrictive rules and how it drains the fun out of both the game and Dodge’s style of play. But Mr. Clooney neglects to portray Dodge as a habitual rule breaker, beyond involving him in a few boys-will-be-boys fistfights.

“Leatherheads” comes from two Sports Illustrated scribes — Rick Reilly and Duncan Brantley — and the film radiates affection for both the sport and the 1920s. A breezy score by Randy Newman adds a sense of whimsy, and the crisp costume design immerses us in the past without being dragged down by period accouterments.

Mr. Clooney’s “Leatherheads” is an admirable attempt to bring Golden Age comedy back to modern movies, but Mr. Clooney’s time machine still needs some serious repairs.

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