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The last two weeks of the baseball season are going to be insane, with over half the MLB playoff spots still up in the air. The new Clint Eastwood film “Trouble with the Curve” tries to cash in on the fan fervor, much like 2011’s “Mon­eyball,” which came out exactly a year ago last weekend.

But unlike “Mon­eyball,” this movie is not truly about baseball. Nor is it wholly about rela­tion­ships, and therein lies its weakness. Director Robert Lorenz’s film tries to straddle the fence between sports saga and love story, and in his unwill­ingness to commit either way, misses both.

Eastwood plays Gus, an old-timer baseball scout who still believes his aging senses can find talent better than any com­puter program or arm­chair sta­tis­tician. His daughter Mickey (Amy Adams) is a high-powered attorney who longs to connect with her prickly, distant father. Justin Tim­berlake plays a washed-out baseball player who wants to learn the ropes from Gus and falls for Mickey along the way.

It’s a nice, albeit uno­riginal, setup, and makes for an enter­taining story with a heart­warming ending.

But nothing gets developed enough. Gus and Mickey love baseball. We know this because they say they do, and they know so many facts about the game. But at no point in “Trouble with the Curve” do we feel their love for the game, espe­cially when com­pared to a movie like “Mon­eyball,” which I found a little inac­ces­sible because I don’t love baseball as much as Billy Beane does.

Mean­while, the “love story” is really a father-daughter thing. Gus never talks to Mickey, and Mickey storms out on several occa­sions after their failures to com­mu­nicate. Finally, Gus reveals that he aban­doned her because a trau­matic expe­rience in her early childhood — which she has no memory of — con­vinced him he couldn’t raise a child. Then he abandons her again. Then he accepts her. But at each step I found myself asking: “Why exactly did A lead to B? How does this behavior nec­es­sarily stem from this cir­cum­stance?”

Maybe “Trouble with the Curve” would work better with more psy­cho­logical, nuanced per­for­mances from the leads. Eastwood is one-note as a crusty old man, and Adams seems per­ma­nently shoe­horned into cute, spunky, and not too deep. Tim­berlake is the movie’s brightest spot, but even he only brings charm and some laughs.

As it is, the film falls short of sat­is­fying. It’s a pleasant date movie, but I don’t see it finding a home on the shelf next to “Remember the Titans” or “Pursuit of Hap­pyness.”