Director mishandles the merchandise in "The Promotion"

There's nothing about this supermarket comedy that will make you need a cleanup on aisle five.

The directorial debut of "Pursuit of Happyness" writer Steve Conrad, "The Promotion" carries a deadpan corporate-absurd whiff of "Office Space" but never quite scans.

Seann William Scott (aka Stiffler from the "American Pie" movies) plays Doug, a midlevel Chicago grocery manager determined not to remain a "short-sleever." Thinking he's a shoo-in to run a new store, he tells his wife (Jenna Fischer, "The Office") that he's got the job, then financially overextends on a new house.

Enter the new guy: Richard (John C. Reilly) from Canada, a nauseating go-getter who wants everyone to give him five, spouts disingenuous corporatese and obsessively listens to self-help tapes that have his name robotically inserted in them. And the bigwigs (chiefly "Ally McBeal's" Gil Bellows) like him. Suddenly Doug's no shoo-in, and the two men begin a ruthless campaign to undermine each other and nab the prized promotion.

As comedic rivalries go, "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" it's not. It's no fault of Scott and Reilly, who are naturally funny guys. What becomes apparent fairly quickly in the 85-minute flick (which seems more like two hours) is that what first seems like a palpable air of "Office"-style awkwardness is actually Conrad's genuinely awkward pacing and setting-up of jokes.

Not completely to his credit, Conrad humanizes goofball Richard by giving him every bit as much to lose as Doug, and making him a nice guy (when he's not trying to screw over a competitor). Richard's a recovering alcoholic and ex-biker who needs to prove himself to his Scottish wife (Lili Taylor). Though it adds a dimension to the characters, it also keeps the mayhem they inflict on each other from being very funny. For instance, Richard feigns an injury from a Tater Tot that Doug tosses at him, and despite the inherent humor in any Tater Tot reference, it's one of many bits that don't come close to eliciting laughter.

Bearing that in mind, Conrad frustratingly treats Fischer and Taylor as nothing more than — to borrow a grocery term — end displays. They barely get enough to do to even qualify as straight women. Why did they bother? And the unsatisfying ending dribbles out as if Conrad just gave up on his halfhearted venture and wanted to end the ordeal.

I could relate.

Mark Rahner: 206-464-8259 or mrahner@seattletimes.com