It is really only because of the politeness required of a host — that acquiescence we like to think is a kind sacrifice — that I suffered through The Cooler, a new Vegas-drama released with fogs of critical musk by Lions Gate just in time for the pre-Oscar season. I can only in painful hindsight wish I had used my acclaimed capacity for passive-aggressive persuasion to sway our group to choose Gus Van Sant’s Elephant instead, but something about the careful way my guest and I have studied each other’s character since elementary school warned me that he would detect this, and be annoyed in the way only he can.

The Cooler is credited as having been crafted by freshman feature filmmaker Wayne Kramer (b. 1965, and thus, not the guitarist of legendary 60s anti-establishment punk outfit MC5), but the whiplash generated by a collection of ill-advised, melodramatic twists parading as a film seems to suggest that the script was the coveted pet-project of an former casino insider who is coincidentally a hopeless writer, and then subsequently hammered out of amateurism and into pat drivel by a slightly less hopeless committee of “screenwriters.”

If William H. Macy, one of the few subtle and gifted character actors of this era, goes down in cinema history as having won an Oscar (for whatever that distinction is worth now), it should not be for his work in The Cooler. Nevermind the contemporary trend of make-up awards for previously deserving artists, I just do not endorse anyone remembering this abominable film for any reason other then the new lows it notches on the scale of bad moviedom. He is, of course, interesting as the unlucky Bernie Lootz, a career looser resigned to a life of indentured servitude as a “cooler,” or, as the film awkwardly explains in a clumsy opening sequence, “the guy in the casino who has the ability, apparently through tactile contact, to cool the luck of hot gamblers poised to unburden the Shangri-La casino of an inordinate amount of cash.” Macy’s physical work is most impressive, as he allows the aging, reserved Bernie to blossom into a receptive sexual partner to would-have-been showgirl, current waitress, Natalie (Maria Bello). Over the course of several intimate, frank love scenes, Macy succeeds in rubbing his nose all over Bello’s upper body. We also witness both of their naked asses and all but the very skin of Macy’s penis. They’re caressing is real and human, and should be lauded for its eschewal of glamour and youth. Alec Baldwin would be outstanding as Shelly, an amoral boss and casino manager, were it not for the lines he is ashamedly forced to utter.

Why do all films about Las Vegas seem to suffer from the same squeamish taste of extreme immorality? Have filmmakers over the years simply been so attuned to the miasma of sin permeating the city like smog that its unmistakable presence inevitably transposes to the screen? Or is Vegas really just so corrupting that any attempt to convey its culture seems to rake sore nails across the blackboard of our souls? As entertaining as characters have been in Vegas, whether honeymooning, vacationing, leaving, fearing and loathinging, these films do not settle easily, like a hazy Sunday afternoon spent reflecting on a Saturday night full of very bad things. Even Scorcese could not get it right. Specifically, The Cooler is more manipulative in its moral dealings than most. While shock is an effective tool in any medium, shock accomplished underhandedly and without purpose is merely gratuitous. It wants to decry the loss of “old school” casino culture to the more tame, family-themed attractions now dominating the strip, but does not make many original or convincing jabs.

Hardly two scenes in the entire film run longer than a couple minutes, but The Cooler somehow seems longer than it is; this is testament to its jerky lameness. Even Ron Livningstone, in a cocky supporting role, cannot redeem this tragedy that proves it is nearly impossible for a narrative film to succeed without solid writing.

And then there’s the whole question surrounding Macy’s “ability” to be unlucky. Is this magical realism? The film’s uneven and unfinished treatment of its central concept is the most damaging of its flaws. A sub-trope of deceiving appearances is forced, leading nowhere. Most entries in any art form are mediocre at best, but The Cooler rounds out the bottom of the bell curve.

While I won’t bellyache about missing out on Elephant, I will encourage you to make a different choice. Or see Van Sant’s other 2003 release, Gerry, the most intense experience I’ve had in a theater since Mulholland Drive.