Rudy hasn't showered in three days. Jobless and ruined by a failing marriage, he spends nights in his Escort. His life's work, a novel entitled "Lovers of Hate," has yet to find a publisher. To top it off, his soon-to-be ex-wife Diana is forming a romantic attachment to his estranged brother Paul. Paul is a successful children's fantasy author, and his wealth and fame amplify Rudy's jealousy. When Paul takes Diana to a romantic chalet in the mountains of Utah, Rudy decides to tag along. Unbeknownst to Paul and Diana, Rudy is watching their every move. His mission: to sabotage their relationship.

Brian Poyser's "Lovers of Hate" sounds like the latest insipid big-budget romantic comedy churned out by the major studios. Oddly enough, this Sundance hit is an independent production of Jay and Mark Duplass, the founding brothers of the generally talentless "mumblecore" movement. "Lovers" is not, thankfully, a mumblecore film. It is, however, an overwhelmingly unmemorable film. Beyond the "he's-in-the-house-but-they-don't-know-it" gimmick, "Lovers" doesn't have much going for it. Even this gimmick feels clichéd and tired, having been used to far greater effect in such films as the 1974 television movie "Bad Ronald."

"Lovers" bills itself as a "savage comedy," but it's neither savage nor comic. Rudy is hardly a malevolent character. He mostly just hovers around the house and hides behind doors. Perhaps the film's central flaw lies in Rudy's all-around lack of severity. He outwardly appears desperate about the situation, but his actions against Paul convey none of this desperation. The most vindictive action he takes is to leave a vaguely unsettling voice message on his brother's answering machine. Paul, likewise, is a tame character, and seems to handle his brother's actions without once losing his indifferent tone. If neither brother cares that much about the situation, the question arises: "Why should we care?" I found myself longing for a confrontation.

"Lovers" is as lacking in comedy, as it is in savageness. The comic moments that do arise are poorly written and executed. For example, in one subplot, Rudy takes advantage of his brief position as a door-to-door salesman to use the shower in an elderly woman's house. Rudy takes a shower, leaves the bathroom, and the scene cuts to him being forcefully pushed out the front door by the woman's husband. Rather than play up the comic value inherent in the awkward moment of Rudy's discovery, Poysner denies us this moment.

"Lovers" is more creepy than it is comic. As I watched the film, I imagined how much more successful it might have played out as a psychological thriller. The cat-and-mouse gimmick certainly works to this effect. The film is so strikingly unremarkable one almost wants the story to take a sudden twist into Michael Haneke-style violent mind games. Unfortunately, it never does. Instead the tone of the film remains generally lighthearted and mundane, only occasionally veering into darker territory. As it stands, "Lovers of Hate" is a black comedy with neither wit nor bite.

John Mattie is a contributing writer. E-mail him at film@nyunews.com.