In the most genteel manner possible, The Artist’s Wife takes on the subjects of dementia and an artistic woman subsuming her art and self for the sake of her husband’s career. The result is eminently watchable, though it isn’t particularly revelatory.

The story revolves around Claire Smythson (Lena Olin), the 60ish wife of eminent painter Richard Smythson (Bruce Dern). They live in a gorgeous modern home in a charming hamlet a couple of hours from New York City. He’s a typically blustery octogenarian artist, gleefully throwing out the C-word word in his art class, yet he exudes a gruff charm and genuinely loves his wife. Claire is all earthy sophistication, managing his day but feeling a vague discontent.

As in many films regarding an artist going through difficulties, a big show is coming up and Richard has not a single painting ready. Also, he seems to be acting oddly. Claire, who is used to his eccentricity and considers it a vital part of his personality, is slow to recognize these changes. And frankly, so are the viewers, since we see so little of Richard before his symptoms are apparent. Director/co-writer Tom Dolby jumps right into the deep end of the pool, so we can’t really notice the progression until about 45 minutes into the film and about 20 minutes after Richard is diagnosed.

This all puts Claire into a bit of a tizzy. She is very protective of Richard, yet she feels she needs some space. So she heads to the city on her own to check out an art show and also to convince Richard’s daughter, Angela (Juliet Rylance), to reconcile with him. At the show, she meets gallery owner and old friend Liza (Tonya Pinkins), who reminds Claire how good her own paintings are.

After that, everything becomes relatively predictable. Claire becomes more interested in pursuing her art, Richard becomes more difficult, and Angela reluctantly agrees to meet Richard. Even the surprise ending falls neatly into place.

The main subject isn’t really Richard’s dementia but Claire’s artistic awakening. When that happens, it’s admirable that viewers don’t resent Richard. Claire certainly doesn’t feel that. About her artwork, Richard at one point asks her, “Why did you ever stop?” Of course, that is a loaded question, and Dolby smartly recognizes the unspoken answer for a woman of Claire’s generation. Thankfully, there is no villain, which would have been less dramatically interesting—kudos to that.

However, the entire film feels like a rough stone that has been smoothed down for display. The acting is superb, and it’s lovely to look at, but there are no surprises. In a sense, it feels like some of the later movies of Nancy Meyers. It’s meant to go down smoothly, and it does. Yet considering its subject matter, one would hope to find some fierceness in it, but it just skips on the surface like a stone. Even the most uncomfortable moments don’t reach the awkwardness one feels it’s striving for. It’s simply a polite film.

The acting, as I said, is superb. Olin is always a treasure, and she shines here, allowing Claire’s realization to come gradually. Dern nails the grumpy old man/artist, charming and contradictory yet loving. Unfortunately, everyone else is a chess piece, necessary for the plot but not given much depth. Rylance, as Richard’s daughter, is particularly shafted and has some of most banal, obvious dialogue. Pinkins also has little to do.

One wishes The Artist’s Wife were a little rawer and braver in its depiction of both dementia and the frustrations of a certain generation of women, but as it is, it’s a pleasant enough way to pass the time, mainly thanks to Olin.