Grief and loss are part and parcel of the human experience. There is so much art about the subject, be it literature, film, or music, that it is not easy to take a fresh angle on the topic.

Katie Aselton takes a stab at it in Magic Hour, which she directed, co-wrote with Mark Duplass, and stars in. I wish I could say that she has added a new dimension or angle to the subject. Unfortunately, the overly earnest drama hews too close to many other films of its ilk. Nothing really distinguishes it.

Erin (Aselton) and her husband, Charlie (Daveed Diggs), are staying in the very pretty, very contemporary California desert house of a friend, Marshall (Brad Garrett). He has offered them the place while they recover from an unknown tragedy. The first 20 minutes play it coy in regard to what happened until it is revealed (though we are way ahead of the script). Well, in particular, she and her husband are in this desert oasis to help her process grief. There is interesting material here that could be mined, such as mortality and the idea of actually going mad with heartache. Yet for a story that teases some metaphysical quandaries, it is doggedly earthbound. Erin confronts and struggles with her grief. Everything else, including Charlie, feels like a device.

Aselton is a fine, emotionally agile actress, but Aselton the writer boxes Aselton the performer in. Every scene underlines the main theme: that Erin needs to let go and move on. Yet we don’t see Erin doing anything other than thinking about, writing about, or talking to Charlie about Charlie in redundant, banal interactions. We have no sense of her life outside of this relationship. The script is single-minded, and that usually doesn’t result in compelling storytelling.

Some peripheral characters pop in and spice up the proceedings. A gaggle of drag queens stop by for a lively dinner, and Erin’s mother (an excellent Susan Sullivan) gives her the same advice we in the audience are screaming at her throughout the runtime. But mostly, it’s just Erin and Charlie arguing and snuggling for an hour plus.

Technically, the cinematography is lovely. Sarah Whelden squeezes every bit of the unworldly and beautiful desert landscape she can, and Zachary Dawes and Tyler Parkford provide a nice mystical score. However, in the long run, this feels more like a 40-minute short stretched to 80 minutes.