Toni Collette, left, and Monica Bellucci in Mafia Mamma (Bleecker Street)

Fish out of water comedies, especially ones starring women, are scarce in mainstream films these days, which is why Catherine Hardwicke’s Californian-suburban-mom-gone-Italian-Mafia-don movie certainly offers an appealing premise.

The idea of Mafia Mamma feels a bit like a brisk and breezy throwback to something Goldie Hawn may have starred in the 1980s. Unfortunately, the weak script by Michael J. Feldman and Debbie Jhoon, based upon a story idea by Amanda Sthers, flounders. Here, Toni Collette plays Kristin Balbano Jordan, who works as an advertising executive in a depressing big pharma setup with a sexist boss and male colleagues. Her laid-back, mop-headed son (Tommy Rodger) is off to college in Portland, and she just caught—in a predictable and poorly helmed scene—her sniveling, rock band-wannabe husband (Tim Daish) having sex with another woman. Shortly after, she receives a call from Italy from the mysterious Bianca (Monica Bellucci): Kristin must come to Italy to pay respects to her dead grandfather (who Kristin didn’t even know was still alive). Soon she is whisked away to Italy where she meet-cutes outside the airport with a handsome Lorenzo (Giulio Corso) and becomes, after a shoot-out at the grandfather’s funeral, the unwitting boss of the Balbano clan.

It’s hard to knock a movie so frivolous, but it’s also a bit of a chore to get through, even at its relatively short 101-minute running time. Jokes and gimmicks immediately wear thin, like the tradition of the family cocking their heads to the side and spitting at the mere utterance of the name Romano, their rival. Besides the spitting, sometimes there are unpleasant sound effects—exorbitant and more distracting than funny—like the chewing of a cannoli and the sawing of limbs. The story beats, from the “finding and putting yourself first” theme to a pedestrian trial sequence, are often banal.

Because Collette, who also produced, is usually fabulous in every role, it’s dismaying to watch her strain to make this inconsistent character authentic in any way. Kristin can be wide-eyed and ditzy about nearly everything, but then seemingly unafraid of having multiple guns pointed in her direction, and her middle school giddiness about sex and Lorenzo feels depressingly trite for a female adult. The supporting players don’t fare that well either. Besides a silly story about a prosthetic leg, the script is light on giving any layers to Bellucci’s Bianca—the most intriguing of the bunch. Bellucci captures Bianca’s sultry and savvy elements as well as she can despite the material. The exuberant Sophia Nomvete is relegated to a cringey, formulaic best girlfriend role, who has to deliver a painfully unfunny scene where she rallies everyone to chant “Eat Pray Fuck” in a Krav Maga class.

When the film turns bizarrely gory, it suddenly becomes slightly riveting, or at least a bit of an interesting curiosity. A well-edited, if ponderously obvious segment blends a giallo-like kill (high heels digging into eyeballs!) with a trio of Collette’s toxic male co-workers discussing an advertising campaign in a garishly sexist manner. Eclectic moments like this might have made Mafia Mamma zanier and more unique, but regrettably, it’s overall a flavorless affair.