Without warning, two American brothers receive notice that they've inherited a stately, though dilapidated, château in southern France. One (Romany Malco) runs an Internet company that specializes in treating sexual dysfunction. The other, his adoptive white brother (Paul Rudd), spends his days shuffling between therapy and a dead-end job in the college town he never left. When they arrive in France, they discover that the home is filled with servants who barely speak English and seem to have their own agenda. It sounds like a setup for slamming doors and cultural misunderstandings, and The Château does start off as a clever variation on all those time-tested elements of farce. All smiles, enthusiasm, nervous energy, and garbled French, Rudd is almost funny enough to carry the film. Wanting only to avoid upsetting his hosts, he tries so hard not to act like an ugly American that he ends up looking all the uglier. Malco, on the other hand, only wants to make a quick buck, and thinks nothing of screaming into his cell phone while parading around in his underwear. Eventually, both take an interest in Sylvie Testud, a shy maid and single mother whose standoffish behavior puzzles them much more than it should. Given such a sturdy setup and willing cast, it's remarkable how quickly director Jesse Peretz exhausts both. Never recovering the energy of its early scenes, the heavily improvised Château becomes shapeless and dull. And while shooting the film with what looks like slightly damaged digital-video equipment may have made the production possible, it doesn't make it easy to watch; its weak spots look less like a proper movie than like filmed improv-class exercises. What's French for "half-baked"?