Autumn is upon us. I don’t need to see the weather; I can tell from the recent rash of ponderous would-be Oscar bait hitting theaters. These are the movies the studio deems insufficiently promising for the crucial holiday season, so they get shunted into the vast dumping ground of October.

I almost feel sorry for “We Own the Night.” It tries so hard. It’s “The Godfather” in reverse mixed with “The Departed,” with a dash of “Eastern Promises” for seasoning. Unfortunately, all of those are much better movies. Not that “We Own the Night” is bad, exactly. Call it predictable, or anemic. It’s the type of movie, if it came on cable on Monday afternoon, you might stick with out of inertia because there’s nothing better on. After all, it’s centered on a nightclub in the ’80s, and it features the New York Police Department, drug dealers and a terrific cast.

Joaquin Phoenix carries the film as Bobby Green, a freewheeling nightclub manager who assiduously hides the fact both his father (Robert Duvall) and brother, Joe Grusinsky (Mark Wahlberg), are stalwarts of the NYPD. When Joe decides to take on a ring of foreign cocaine dealers operating out of Bobby’s club, Bobby is forced to decide whether his loyalties lie with the flashy orbit he has built around himself or the family from whom he is virtually estranged.

Bobby’s choice and its consequences drive the film. Phoenix, despite the abundance of thespian talent in the cast, is virtually the only actor given anything substantial to do. His performance is capable but not extraordinary as Bobby grapples with his changing relationship with his family, life on the run, and the collapse of his relationship with his girlfriend (Eva Mendes), who discovers the man Bobby is becoming is not the dissolute hedonist she fell in love with.

These potentially intriguing developments are executed with minimal flair. Only once, in a superbly shot chase scene set on a rainy freeway, does the movie pick up. The rest of the time, the coke-snorting and attempted murders somehow manage to be kind of boring. Although the filmmakers deserve credit for naturalistically depicting NYPD social functions, the drabness of Joe’s world and the hollowness of Bobby’s spill over into the rest of the film.

Any new idea in “We Own the Night” must have been mugged; the city is a dangerous place to be alone. What’s left is inferior retreads. The theme of the son dealing with the family business was classically treated in “The Godfather,” “The Departed” features both a more interesting study of moles and a superior performance by Mark Wahlberg, and “Eastern Promises” has cornered the market on badass tattooed Russians.

While not turning in their strongest work, the cast manages to marginally elevate the film above the uninspired script and tired direction. Duvall glowers and bristles as only he can, and Wahlberg’s clean-cut good looks secure his paycheck, but most of their considerable talent is wasted. However, if you can sit through two hours of soulful gazes between Bobby and Joe without mentally screaming, “All right, kiss already!” then you are a better person than I.