“Brothers” tries to delve into how war can tear apart families, but only succeeds in showing how miscasting and melodrama obscure good intentions. This is the kind of movie where every scoop of mashed potatoes or lap around a skating rink is staged to carry maximum meaning.

Tobey Maguire plays Capt. Sam Cahill, a high school football hero turned Marine whose snug Minnesota life includes his ex-cheerleader wife Grace (Natalie Portman), two adorable daughters and a tough Vietnam vet dad (Sam Shepard). The family’s harmony is jarred when Sam’s black-sheep brother Tommy (Jake Gyllenhaal) gets out of prison after serving time for armed robbery.

The siblings get along, but everyone else is riled by Tommy. Then Sam is deployed to Afghanistan, where his helicopter is shot down. Told her husband is dead, Grace’s brief mourning is alleviated by Tommy’s growing help around the house. First he rebuilds the kitchen, then he hangs with the kids, then he and Grace are smoking pot and sharing a kiss.

But it turns out Sam isn’t dead; he’s a Taliban prisoner being forced to commit atrocities. When he’s freed after months of torture, the edgy, numb soldier who returns no longer connects to those who love him.

Director Jim Sheridan (“In America,” “My Left Foot”), remaking a 2004 Danish film, fumbles both the Cahills’ cozy domesticity — intended to be All-American, it actually resembles a “Bless This Home” needlepoint come to life — and the Middle East segment, which features evildoers so caricatured they’re like James Bond villains. And there’s a chunk missing from the middle, when Tommy and Grace’s attraction should come to a boil. As it is, it barely simmers.

That may be because Portman, especially, is given no outlet for what is her strongest trait as an actress: knowing intelligence. We constantly hear Grace referred to as “beautiful” (which she is), but “Brothers” doesn’t ask her to be anything more than that. She’s also not quite the “Minnesota ex-cheerleader and mother of two” type.

Maguire gets to do more once Sam returns with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder — for which we never see him treated — but the wiry, watchful actor is an ill-fit from the get-go as a take-charge Marine.

Gyllenhaal at least does another solid job of brooding, but Tommy is such a conceit that the movie itself seemed annoyed at both him and the contrivances that surround him. Skipping past any reflections about the dangers of coming home, there are inarticulate fights and even a “Someone once said...” voiceover. At least “Brothers” is always faithful to cliche.

It's possible that “Up in the Air,” a comedy about the soul-deadening challenges of our disconnected era, could only have been made by Jason Reitman. After all, he turned teen pregnancy into amusing family fare (“Juno”) and rendered tobacco lobbyists likable (“Thank You for Smoking”). So perhaps it's no surprise that he's come out with a lovely Hollywood romance that floats buoyantly along on a sea of sadness.

George Clooney is perfectly attuned to Reitman's tack, adding just a hint of a bruise to his slickly confident executive, Ryan Bingham. Ryan's job is to relieve others of theirs, and he flies around the country firing anonymous employees so their cowardly bosses won't have to do it instead.

But his own employment is threatened when his CEO (Jason Bateman) hires young go-getter Natalie (Anna Kendrick). She suggests Ryan's job could be done via video conferencing, which would ground him for good.

For Ryan, life on the road is the ideal existence. He gets first-class treatment everywhere, and never has to deal with the inconveniences of commitment. But as he faces increasing challenges to his solitary routine, including a relationship with another high flyer (Vera Farmiga), he's forced to wonder if it's finally time to put down roots.

Though the movie is based on Walter Kirn's 2001 novel, Reitman trades Kirn's caustic madness for a wry melancholy that better suits the screen. This version also incorporates our recessionary anxieties, but offers such a smooth ride we barely notice the turbulence until we're back on the ground.

A few scenes are overly broad or abrupt, and Kendrick works a bit too hard to compose her character. But Reitman handles the majority of elements--from big themes to tiny details--with a skillful blend of empathy and wit.

As for Clooney, an unexpected vulnerability deepens his natural charisma, while Farmiga turns out to be his onscreen soulmate. They create a connection that looks familiar, but is miles away from the rom-com relationships we've been trained to accept. It feels real, and in this prefab world, that's a rare commodity indeed.

Getting the details right counts for a lot. “Everybody’s Fine” – a more subtle film than its advertising indicates – works because it has a feel for little things. Like how a widower looks away when he says he doesn’t still speak to a wife who isn’t there, or how grown children know what word irks their dad, who, in a glance can see them as the five-year-olds they once were.

British writer/director Kirk Jones’s remake of a 1990 Italian movie also contains what’s become a rarity: A sweet, human-sized Robert De Niro performance. The two-time Oscar-winner and one-man Mount Rushmore of New York was in danger of being defined by big comedies (“Analyze This,” “Meet the Parents” and their sequels) and small catastrophes (“Righteous Kill,” “Hide and Seek”). Here, the actor dials it down and wins us over.

Frank Goode is a 70-ish former blue-collar worker dealing with the loss of his wife of 41 years by obsessing over housekeeping tasks he never knew existed. When his four busy kids all cancel on a family reunion he had planned, Frank travels by bus and train to surprise them.

Yet he is the one who gets the real surprise as he learns that the people he helped raise aren’t entirely happy. One daughter, Amy (Kate Beckinsale), is a hotshot Chicago lawyer with an unsuccessful marriage. Another daughter, Rosie (Drew Barrymore), is a Vegas dancer living an echo of the life she dreamed of, as is Robert (Sam Rockwell), a member of the Denver orchestra though not the renowned conductor his father thought he was.

The mystery of the fourth sibling is the narrative hook, but the emotional thread is a series of lovely scenes that work as one-acts about familial disappointment and dashed hopes. De Niro’s scenes with the always engaging Rockwell are particularly good, loaded with forced friendliness laced with recriminations and empty promises.

Beckinsale and Barrymore also do a lot with very little, taking their cues from De Niro, who’s in every scene. As Frank criss-crosses the country, Jones (“Waking Ned Devine,” “Nanny McPhee”) fills the movie with random connections that recall everything from “Harry and Tonto” to “About Schmidt.” And there’s as much real appreciation here for empty bus stations and antiseptic offices as there is for people’s interior narratives. Jones even manages to convey how a working-class guy like Frank would be both proud and slightly confused about his children’s creative paths.

In its final third, “Everybody’s Fine” tries to hit a few too many emotional notes and wrap things up in a bow, but the overall result isn’t damaged. Turns out, you can mess up a little bit and still produce a winner.