The Death and Life of Charlie St Cloud

Directed by Burr Steers. Starring Zac Efron, Kim Basinger, Ray Liotta, Amanda Crew, Charlie Tahan. 12A cert, gen release, 100 min.

FROM TIME to time, most parents will worry that their children are watching too many films or playing too many video games that involve eviscerations, decapitations and immolations. We feel mum and dad’s pain.

But at least such hyper-violent entertainments acknowledge that there is a dreadful finality to death.

Lord knows what effect this glutinous parable will have on teenagers’ attitude to mortality.

A combination of ghost story and safety-aware public information film, The Death and Life of Charlie St Cloudtreats the final frontier like an irritatingly sticky sliding door. Passing backwards and forwards is not exactly easy, but a modicum of effort will get the job done. People who habitually say things like "I don't believe in organised religion, but I do have a spiritual side" may find the ghastly thing inspirational (that's the word, right?). It made me want to drink paraffin.

The annoyingly competent

Zac Efron stars as a smart kid – resident of a snooty maritime town, but not rich himself – who has just secured a “sailing scholarship” to prestigious Stanford University. Before European viewers have a chance to properly marvel at the oddities of the US educational system, young Charlie suffers an appalling tragedy. His young brother is killed in a car accident and our hero, who was driving at the time, is unable to stop his life sliding into blubby chaos.

Five years later, now working at the local cemetery, Charlie devotes every afternoon to a game of catch with his dead sibling. Is he crazy? Is the younger presence a ghost? Jeez. If you had a “spiritual” side you wouldn’t be asking so many stupid questions.

Based on a popular novel by Ben Sherwood, the film exploits the same photographic palette used by the designers of religious websites and cheap inspirational posters. Yachts are forever sailing into sunsets. Lighthouses are constantly blinking hopefully through allegorical mists. At any moment, you half expect “Life is a Gift” (or something) to appear across the screen.

All that acknowledged, it is painful to admit that the film is carried off with a reasonable degree of competence. Efron remains a beguiling presence, and the final emotional surges are affecting despite their predictability. I'd still feel happier for my imaginary 14-year-old to sit down in front of Saw VII.