Movies about abused children and scandal have been a staple of television for years – all the way back to 1984 and the groundbreaking TV movie “Something About Amelia,” in which Ted Danson played a seemingly normal American dad (married to Glenn Close) who sexually abused his daughter. That then-controversial (and Emmy Award-winning) movie propelled sexual abuse into the forefront of American consciousness, and grew Mr. Danson’s star power. Now, after an illustrious sitcom career has dissipated into sporadic film work, Mr. Danson returns to the topic in Showtime’s “Our Fathers,” on the other side of the law.

And, alas, with far less dramatic results. In this overlong Showtime movie (premiering this Saturday at 8 p.m.) about the scandals involving sexually abusive priests in the Boston area, Mr. Danson plays a zealous lawyer who investigates allegations against one local religious leader and stumbles onto a scandal of mammoth proportions. Had we ever understood his character’s motivation or background, we might have cared; but in the years since “Amelia” and even “Cheers,” Mr. Danson has acted less with his head than he has with the hideous hairpieces he has chosen to put on it. He has evolved into a distraction, not a force, or as the focal point of what might have made a compelling, subtle drama of right and wrong. By focusing on Mr. Danson’s detective work – instead of the more dramatic battle taking place within the local archdiocese – “Our Fathers” goes wide of the mark.

It’s an unfortunate miss, especially when measured against the potential for powerful storytelling in the premise. Its great virtue lies in two key supporting performances: Christopher Plummer as Cardinal Bernard Law, who tried everything he could to suppress the scandal; and Brian Dennehy, who worked just as relentlessly to fan its flames. Only after an extended prologue – with prolonged and tedious scenes of middle-aged men experiencing their tortured recollections of childhood abuse, then seeking out Mr. Danson’s help – do Messrs. Plummer and Dennehy even show up. Whenever they appear on screen, the movie comes to life; the energy of their conflict takes us into the murkier moral questions at the scandal’s core. Do any of us really doubt the horror of child abuse by priests? Of course not. But what’s even more terrifying is the notion of the church’s leadership (reaching nearly all the way to the Vatican) hiding its scandals for the sake of its reputation, and putting the faith of its followers in jeopardy.

Whenever Mr. Dennehy shows up on stage or film, it’s a revelation for lovers of great acting. He, too, has explored the dark side of abuse in a riveting performance as serial child killer John Wayne Gacy in the 1992 TV miniseries, “To Catch a Killer,” and that awareness seems to inform his performance here. Mr. Dennehy has grown into the ultimate alpha male for the middle-aged man; his beefy body and buzz-cut hair lend authority to every word he speaks. And when, as the impassioned Rev. Dominic Spagnolia, he stands at his pulpit and rails against the kind of abuse he has chosen to fight – the abuse of religious authority – Mr. Dennehy’s words shake us to our core.

Had this movie dared to deal more fundamentally with the warring factions of the Catholic Church, it might have found more of an audience than it’s likely to get with its plodding and overly comprehensive approach. We didn’t need scenes of Mr. Danson driving around Boston looking for former victims of abuse, nor do we feel satisfaction when he finds a willing witness (Ellen Burstyn) behind the second doorbell he rings. We didn’t benefit much from the repetitive discussions of recovered memory (or lack thereof) among the victims – most especially not from Daniel Baldwin, who these days acts mostly with his neck. Good movies ought to have a single mission; “Our Fathers” tries too hard to be comprehensive and satisfying on multiple levels, and falls wide of the mark on most. There’s a far better movie buried in the cracks of this one, but only the most patient of viewers will find it. The rest will change the channel in boredom before Messrs. Plummer and Dennehy even show up.

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It’s always right around the May sweeps that I start to question my sanity in wanting to review television. In the next three weeks I have committed myself to spending nearly 20 hours of my life in front of a cathode-ray tube, and I’ve never even been 100% sure that cathode rays aren’t lethal in that kind of megadose. The fact is that most people I know who watch that much television voluntarily suffer from some sort of huge, tragic emptiness in their lives, the kind of void that can actually be filled by Charlie Sheen.

In any case, is it possible anyone wants to watch “Into the West” less than I do? The mere thought of spending 12 hours of my life watching a TNT miniseries about cowboys has me waking in a cold sweat. Yes, I know … Steven Spielberg, epic sweep, Keith Carradine, blah blah blah. I’m sure it’s wonderful and fascinating and important, I just don’t want to watch it. Okay? So if anyone really has some time on their hands and feels like checking it out, just e-mail me and I’ll leave it at the front desk. Thanks. Now please excuse me, I’m about to watch “Amber Frey: Witness for the Prosecution.”