Alex Holdridge, the director of “In Search of a Midnight Kiss,” which opens in New York on Friday, borrows a few things from fellow Texan Richard Linklater’s “Before Sunrise” (1995) — but not what counts.

Much as in Mr. Linklater’s time-bound romantic idyll on the streets of Vienna, Mr. Holdridge’s lovelorn couple forms its bond against the faded backdrop of downtown Los Angeles, thrown together by New Year’s Eve loneliness (and Craigslist). But behind the serendipity, the film’s dull, graceless storytelling deflates any prospect of a magical night.

The comparison to a modern classic might seem unfair, but “In Search of a Midnight Kiss,” which was shot in black and white, also begins with a montage and a self-dramatizing monologue that evoke the opening of Woody Allen’s “Manhattan.” The speaker, Wilson (Scoot “don’t call me Scott” McNairy), is a slightly more recent brand of self-pitying neurotic; his roommate and childhood friend, Jake (Brian McGuire), catches him in flagrante with a Photoshopped snapshot of Jake’s girlfriend, Min (Kathleen Luong).

A personal ad is the order of the day (the last day of the year), and wiry Wilson, who resembles an anemic-dyspeptic character from a graphic novel, soon finds himself sitting across from a fractious aspiring actress in shades. Vivian (Sara Simmonds) approves of Wilson eventually, and, in the city of cars and stars, the two stroll and spar amid the flattened glory of shuttered theaters, and even take the metro — who knew Los Angeles even had one? Meanwhile, deejay Jake plans to propose to Min at a warehouse party that night.

Vivian and Wilson’s time together starts out conditional and rocky but moves inexorably toward various little aren’t-you-special discoveries. But belying the film’s milquetoast title, their sparring, especially Vivian’s unlikely pronouncements, has a Kevin Smith-like abrasive “openness” about dating (for example, Wilson asking Vivian about her intimate grooming habits to make a point about her sexual expectations), with retreats into appeals to their woebegone status as recent veterans of bad breakups. The already dicey setup lurches with every cell phone intrusion from Vivian’s abusive ex, Jack (Robert Murphy, also the cinematographer, and also the singer for one of the Austin, Texas, bands that contribute croaky serenades to the soundtrack).

Jack’s phone calls reflect a movie that, though a bit better than most of its pseudo-desultory breed and certainly funnier, still feels too assembled. Wilson and Vivian grab your attention and maneuver through recognizable sentiments, but they don’t advance much further beyond that, though Ms. Simmonds’s Vivian is the bigger offender with her convenient outbursts. Along the way, some nice underplayed moments are offset by unthinking shortcuts, such as a last-minute disclosure meant to help explain Vivian’s behavior.

“In Search of a Midnight Kiss,” which has traveled the festival circuit for more than a year, beginning with the 2007 Tribeca Film Festival, has been cooed over for street-level location photography of Los Angeles that departs from the Hollywood norm. Sometimes covered through cutaways with voice-over dialogue, the territory often sets a tone better than the dialogue between Vivian and Wilson. Turning points in their speed-date come at the Orpheum Theatre and in a parking lot where Vivian finds a solitary shoe.

Mostly, the two feel pushed and pulled according to the demands of romantic circumstance, to the extent that potentially appealing actors become grating. Mr. McNairy sticks in some sarcastic changeups, but Ms. Simmonds, understandably, never gets a hold on her mercurial character, which is as ham-handedly written as the movie’s bit players and side plots. Mr. McNairy seems to know best how to find viable rhythms to the dialogue rather than surrender to a jumbled pile of back-and-forth.

“In Search of a Midnight Kiss” has apparently caught the attention of enough of the right people to net Mr. Holdridge at least three movies in the pipeline. Maybe that’s a reaction to the crude, backslapping bent of current comedies, even romantic ones, though Mr. Holdridge arguably hedges his bets via the masturbation opening. (Ironically, a recent profile of the director suggested that the Judd Apatow-spawned “Superbad” arose out of a failed script of his own). But while the admirers of “In Search of a Midnight Kiss,” and the lonely hearts within it, might hope otherwise, wishing doesn’t make it so.