Although Emilio Estevez’s ‘The Way’ should never be maligned for any lack of genuine sincerity, the neatly introspective, and at times even Chaucerian, treatment of its pilgrims’ tale initially gives off the impression of a focused and smartly composed picture. However, pull away from its constant reliance on impressive landscapes and aggressively-scored montages (James Taylor! David Gray! Nick Drake! Nostalgia!) and you’ll find a film desperately hiding from its true vanity project nature.

The plot is, for a short while at least, both simple and effective. Tom Avery (Martin Sheen), a Californian ophthalmologist, or “eye doctor” as the other characters constantly remind us, travels to France to pick up the remains of his estranged son Daniel - played by real-life, non-prodigal son Estevez - who perishes early into his pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago. Once there, Tom makes the bold decision of continuing on with his son’s journey – a meagre 500 miles through France and Spain to the resting place of St. James in Galicia – and we watch as he struggles to come to terms with his son’s death.

Along the way, Tom encounters and reluctantly befriends a conveniently varied group of misfits, unknowingly setting into motion the film’s sudden transition from soulful tale of self-discovery to ensemble absurdity. What’s most surprising though, is the film’s misuse of its unsuitably cast and monstrously stereotyped supporting characters. Among the many are a self-depreciating Irish writer played by James Nesbitt (he actually has a line where he talks about leprechauns); a stoned jolly Dutchman, a group of thieving and dubiously-moustachioed Gypsies, a couple of argumentative Italians and a bullfighting Spaniard. However, of the very worst is Deborah Kara Unger, whose portrayal of disaffected, Canadian mega-bitch ‘Sarah’ is by far the most unwelcome and weakly-justifiable character.

It’s this sudden intrusion of secondary characters, and their exhausting predilection for constant personal revelations, that leech the film of its potential impact, causing the plot to quickly devolve into a desperate pursuit of poignancy. Eventually, so much time and effort is spent on separately justifying each and every presence that it deprives the development of the time it needs to come across as truly authentic or involving. This over-crowdedness also affects Sheen’s more personal interactions with them, so opportunities for bigger emotional payoffs are, for the most part, awkwardly handled (look out for an obligatory fireside confessionary with Sheen and Unger that plays out as an uncomfortable game of deceased child one-upmanship).

Not much can be said for Estevez’s visual style either. Everything looks remarkably bland and, although impressive sights of the French and Spanish countryside offer welcome respite from the awkward acting and repetitive plot, James Taylor will be singing so insistently that it’ll be hard to feel anything beyond sentiment-induced nausea.

In many ways, ‘The Way’ misses the mark. All the right ingredients are there – the folk soundtrack, the realist treatment of its journey, the varied cast - but nothing feels substantial. It’s not that Estevez isn’t invested in the film (several scenes of just himself and Sheen have an obvious ‘real world’ resonance to them) but, at the same time, its clumsily- handled melodrama and rushed characterisation cause it to never come close to fulfilling any of its potentially more ambitious aspirations.