“Better than a gentleman but not quite a knight.”

However noble its intentions, Dan Gilroy’s sophomore effort is a confused mess. Like his debut, Nightcrawler, Roman J. Israel, Esq. aims its sights at a broken social system as seen through the eyes of a rambunctious outsider. But this second film lacks the vitality and electricity that made the debut exciting, and it’s messaging is too muddled and shallow to carry the film on its own. I find Denzel Washington’s shabby portrayal of the bookish, socially inept protagonist to be quite good. And Gilroy’s attempt at highlighting modern social ills is admirable. But his screenplay, full of verbose legalese, never coalesces into anything of substance, seeming to ask for credibility based on its subject matter alone, but does little to deserve it. The story struggles to make thematic or narrative sense, moved along by clichéd moments piled atop each other without a strong structure emerging, hitting the beats of the standard “feel good” story wildly out of rhythm. All characters except one are cardboard caricatures, and that lone exception—the purely logic-based Roman J. Israel, Esq.—makes a severely irrational decision that undercuts his entire constitution in order to move things to a contrived climax. After Gilroy’s superb debut, it’s a shame to see him so uncertain of himself here. Perhaps it’s the hot-button themes of racial injustice, corporate greed, and moral bankruptcy, or Washington’s star power, or maybe it’s something else. But Roman J. Israel, Esq. is a severely disappointing follow-up for the second-time director.

It’s never stated outright, but it appears that Roman (Washington) has some kind of high-functioning autism. He has a gifted memory and an uncanny recall ability, but seems incapable of channeling his thoughts into effective communication. A former civil rights activist, he lives alone, regularly reporting violations of obscure legal codes, reading thick law books, collecting vinyl records, and subsisting on a diet of peanut butter, jelly, and donuts. He’s worked for decades as the severely underpaid partner of William Jackson, a renowned professor and lawyer who presents the firm’s cases. Roman has a brilliant, encyclopedic legal mind but rarely goes to court because he doesn’t know how to play the game. This is highlighted early on when Jackson suffers a heart attack and Roman covers for him. Only a minute into the hearing—at which Roman was merely required to request a continuance—he gets hung up on the fact that his client was not offered the opportunity to use the bathroom when he was arrested, and the judge holds him in contempt for continuing to argue the point.

In the wake of his partner’s death, Roman is told that the firm will be closing and that he must find a new gig, which leads to a string of benign, expected sequences. He meets Maya (Carmen Ejogo) at an interview that doesn’t lead to a job, but kickstarts some romantic feelings in him. This relationship feels woefully undercooked, as Maya seems to be in awe of Roman for no discernable reason. He used to be an activist and knows a lot of random legal stuff, which is cool, but most people can’t stand him. Maya’s smittenness is purely a cheap device to align the audience’s view of the character, brought to bear in a cringe-inducing moment where she bursts into tears on a dinner date. She asks Roman to give a speech at an activist event. It turns out that he’s out of touch with the kids forty years his junior who are suspicious of his legal-minded approach and outdated views of women. George Pierce (Colin Farrell), a high-priced corporate attorney who sees an opportunity to make a buck off of Roman, offers him a job at his ritzy firm. Roman accepts and immediately stirs things up with Pierce’s hotshot partner. He tries to convince George to help him reform the plea bargaining system, a project he’s been working on for years which turns into a kind of untouchable mystery box, the contents of which are only hinted at. Instead of doing anything impactful, Roman is forced to work out of his element by directly representing clients.

Eventually, Roman is presented with the opportunity to jeopardize his morals and law-abiding status in exchange for $100k cash—a severe ethical breach. One of his clients, an innocent young man arrested for murder, offers to turn in the real shooter, a fellow gang member, for a reduced sentence. When his client is murdered in prison, Roman uses the information to anonymously collect the reward for himself, completely destroying the character of Roman J. Israel in the process. This moral failing is necessary to catch us up with Gilroy’s provocative opening scene—in which Roman types up a legal brief in its entirety, casting himself as plaintiff and defendant—but it does not make sense within the scheme of the story. Roman’s just been hired by Mr. Pierce’s expensive firm after decades of being underpaid. Why is he suddenly willing to sell himself out for extra cash? He uses his thousands to buy a new suit, get a haircut, and move into a new apartment, but he could have done that anyway. His actions are only explainable as a means by which Gilroy could shuttle the righteous protagonist to his tragic, contrived ending.

It’s a shame that Gilroy’s screenplay is so unfocused because the character of Roman J. Israel is interesting enough to merit a good movie. His 1970s style, passion for soul music, and luddite tendencies are the makings of a memorable cinematic creation, if not necessarily a believable one. With his grown out hair, misfit clothing, and frumpy appearance, Washington puts in an uncertain turn as the aging activist. He seems uncomfortable with the incessant stuttering and meticulousness, but delivers the extended diatribes with verve. But characters do not exist in a vacuum. And the story that Roman J. Israel exists within is simply not very good. It’s technically well shot and edited into a semblance of life, but fails because it never commits to either the character study it pretends to be or the thriller it has the potential to be.