Lisa Cholodenko’s “The Kids Are All Right” is a marvelous film, a serious, emotional drama with a fair shake of mirth. It stars Annette Bening, Julianne Moore and Mark Ruffalo, perhaps three of the finest actors working today.

I’m admitting this up front because what follows may sound too much like a negative beef. But it needs to be said.

Jules and Nic (Moore and Bening) are married and raising two kids, Joni and Laser (Mia Wasikowska, Josh Hutcherson), who are on the verge of adulthood. The kids affectionately call their parents “The Moms” and, as families go, they seem to be doing okay despite a few rough spots. Maybe they’re not quite typical, but the problems they face are.

When Joni turns 18, she inquires about her father, who’s been no more than a nameless, faceless sperm donor to all of them—and thus Paul (Ruffalo) enters their lives.

The first half of the film is a serious comedy, the second a humorous drama, but when a physical attraction develops between Jules and Paul, family bliss is threatened and the merriment ceases.

And here’s where I take the film to task. Had The Kids Are All Right been the usual, straight family drama, it might have run its course little differently than ‘relationshipsin crisis’ efforts like “A Walk on the Moon” or “The Bridges of Madison County.” But with director Cholodenko’s opting to cast Jules and Nic as a lesbian couple, this film’s resolution could have scored a bullseye, illuminating — to both gay and straight couples — the nobility of confronting tough choices.

No doubt Jules and Nic have endured exceptional difficulty in building their family. So then... what have they learned? Because The Kids Are All Right could have been a universal primer for understanding and forgiveness.

The uptight Nic and brash Paul clash and posture over the naive Jules—but in a sense, the lonely and wayward Paul has become part of the family, like it or not. By casting him, ultimately and I believe unfairly, as a villain here, what might have proven a poignant breakthrough film of family values is rendered as merely good—probably more realistic— drama. Sometimes, however, a little sensitivity can push through to the sublime.

When critics speak of “two hanky” films, they’re typically referring to those movies filled with grief and pathos and sorrow. Jay Roach’s “Dinner for Schmucks” is likely the first “two hanky” comedy I’ve seen, laughing until my tear ducts ached, so I’ll go out on a limb here and tell you that “Dinner for Schmucks” is probably the funniest movie I’ve ever seen.

The highbrow among us may not agree. It’s not funny in the way “My Man Godfrey” or “Some Like It Hot” is funny. It’s not “The King of Comedy” or even “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” funny. “Dinner for Schmucks” is more “I Love You, Man” on laughing gas. Turbo-charged. Off the charts.

I wouldn’t quite call the film “lowbrow,” although the setup is somewhat mean-spirited. Tim (Paul Rudd) is a young exec on the rise, offered a promotion if he can win his firm’s utterly tasteless “Bring an Idiot to Dinner” evening with his boss and cohorts. (Don’t ask me why. The movie’s based on Francis Veber’s “The Dinner Game.” Blame the French.)

The sensitive Tim is reluctant to play along, but at the last moment he bumps into Barry (Steve Carell), who fits the requirements so perfectly that, despite his better judgment, he simply can’t resist.

Fortunately, “Schmucks” flutters well above the realm of the tasteless. This isn’t a Farrelly Brothers’ film (“Shallow Hal,” “Stuck on You”); Barry isn’t mentally impaired in any way; he’s simply the mother lode of social misfits. He may be sweet, but his best efforts usually result in utter chaos.

For the record, I’m loath to sit through most Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler and Jim Carrey comedies —but “Schmucks” I loved. The straight-faced Carell has never been funnier and Rudd’s a perfect foil.

“Schmucks” is far more Marx Brothers than The Three Stooges, and if you don’t mind entering the realm of the blissfully un-PC (and the flick’s also a tad risqué at times), I predict you won’t leave the theater dry-eyed.