Yesterday I barely summoned the energy to catch a theatrical showing of Tony Goldwyn and Tony SpiradakisEzra…barely. Inner meditation: “Do I really want to wade through a family-conflict drama about an autistic lad in his mid teens? Really? I have to watch this fucking thing?”

But I did, and I have to admit that I found it somewhere between tolerable and decent, and at times even affecting. It’s a good, pro-level film as far as it goes. Did it bother me somewhat? Here and there, yeah, but not to a fatal degree.

The eccentric, bespectacled Ezra (played by William Fitzgerald, a real-life Asperger’s kid) exhibits all the usual Raymond Babbit traits — no touching, no eye contact, insightful, uncomfortable with emotional intensity. His divorced parents — Max (Bobby Cannavale), an excitable and immature aspiring comedian, and Jenna (Rose Byrne), a conservative, worry-wart mom — are arguing about whether Ezra needs to attend a special-needs school and maybe take suppressive medication.

Jenna and boyfriend Bruce (Goldwyn) lean towards regulation and meds while Max wants Ezra to be a free improvisational soul…the kind who wears loose shoes and thinks on his feet and even allows himself to be hugged.

There’s also Stan (Robert DeNiro), Max’s feisty dad who supports his son despite concerns about his hyper personality. (DeNiro looks better in the film, by the way. than he did at that recent lower Manhattan press conference in front of the Trump-vs.-Alvin Bragg courthouse.) There’s also Max’s friendly manager (Whoopi Goldberg), old friend Grace (Vera Farmiga), childhood pal Nick (Rainn Wilson, who’s really lost some hair and packed on the pounds), some FBI guys and even Jimmy Kimmel and Geraldo, who furtively appear in the third act.

I can’t fucking do this. It’s draining my soul as I try and summarize the anxious and busy plot, which of course involves a coast-to-coast road trip. I’m feeling weaker and weaker, I mean. The sand is running out of the hourglass.

But at least Ezra ends pleasantly, and I have to acknowledge that Cannavale, his face covered with Yasser Arafat salt-and-pepper whiskers, gives an affecting performance, even though he taxes your patience at times. HE to Cannavale: Will you please calm the fuck down? Asperger kids don’t like excessive emotionality, and neither do I.