Kristen Bell and Kirby Howell-Baptiste turn to a life of coupon crimes in the mildly amusing Queenpins

Connie channels her frustrations and loneliness into extreme couponing, stocking up on endless household supplies that she and Rick—who is written and played without a shred of genuine decency—don’t strictly need. Similarly, Connie doesn’t need to write a complaint letter when a box of bargain Wheaties turns out to be stale, but she does anyway, and the promotional coupon she receives for a free replacement box gives her an idea: Why not obtain a whole bunch of these free-stuff promotions and sell them at an extreme discount online? Soon, she and JoJo are making trips across the border to scout out the printers, embroiling other pittance-wage workers in their scheme.

The scheme itself is both more audacious than its real-life equivalent (which involved forging coupons, rather than stealing the real thing) and not especially exciting. Gaudet and Pullapilly don’t seem especially interested in the logistics of the scam, beyond the friction it creates when Connie and JoJo solicit the guidance of a shadowy money-hiding expert nicknamed Tempe Tina (Bebe Rexha) while, amusingly, not fully understanding her advice. As their illicit business grows, Connie and JoJo proceed on an unwitting collision course with Ken (Paul Walter Hauser), a “loss-prevention” specialist working for a grocery store chain. In place of actual legal authority, Ken has a stickler’s dogged persistence, and eventually his reports catch the attention of Simon (Vince Vaughn), a postal inspector. The two of them embark on an investigation—or rather, Simon investigates as Ken tags along.

In its back half, the movie drifts from Bell and Howell-Baptiste to give Hauser and Vaughn some space to riff, and there’s something tediously old-fashioned about how this Strong Female Lead comedy cedes a lot of its actual shtick to the male ringers. Still, Hauser and Vaughn don’t overplay their mismatched-buddy routine, and it’s funny to see Hauser, rather than the usually motormouthed Vaughn, play the more gung-ho of the pair. Even at its most ridiculous, this is a crime comedy where almost everyone is sincere, relatively soft-spoken, and even kind of square. Gaudet and Pullapilly’s affection for their characters allows Queenpins to settle into a low-key watchability, unconcerned with telling joke after joke.

Despite all that, the movie’s real void isn’t in its comedy; it’s in whatever might lie beneath its class-conscious signifiers. Connie and JoJo never seem especially changed or challenged by their experiences, which vaguely suggests a satirical approach that Queenpins never fully develops. On the more dramatic side, Connie’s heartbreak over a recent miscarriage offers both a grace note for Bell to play and psychological complexity that the movie doesn’t seem equipped to handle. Voiceover tries to fill in some of those gaps, but resorts to “yep, that’s me”-style sitcom-pilot shortcuts. Compared to her broader comedies, Bell seems to be after something more complicated here, something about consumerism and crime as similar forms of self-help therapy, or how women without a child or strong career are left to fend for themselves. Something about America, or whatever: The movie around her can’t quite communicate more than that.