Adam Sandler’s movies can usually be judged based on one criteria: How likable does the star come across?

In “Little Nicky” and “The Waterboy,” Sandler resorted to speech impediments and zany haircuts to animate his exaggerated simpletons. Although the films were sporadically amusing, the lead characters were rather irritating.

“Big Daddy,” “Happy Gilmore” and “Billy Madison” placed the star in more traditional parts, usually as an adult still battling with freeing himself from adolescence. Sandler was bland but innocuous, and the flicks were forgettable.

The lone great Sandler role was 1998’s “The Wedding Singer,” where he put his talent for music in league with his pop culture-aimed humor. His contribution to the ’80s love story was not only hilarious but genuinely sympathetic. (Hint: It was the only one of these aforementioned scripts that Sandler didn’t write.)

In “Mr. Deeds,” a film theoretically based on the 1936 Frank Capra comedy, Sandler again provides a somewhat generic, inoffensive presence. Not surprisingly, so does the movie.

Sandler plays Longfellow Deeds, a well-liked pizza parlor owner in a “little hick-ass town in New Hampshire.” When he’s not making deliveries, he’s composing greeting cards which he hopes to some day sell to Hallmark.

Unbeknownst to Deeds, his long-lost uncle just died in a mountain climbing accident and willed the boy his $40 billion media empire. Two scheming corporate moguls (Peter Gallagher and Erick Avari) lure Deeds to Manhattan, hoping he will sell them his shares in the company so they can take over as primary stock holders.

Meanwhile, Babe Bennett (Winona Ryder), a producer of the sleazy TV show “Inside Access,” pretends to be a damsel in distress so she can surreptitiously tape the bumpkin. As they start to date, Babe appreciates the down-to-earth quality of the outsider and how he “doesn’t share our sense of ironic detachment.” She begins to question the ethics of her assignment as Deeds proves to her there are values that run deeper than money.

“Mr. Deeds” generates enough laughs to offset the rather slapdash quality of the project. Since the plot is essentially a foregone conclusion from the first scene  even the picture’s “big surprise” is telegraphed  the main sources of humor come from sight gags and oddball supporting performances.

The movie resorts to extreme images (a malleable kneecap, flesh turned black from frostbite, cats being tossed out windows) more than dialogue for the bulk of the punchlines. When that’s not working, it simply resorts to a good fistfight. “Mr. Deeds” has more impromptu punchouts than a Source Awards get-together.

Sandler benefits from a few key casting choices, not the least of which is his female co-star. Normally partnered with dullsville leading ladies, from Patricia Arquette to Joey Lauren Adams to Bridgette Wilson (Drew Barrymore an exception in “The Wedding Singer”), it’s refreshing to see someone like Ryder who can hold her own with Sandler in the eccentric department.

The soon-to-be-incarcerated actress brings a kind of frantic energy  like Diane Keaton in the 1970s  to the love interest role. And she is given the chance to play comedy, as opposed to just acting as the level-headed gal opposite Sandler. It’s not a great performance, but it is quirky.

However, the standout is John Turturro (“O Brother, Where Art Thou?”) as Deed’s butler, who has the lion’s share of memorable scenes. With his slicked-back hair and ubiquitous tuxedo, the manservant reveals to Deeds that sneakiness is his finest trait. The fact he is always attempting to appease a disquieting foot fetish only adds to the humor.

Unfortunately, Sandler himself frequently seems to be coasting in “Mr. Deeds.”

The comedian’s projects habitually have a loose party atmosphere about them, as if he’s invited a bunch of friends over to shoot a movie. (That explains why so many of his actor buddies, such as Steve Buscemi and Rob Schneider, make appearances in each of his films). It would be nice if he devoted as much effort to his own roles as those of his supporting cast.

Somewhere along the line Sandler stopped being the life of the party and merely became the host.