Whoever said a star can’t carry an entire film clearly never met Rachel McAdams. No matter how subtly the Canadian actress projects her performance, or how low-key a movie she might be in, we are acutely aware that a Star is being born, capital S and all.

“Morning Glory”

At Quality 16 and Rave

Dazy and dimpled, bangs askew and voice all a-patter, McAdams is Becky Fuller, a senior producer for the network news show “Good Morning, New Jersey.” Devoted heart and soul to her job, Becky sleeps at six o’clock and rises at one, never lifting her eyes from her BlackBerry to give a guy a second glance. We open in on a date: She’s charming, he’s cute, they seem to hit it off. Then, disaster: Her phone ring-rings. “I have to get this,” she says, with a megawatt smile and a light bang of the forehead. He mouths, “Check, please.” The date ends, she goes to sleep and life goes on.

It’s all sunny skies and candy-hued cheer from here on out — that is, until poor Becky gets fired. Fast-forward past a few desperate job searches, and she manages to land a position as a television programmer for the last-place morning show “Daybreak.”

The complications are admittedly slim enough to fit into a manila envelope, and those that exist don’t exactly scream unpredictability (co-host trouble, man trouble, ratings trouble). It’s true that the film is no “Network” — in fact, it’s not even the modern day equivalent of “Broadcast News,” but who cares?

“Morning Glory” is pure formula, and it knows it. It’s a Pepto Bismol-filled container of plot holes and good cheer, riding almost entirely on charm. Specifically, McAdams’s charm, and that’s a charm that warms and bubbles over like a glass of fizzy champagne. Somehow, that turns out to be enough.

Effervescent and incandescent, McAdams giggles with the spunky energy and screwball syrup of a young Carole Lombard. In her short reign at Hollywood, McAdams done it all — Mean Girl, Nicholas Sparks heroine, scary-ass pen stabber in “Red Eye” and her performance in “Morning Glory” feels like a sublime homage to the Golden Age of Hollywood screen queens. Never too grating or saccharine sweet, it’s a genuine pleasure to watch Becky reclaim the show and get the guy, chiseled Ivy Leaguer crew stud Patrick Wilson (“Watchmen”).

McAdams gives the entire film a vivacious energy, a frenetic exuberance that carries and chugs through the trite plot developments with consummate élan. True, the animosity between the two co-hosts, played by Diane Keaton (“Something’s Gotta Give”) and Harrison Ford (“Indiana Jones”) is a bit too gruff and tough around the edges. True, no human being could realistically turn around network ratings with such expediency. No matter — down it swirls through the formula machine, unscathed.

“Morning Glory” is a tiny wisp of a movie — just a puff of air, and it’ll dematerialize into the ether of inconsequentiality. But like the after-dinner mint that you pop into your mouth at the conclusion of a date, that’s what it’s there for — easily dissolvable, endlessly refreshing.

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