Director David Oryan and screenwriters Isaac Fahed and Doris Saba reached for sentimental, low-hanging fruit in their Lebanese childbirth dramedy “C-Section.” And every now and then, they got their hands on a sweet fig or a tart tangerine.

But this clash of classes and family cultures chomps at the bit to be a romp, a loud and fractious farce that we feel is about to take over, here and there, but never does.

Apparently the phrase “Maratan ‘ukhraa! ‘Asraeu!” isn’t common currency among Lebanese filmakers. That Hollywood direction common on comedy sets, “Again! Faster!” never crosses anyone’s mind? Not even in French (“Encore! Plus rapide!”)?

This is a gentle, downright sweet at times story of class and cultural divides showing up in a tony private hospital, divides bridged by the shared ordeal of childbirth and the commitment to give one’s children a better life than the one you have.

Awww.

Any edge the story begins with is rubbed off, and the unchallenging plot works out in such predictable ways that film’s dragging pace becomes a terminal failing.

The Dorians, Raya (Pamela El Kik) and Carl (Chadi Haddad) show up at Capital Boutique Hospital by appointment. They leave the car with the valet, tip the doorman and make their way to reservations, where their birth “suite” is ready, they’re told (in French and Arabic).

All is quiet, calm and customer friendly, despite developer Carl’s constant contractor issues, quietly argued-out by by phone.

Sonia (Rola Beksmati) and Sabeh (Ramy Atallah) blow in in a sea of wails, shouts and threats in Arabic. She is in labor, and he’s in a panic.

No, they don’t have a “reservation.” No, their doctor is back in the village. No, they don’t have insurance. Or a deposit. No, you CANNOT transport her to the “hospital on the hill.”

Sabeh creates chaos, shouts at the staff and puts the Dorians on the spot about “letting (Sonia) go first.”

And hell, he’s not even her husband. When burly, brutish carpenter Massad (Ammar Shalak) shows up, the REAL shouting and bullying begins.

What kind of hospital IS this? “A private one,” the older administrator, Mr. Vahe (Gabriel Yammine) tells them all in his calmest indoor voice.

They want to haggle, he wants to avoid a shaming scandal in the media. But with every concession, “hours” to come up with a deposit, “changing hospitals” right after the birth, etc., Massad raises his voice, ups the threat level and entitles his way into special treatment.

When his whole family shows up to celebrate the blessed event as his many impositions and demands wash over on the Dorians, things are sure to escalate. Which they do.

Shalak, Beksmati, Atallah and Yammine are the players here who “get” comedy, in a Western sense, and play their parts big and loud and as fast as they can get away with. While the sentimental scenes play to the rest of the cast’s strengths, they stop the movie cold.

A cute touch — having Vahe, the administrator who can’t remember Massad’s name and whom Massad refers to simply as “The Armenian” is a Siri novice and a big fan of the Franco-Armenian singer Charles Aznavour. Arabic, American or French, who doesn’t love Aznavour?

The narrative’s sympathies lie with Massad, but the film tests that by making him a boorish bully who can’t be reasoned with or forced to face the consequences of his many liberties and threats. He comes off as a working poor, uncouth and entitled jerk, but maybe that’s just me being brainwashed by America’s own two-tiered health care system.

“C-Section” is rarely surprising, but at least its affable in all the too-predictable ways. If only director Oryan had picked up on what was actually working and pressed for that energy level and pace throughout.

But to do that, you’ve got to precede every “ACTION!” with an “Encore! PLUS RAPIDE!”

Rating: TV-14, violence, smoking

Cast: Ammar Shalak, Pamela El Kik, Rola Beksmati, Chadi Haddad, Ramy Atallah and Gabriel Yammine

Credits: Directed by David Oryan, scripted by Isaac Fahed and Doris Saba. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:37