There are a few actors worth taking a flier on just from seeing their name in the credits. Frank Langella sits on that list, or rather he once did.

But the more important names attached to “Angry Neighbors” are Warren Brock, a first-time director who may never direct again, and screenwriters James M. Bear and Hamid Torabpour, who waste most of the 90 minutes they’re allotted here by failing to get to a point, or suggest that in fact they really truly do have one.

This adaptation of a Roger Rosenblatt novel really only one “angry neighbor,” and that’s Langella’s not-quite-reclusive writer, a man who lives on an island on a lake in The Hamptons (filmed in Minnesota, of course).

Harry March lives among the rich, and yet separated from them on a tiny island he named “Noman.” Mainly because he wants people to ask what it is so he can say “Noman is an island.”

He thinks like that. Harry’s supposedly enraged by his acquisitive, over-developing, well-heeled neighbors. We see evidence of annoyance, not of rage. At least he’s resolved that he won’t suffer in silence in their midst. Or rather he says he’s resolved to do that.

His neighbors regard him as a character, an aged has-been and most don’t give him a second thought. They’re not “Angry Neighbors.”

Harry’s nemesis is in the unseen kitchen utensil heir Lapham, who keeps dragging Kevin (Bobby Cannavale) and his mostly Latino construction crew out to his ever-expanding 26 bathroom mansion, a showplace among showplaces among the monied racists of East, West and Southampton and — you know, Sag Harbor.

A party is coming up, one Harry hopes to sabotage. Yes, he’s invited, which given his history at local parties (seen in flashback) is itself a leap of faith.

He copes with estranged children and an ex-wife (Stockard Channing) by having conversations with his “holy roller” (Christian) Westie, Hector. He’s voiced by Cheech Marin.

Whatever hopes this picture ever had of coming off, of scoring satiric points about the cost of staying silent as the barbarians are at the gates — every gate protecting you — go right out the window the moment the dog talks.

“Praise the Lord! It’s the Rapture!”

No. It isn’t. Hector has the wit and wisdom of a rural fundamentalist and the accent of a Chicano comic.

The one character to register outside of Langella is played by Katie Parker, a model-thin, perfectly put-together bombshell local realtor. She is insufferably rich, arrogantly attractive and seemingly markets herself with daily nude swims in the lake. Which aall the menfolk pause to admire.

“Wrinkles,” she calls Harry. Yes, she’d love to buy his property. No, she has no respect for it, him or anything other than the commission.

Ashley Benson plays a college kid who tries to talk the old man into buying a pool from her father. She’s the one who sizes him up in an instant.

Harry is “a man who has whittled his life to too fine a point.” And so he has. The movie? With an Indian “casino” to be thwarted by the Hamptonites, Harry to be cajoled into selling out and the hated Lapham to be foiled, it has a lot of points, none of which it gets to.

The movie is about his elaborate scheme and all the people who keep interrupting it. We can guess what it is from the shape of the canvas cover concealing his “revenge” in a shed.

Cute touches about island life — communicating via bullhorn or toy boat — and are never cute enough.

Langella rages, rages against the dying of the light. Only he doesn’t. He’s a Samuel Johnson fan. “Romantics ruin the world,” he declares. Pragmatists matter.

Cannavale showed up for this thankless part for what, Twins tickets?

The insipid voice-over narration (Chris Harris provides it) rivals the inane “chapter” headings of a story that starts with a germ of an idea and spirals quickly down the drain.

Rating: R, near nudity, profanity

Cast: Frank Langella, Bobby Cannavale, Stockard Channing, Katie Parker, Ashley Benson and the voices of Chris Harris (narrator) and Cheech Marin, as Hector the West Highlands Terrier.

Credits: Directed by Warren Brock, scripted by James M. Bear and Hamid Torabpour, based on a Roger Rosenblatt novel. A Lionsgate release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:29