Absolutely nothing is left to interpretation in the sports movie “My All-American.”

Every key plot turn is telegraphed at least twice, just in case you missed it the first time. Every emotional moment in the movie is foreshadowed a few beats in advance by the manipulative musical score. The characters either talk in pure exposition (“That’s Bill Bradley! One of the top quarterbacks in the country!”) or sports-as-life motivational slogans. There are entire scenes where you’ll swear actor Aaron Eckhart threw away the script, and has started reading inspiring messages needle-pointed on throw pillows across the room.

That’s the cynical take in this new movie made by the writer of “Hoosiers” and “Rudy,” who has isolated the crowd-friendly essence of those fine films, and multiplied the dosage to alarming levels. If “Hoosiers” is a fine wine, then this is 130-proof sports cinema tear-jerking moonshine.

The subject is the worthy story of Freddie Steinmark, an undersized football player from Colorado who became a legend among the University of Texas Longhorns in the 1960s. He rose on the team against the odds, and played through immense pain when the team needed him the most — before facing an even greater life challenge.

“My All-American” writer/director Angelo Pizzo approaches the material with a straightforward zeal. Played by Finn Wittrock, Steinmark is a swell student and teammate, supported by a father working two jobs. Darrell Royal (Eckhart) is a young coach willing to take chances, also with no visible character flaws. Steinmark’s girlfriend, mother and best friend and even the rival coach from Arkansas are mensches as well.

It’s admirable that Pizzo doesn’t want to invent an antagonist, or magnify flaws in the coach or the player for a narrative payoff. (Perhaps he feels bad about “Rudy,” where Notre Dame coach Dan Devine was turned into a heel.) But the result is a movie with few obstacles; only acts of God and our protagonists’ predictably noble responses to them.

Eckhart is introduced in some memorably unconvincing old age makeup, and is never allowed to add much flesh or nuance to Royal. Wittrock portrays Steinmark with an oddness and fortitude, but his portrayal never strays far from the Rudy Ruettiger template. Apparent flaws in the logic of various characters — why isn’t anyone on the team forcing this kid to see a doctor? — are mostly unexplored. The lack of African-American players on the team (still common in that era in the South) is never addressed or acknowledged. Compared to “My All-American,” Disney’s “Remember the Titans” looks like indie filmmaking.

The football scenes themselves are more than competent — Pizzo has a bright, straightforward style reminiscent of his collaborator David Anspaugh, who directed previous Pizzo-written sports films. The sports action is clear and free of the quick edits that have infected artsier sports movie fare. But the territory remains overly familiar. Imagine someone trying to make a movie, if the only films they’ve ever seen are “Rudy” and “Hoosiers” on a constant loop.

There’s an audience for “My All American,” and hopefully they stopped reading after the first sentence, fired up the car and sped to the nearest theater. If you think “The Natural” is vastly superior to “Bull Durham,” this is almost certainly a film for you.

But there’s a point where a movie is so predictably manipulative, that it starts to stifle the potential of the actors and deny audiences the opportunity to think on their own. The relentless lack of human flaw on screen effects the plausibility of the whole production.

“My All-American” is escapist to a fault.

— Peter Hartlaub is a pop culture critic for The San Francisco Chronicle.