Don’t believe the anti-hype. Early reports promised that Jersey Girl (12A cert, 102 min), billed as a domestic comedy, would be a disaster movie of apocalyptic proportions. Not only did it star Ben Affleck, one of the most maligned actors of his generation, but also his ex, Jennifer Lopez – a pair whose last film together, Gigli, was laughed off screens faster than you could say “turkey”.

What’s more, it was to be directed by Kevin Smith, better known for foul-mouthed, lo-fi gems such as Clerks and Chasing Amy Why, people asked, was indie cinema’s funniest director going all sappy and suburban?

Well, Jersey Girl is finally here and the doomsayers have been proved wrong. It isn’t edgy. It doesn’t aspire towards hipster cool. But one person’s sappiness is another person’s sweet. This is a kind, likeable film that, unlike Smith’s previous pictures, can be watched by both adults and children, preferably together.

Affleck plays Ollie Trinke, a successful Manhattan music PR who lives his glitzy, gladhanding life to the full. Bigging up and selling talentless corporate no-marks is what he does best. He marries a book editor (Lopez), who dies shortly afterwards during childbirth. He tries to carry on his job at full tilt, but gets fired after a press conference in which he bawls out the assembled hacks for believing that his client, Will Smith, could possibly make the transition from acting to world-famous rapper.

Seven years, and seven summertimes later, Ollie is back in his New Jersey hometown, living with his pop (George Carlin), bringing up daughter Gertie (Raquel Castro), and reduced to sweeping streets and ploughing snow. In what little spare time he has, he rents porn tapes from the local video store, whose check-out girl Maya (Liv Tyler) takes a shine to him. She urges him, though he ignores her at first, not to keep hankering after the Big Apple.

Life in the suburbs has always been a staple theme in Smith’s films. And, it turns out, Jersey Girl is not as different from his previous pictures as has been claimed. Old pals such as Matt Damon and Jason Lee turn in neat cameos.

Though less lengthily or crudely expressed, there are poo and porn gags aplenty. There’s also a real feel for small-town lives, revealed most fondly in the banter and interplay between Ollie and his older work colleagues.

Smith is upfront this time about the sentimentality that has always underpinned his movies. The guys in them were sordid, sarky, gutter-obsessives. But this vulgarity was partly a front. Below it, or at least alongside it, was a vulnerability all the more affecting for being held in check.

Affleck, wasted in no-brainer action pix such as Paycheck and Daredevil, is excellent here, probably because he’s allowed to be needy, bereft, confused – emotions most directors never require him to display. Liv Tyler lights up the screen like Chinese fireworks on a summer’s night.

Accept this film for what it is, and the sincerity that underpins it, and you’ll most likely have a good time.

“Kon Artis writes an e-mail to a listener, threatening to “Silent Bob and Jay yo’ ass.”

The Great Church is all the people who call themselves Catholic. The Cardinal Georges and the Sen. John Kerrys. The Antonin Scalias and the Kevin Smiths. The Mother Teresas and the Madonna Ciccones. Those who go to daily mass and the “Cheasters” who are lucky to make it for Christmas and Easter. And everyone in between.