Flipping through Spanish-language television recently, I noticed an advertisement for John Lee Hancock’s “The Alamo” — a fair indication that the movie probably isn’t the chest-thumping endorsement of American destiny that one might initially expect. And it’s true: Hancock and Touchstone Pictures have opted for a kinder, more inclusive depiction of the legendary clash that galvanized Texans to sever ties with Mexico.

Unfortunately, this even-handedness comes with a price: “The Alamo,” for all its steady humanism and sedulous civility, just isn't very interesting to watch. Neither gritty or particularly stylish, the movie lacks that hot splash of madness that lies at the heart of truly satisfying war movies. It’s as tame and well-behaved as you’d expect a Disney offering to be, even one that culminates in carnage.

Hancock (“The Rookie”) flips the history text back to 1835, when landed white Texans uneasy with the growing despotic power of Mexican Gen. Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna (Emilio Echevarriá) decide to defy the tyrant. With the blessing of Texan Gen. Sam Houston, played by a staid and set-jawed Dennis Quaid (“Far From Heaven”), several dozen rebels convene in a fortified San Antonio mission known as The Alamo. We’re told that several previous spats between settlers and Mexicans have taken place at the mission; it’s the spot behind the playground where the surly kids meet to fight after school.

The Alamo — the place, not the movie, necessarily — is blessed with an all-star cast. Tennessee sharpshooter and noted “bear hunter” Davy Crockett (Billy Bob Thornton) is on hand; sort of a backwoods hip-hop star with his own entourage and affected dress habits. Sickly Col. Sam Bowie (Jason Patric from “Rush”) is the de facto leader of the fort, wresting control away from his rival, Lt. Col. William Travis (Patrick Wilson from “Angels in America”), a stiff-mannered adulterer whose demons are curiously left unexplored by Hancock and screenwriters Leslie Bohem and Stephen Gaghan (“Traffic”). Bowie seems to require less explanation: Whenever challenged, he whips out his obscenely huge hunting knife and plunges it into the nearest inanimate object. Later, he falls prey to a nasty fit of tuberculosis and fights the good fight from his bed.

Crockett is the most deeply explored character in the movie, and Thornton (“Sling Blade”) gives the most engaging performance as a man vaguely amused — and trapped — by his own celebrity. Torn between the “Davy” Crockett he invented to advance his political career and the real man underneath, he seems to regard the impending battle as a personal crucible that will define his life. Reportedly, test audiences were infuriated that the movie portrayed Crockett as a coward, causing Disney to scrap the film’s original Christmas release date to make changes. Deadly with the rifle, brazen at the mouth, he certainly doesn’t come off as cowardly in this cut, though at one point during the siege he does muse that “David” Crockett would “hop that wall and take his chances.”

Mindful of his demographics, Hancock labors to show that the Alamo conflict wasn’t drawn strictly along ethnic lines. Several of the defenders are Mexican, including Juan Sequin, played by the excellent Spanish character actor Jordi Molla (“Blow”), a gallant militiaman on first-name terms with Houston. Hancock even throws in a subtle dig at American imperialism, when one of Molla’s comrades derides the Texans as “fools” who “want the world.” No, but California and Arizona will do very nice, thank you.

Santa Anna, as portrayed by Echevarriá, cuts a ridiculously dandyish figure in his peacock cap and fussy airs. Hancock stops short of covering him in white powder and placing a Scarlet Pimpernel mole above his lip, but we get the picture: He’s a European-style elitist, and if this is the kind of inept snob the enemy picks to lead them, then maybe the American Southwest is better in our hands, anyway.

All in all, it’s a more even-tempered and truthful account than, say, the one John Wayne offered in his 1960 version of the battle, but one so diffuse in its sympathies and attentions that it fails to land a solid punch. We watch it unfold with dutiful interest, but “The Alamo,” on the whole, is sort of immemorable.