In the `80s, Ivan Reitman created Peter Venkman, the wry, world-weary revenant rupturer from “Ghostbusters.” For this summer’s “Evolution,” Reitman became Venkman and created his movie as if he had the same sort of chronic cynical detachment – rolling his eyes at himself and the absurdity of his undertaking, despite its enormity.

His cave sets, teaming with hyper-evolving alien life, look like half-hearted parodies of themselves.

Are they tragically inept attempts at creating a convincing extraterrestrial environment or self-depreciating jokes?

It’s as if Reitman asked himself that question, shrugged his shoulders, and made them, if anything, a little gag for himself; but, like Venkman, not one he’d muster up the energy to laugh at.

The central problem with “Evolution,” as with Venkman, is that it suffers from self-esteem problems.

Where’s its ambition? What does it care about? Why didn’t it bother to make those blue monkey things any better looking?

“Men in Black” and “Ghostbusters,” this film’s most conspicuous predecessors, were both somewhat laid-back, flippant movies, but they had confidence in their offhandedness and their ability to entertain.

“Evolution,” on the other hand, seems to expect even less from itself that its audience does.

When four women discover a “cute” (even if the cuteness is half-assed) baby alien creature in their closet and lean in moronically close, the audience expects an at least modestly creative jolt, but what they get is the old “Aliens” head-within-head routine. The poor film didn’t even think itself above using that long-tired movie cliche.

In fact, “Evolution” seems almost masochistic at times, such as when a larcenous shopper is snatched up by a dragon-like creature, flown about a shopping mall, freed, and then delivers the wince-inducing line, “I’ll never shoplift again.”

David Duchovny and Orlando Jones are at the helm and serve, like Reitman, as vessel bodies for the ghosts of the “Ghostbusters”. (Come to think of it, Fox Mulder was sort of a composite of “Ghostbusters,” too, wasn’t he?)

Both do this quite well, going about being comically underwhelmed in the face of the overwhelming and dispensing pseudo-science here and there to frame the plot.

Duchovny, due to his “X-Files” experience, is particularly well-suited to the task. Who else, besides perhaps Bill Murray, could deliver the line, “Give me back my friend, you giant sphincter!” and not sound that excited?

I also think that making Jones’ and Duchovny’s characters community college teachers really makes their roles work.

I can’t quite explain why, but I’m sure that in the case of an attack by a mountain-sized space amoeba, if anyone would be willing to kill it by hijacking a fire truck and pumping dandruff shampoo into its anus, community college teachers would.

By the way, don’t worry. I haven’t ruined the only anus-related situation in the movie. There are several others.

The upside of “Evolution’s” apathy is that in watching it, viewers don’t really have to care much either.

Expectations stay low, so that we don’t much mind that Julianne Morre is wasted on a character whose most prominent attribute is clumsiness, that the special effects are sometimes shoddy, or that the governor of Arizona, played by Dan Aykroyd, has the power to certify firefighters and demote generals.

In this atmosphere, the movie’s occasional laughs seem like happy bonuses.

Ironically, it’s hard not to sort of like “Evolution.”

Its ambition is so adorably modest – mainly to bring hard-working people some well-deserved butt jokes – that in the end, “Evolution” endears itself, even if it does little else.