As the writer of some fifty-odd episodes of The Wonder Years, debutant director Mark Levin is well-versed in the ways of pre-teen angst.

By bringing the TV smash's brand of heavily narrated nostalgia to this tale of puppy love in New York, Levin and his screenwriting wife Jennifer Flackett have turned an initially cringeworthy idea into a mini-charmer.

Whether it's enough to atone for their previous collaboration - the script for non-com Wimbledon – is another matter.

For young Gabe (Hutcherson), the only complication in life is that his divorcing parents (Sex And The City's Nixon and Whitford of The West Wing) are forced to live under the same roof.

Otherwise, Gabe's routine involves shooting hoops, scootering around his New York neighbourhood - within the nine-block zone set by his mum - and avoiding the school bully. And when it comes to girls, he shares the view of his peers: bleurgh!

Dad is determined to turn Gabe into a star place-kicker, but Gabe fancies a change and joins the local karate class. Then a funny thing happens when he's partnered with Rosemary Telesco (Ray), "the third-prettiest girl in class". She steals his heart... and kicks his butt.

Dates in Central Park, dinner with her soap-star parents, awkward moments with Gabe's mum's new boyfriend, outings to find an apartment for Gabe's dad – nothing can come between them. Until...

Rosemary announces that she is being sent to summer camp, and possibly to private school. And what of the flaxen hair and fast fists of Tim Staples, her new karate partner?

Dealing as it does with joys and the jealousies of juvenile love, this coming-of-age yarn could have been an icky proposition. But Levin avoids the goo and guides everything along to ensure that fidgeting is kept to a minimum.

It's also refreshing to see a couple of normal, non-bratty American kids. The adult performances, too, are nicely understated.

While the line in wistful humour will appeal to the oldies, there are enough pukings and pratfalls for those who should be worrying about grazed knees, not broken hearts.

Elliott Noble