The supernatural soap opera “Charlie St. Cloud” asks several vital questions. What is the proper length of time to spend grieving over a lost loved one? How many times will poor Zac Efron have to play a high school senior? And, perhaps most importantly: Do ghosts masturbate?

Based on Ben Sherwood’s novel “The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud,” director Burr Steers’ film has admirable intentions that are frequently undermined by a surplus of lovingly framed close-ups of its star. At certain points, “Charlie” threatens to become an Efron fashion shoot masquerading as a movie: Here’s Zac with a lighthouse backdrop, Zac in the raging surf, Zac at sunset, Zac after dark, etc.

That’s marvelous for the fans who’ll buy the DVD in a few months and use it to create Zac-tastic computer wallpaper; it’s not so great for viewers looking for meaty drama instead of beefcake-y, Tiger Beat-ready pin-ups.

When he’s not called upon to strike poses in front of magnificent backdrops, Efron gives a sincere, reasonably convincing performance as the sad-eyed title character, whose life collapsed after the death of his younger brother, Sam (Charlie Tahan). An 11-year-old would-be baseball star round of cheek and smart of mouth, Sam departed this world shortly after the car in which he and Charlie were traveling collided with an 18-wheeler. That was five years ago, and now Charlie, who was driving, is so burdened with survivor guilt he becomes the caretaker at the cemetery where Sam is buried, a position that allows Charlie to confer with Sam’s ghost every day at sunset.

Charlie and Sam also regularly play catch, although the film makes no attempt to explain exactly how Sam’s now-ectoplasmic hands could grab a baseball. Death has apparently done nothing to curb Sam’s bubbling hormones. Charlie shows him a magazine article about the comely yacht racing champion Tess Carroll (Amanda Crew); the pictures make Sam drool and he grabs the book away from Charlie. “You’re gonna wreck it!” Charlie snaps. “Oh, I’m gonna wreck it — repeatedly!” Sam promises, with a pronounced pubescent leer.

That’s a sight “Charlie” thoughtfully spares us from witnessing.

Sam’s fantasies become Charlie’s realities as he becomes fast friends with Tess, who wants Charlie — once a renowned sailor himself — to help her prepare for her next race. Unfortunately, that would require Charlie to finally let Sam’s spirit move on, something he’s not sure he can do.

Thanks to Enrique Chediak’s photography of the Washington State coastline, “Charlie” is certainly an eye-pleasing experience, and it makes a couple of thought-provoking points about the grieving process along the way. The screenplay goes off in a couple of unexpected directions, presenting Charlie as a seriously troubled guy badly in need of therapy instead of a misguided but good-natured goofball. It’s also a bit startling to see the closest thing the story has to a villain is an arrogant, affluent and possibly alcoholic African-American who wears pink shirts and — heaven help us — works for Goldman Sachs. Although they have skimpy screen time, Kim Basinger, Ray Liotta and Donal Logue provide capable work in key supporting roles, and the relationship between Efron and Tahan is believably brotherly.

If only the movie gave Efron more time to build his character and fewer opportunities to build his modeling portfolio. The effective episodes in “Charlie” (and be forewarned it does make a valiant stab at the tear ducts) are ultimately outweighed by its need to remind us that our haunted hero is also a hunky hottie.