Music|No Malfunctions at Halftime, Just Safe Entertainment

For 10 years now, the Super Bowl has attempted to deliver a halftime performance that would be distracting, but maybe not memorable.

Making memories has not served the institution well. In 2004, Justin Timberlake took his left hand to Janet Jackson's right breast and initiated the wardrobe malfunction heard around the world. In the years since then, the standouts have not been the oldsters served up as safe air-fillers (the Who, Paul McCartney, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band), but the performers who went off-script.

Prince broke from the mold by turning his guitar neck into a giant shadow phallus in 2007, and in 2012, Madonna ceded part of her set to Nicki Minaj and M.I.A., who extended a middle finger to the cameras and, by extension, to the commercialization of American sporting values.

That is not to say that the halftime show has morphed into an event only as good as its disruptions; Beyoncé's standout performance last year disproved that. But in its 48th year, the Super Bowl remains an institution primarily looking to create a pleasant diversion that won't necessarily leave a stain.

From this angle, at least, Bruno Mars was born to the role. An exceedingly popular and utterly harmless pop singer, he is broadly palatable and aesthetically comprehensible. The product of 1950s showmanship, 1960s soul, 1970s funk and 1980s pop-rock, he is an easy math problem to decipher. Whether behind all those influences pulses a man with independent instincts has always been tough to tell.

And so asking Mars to headline the halftime show is not much different than handing off the task to an extremely gifted cover band. Like the year 1980? Mars has 'Locked Out of Heaven,' which mainlines the reggae-lite of the Police. Prefer 1975? Mars has the Earth, Wind and Fire-esque 'Treasure.' If, say, 1966 is your thing, Mars incorporates some James Brown footwork and a split into the choreography of 'Runaway Baby.' A performance by Mars is less a solo show than a collection of ghosts designed to please viewers of various generations.

Mars's metaphorical silence was only underscored Sunday evening by the opening minute and a half of his performance, in which he did not say a word. First came 30 or so seconds of a children's choir singing the triumphant buildup of 'Billionaire,' followed by a little less than a minute of Mars behind a drum kit playing a solo, including just a sprinkle of trap music - easily the most contemporary moment of his show.

Mars is pure compromise: the veneer of youth (at 28, he is the youngest sole headliner of the Super Bowl halftime show) with the wisdom of pop history at his disposal. But he is seriously adept, a fluent showman and bandleader, with a cache of sturdy songs.

He was energetic and slick during this set, if not quite fun.

Dressed in a gold blazer like the rest of his band - a visual misstep - Mars made as much use of the stage as someone for whom dancing is not a priority could. He is a buttoned-up star in a dressed-down world, and he did not miss a mark, or even sweat, really.

For a blast of ostensibly transgressive energy, he introduced Red Hot Chili Peppers, a once anarchic funk-punk band now reduced to sinew and bass slaps. It was a strategic pairing, if not a musical one. The Chili Peppers rock where Mars does not, and they prioritize the guitar (at least in the visual excesses of Josh Klinghoffer) for people to whom that still matters. They performed their 1991 hit 'Give It Away,' with the frontman Anthony Kiedis and the bassist Flea stomping around the stage shirtless, Klinghoffer overearnestly leaning into his solos, and the drummer Chad Smith banging away on drums festooned with N.F.L. team logos.

To be fair, Mars may be only a few years away from making his own song that sounds suspiciously like a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. But he did nothing here that could have been considered salacious, which meant skipping his sweaty recent hit 'Gorilla' and letting his guests handle all the innuendo.

Instead, he played well with others, reinforcing the idea of the Super Bowl as an indomitable American institution. There were American flags in the backdrop as the children's choir sang at the beginning of his set, and they were also there for the setup for his closing song, the ballad 'Just the Way You Are,' which was introduced with a montage of military personnel dedicating the song to their loved ones. It was an elegant way to close his performance, but not a rousing one, and one that faded as quickly as it arrived.