Good old Percy Shelley, in one of his more fatuous moments, famously asked rhetorically if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? The answer actually is, well, yes, it can be very far behind, for lots of reasons. But Shelley of course had also never seen a movie, so he couldn't have known how really long a winter season can seem. The cold, dreary days of late winter will indeed end in spring, but until that happens, they generally yield a most inadequate crop of early failures and misguided plantings.

The film industry generally scrapes the bottom of the barrel this time of year, the dark period between the holiday flicks and the first blockbusters of the new season. To that barren dumping ground Hollywood frequently consigns its oddball productions, films somebody for some reason once believed in, financed, worked hard on, completed, but then abandoned to the vagaries of fortune. Not every film in this time frame deserves bad reviews and diminished profits, but alas, most vanish from the reviewers' radar screens without a trace - the spectaculars and the ambitious works aimed at the awards ceremonies wait for a propitious moment, when the right niche opens up and the publicity machine prepares a large, loud welcome.

The dull, dead season probably explains the appearance of "Penelope," a movie that apparently disappeared for a year or more after its completion, delayed presumably by doubts about its quality and box office appeal. No sadly neglected masterpiece, produced and abandoned, the picture in this case certainly justifies the familiar timidity of the distributors.

Belonging to that odd and, lately, quite fashionable category of whimsical fantasy, "Penelope" unfolds like a fairy tale. Although it lacks the beauty and brio of "Stardust," for example, and scarcely taps the possibilities of the sorts of special effects that usually energize even the silliest examples of the form, like "The Golden Compass," the movie resembles those films in its studied remoteness from anything like real life. Its straightforward progress through its absurd plot, its simple-minded characterizations, and its pat, predictable ending, complete with packaged moral, recall the stories that allegedly entertain and instruct young children.

The title character, played by Christina Ricci, narrates the film, informing us of a curse placed on her aristocratic family by a horrible old witch generations ago. The curse dooms a particular female offspring to disfigurement - a pig's snout mars her countenance - that can only be cured by the love of a socially worthy fellow, a blue blood in the film's terms. All the aristocratic twits who come to court Penelope flee in horror at her appearance, which exacerbates her ridiculous mother's (Catherine O'Hara) desperation.

Of course, the right young man eventually shows up, an impoverished musician (James McAvoy) who, after the usual artificial misunderstandings of comedy, wins Penelope's heart. Although he fails to qualify as the aristocrat the curse demands, he helps Penelope to learn one of those inspiring lessons about loving and accepting oneself, thus neatly conquering her physical problem through personal strength and understanding. It's all rather like an extended episode of "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" and full of the artificial uplift of a brassiere ad.

Perhaps a result of the deleterious influence of the Harry Potter movies, the picture takes place in some indeterminate, vaguely Dickensian English setting. Although most of the characters speak with American accents, the exteriors and interiors, the props, all exude the relentless quaintness of a cinematic modern version of Merrie Englande, now the preferred location for fantasy film.

Christina Ricci, who often takes on risky, edgy parts, here plays a sweet, smart, innocent with competence, but her character possesses so little intrinsic appeal that the performance remains on the same tiresome level throughout the length of the movie. In a very different role from his appearance in "Atonement," James McAvoy, surprisingly, suggests a nice quality of relaxation and casualness, quite a departure from his tragic intensity in his most distinguished film. The actor who gets the best lines and the biggest laughs, however, is Peter Dinklage, a dwarf with an eyepatch, a wised-up manner, and an absolutely unselfconscious approach to his dialogue and his character; he's the most appealing person in the whole sorry work. 

Penelope

(PG), directed by Mark Palansky

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