Clearly, James McAvoy is into Christina Ricci for her brains, and not for her porcine appearance
At a time where beauty is an obsession and physical abnormalities are derided or considered an ailment — think Extreme Makeover or Nip/Tuck — carving out the pretty from under the ugly is applauded and celebrated. Thinly disguised as a romantic romp, Penelope is a friendly jab at our shallow thinking.
Penelope Wilhern’s (Christina Ricci) great-great-grandfather had an ill-advised dalliance with a maid whose mother happened to be a vengeful witch. Fast forward several generations, and Penelope enters the world with an unfortunate snout and floppy ears as a result of the witch’s curse. The only way to lift the hex is to find someone who sees the beauty behind the scrunched proboscis and loves her unconditionally.
The shallow suitors summoned by Penelope’s meddlesome mother Jessica (Catherine O’Hara) flee in disgust at the sight of the pig nose. O’Hara bustles shrilly as the moneyed socialite with fierce — albeit self-involved — motherly concern, while Ricci’s Penelope uses her intellectual prowess and dry wit to lure us into her world.
It isn’t until she meets Max (James McAvoy) that she awakens to the possibility of love. He recoils initially, but doesn’t hurl himself out the window like those before him. His inability to lift the spell leaves her wounded but undaunted, and she runs away from the safety of home, instantly charming her way into the hearts and minds of the world outside.
McAvoy secures his place as a leading man of substance and magnetism, exuding all the scruffy charm of a hard-gambling musician with a kind heart and tortured soul. As dwarf paparazzo Lemon, Peter Dinklage is bitingly acerbic, stalking the Wilhern family in search of the tabloid money shot of their sequestered daughter. He and his unlikely sidekick, blue-blood brat Edward Vanderman (Simon Woods), provide welcome slapstick as the two oddballs bungle around in a surveillance van.
The movie, however, has its flaws. Leslie Caveny’s first feature script is a departure from the hyper-quippy dialogue she once penned for Everybody Loves Raymond, but it is similarly lacking in edge. Mark Palansky’s direction comes off flat, and co-producer Reese Witherspoon’s character is more of an afterthought than an actual character, rolling her eyes and ripping around on her Vespa.
Occasionally charming, there’s still a prevailing sense that something is missing from Penelope. Its friendly poke at our society’s inane fixation with beauty would have had more impact if it were less whimsical and more pointed.
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