In many ways it makes perfect sense “Oliver Twist” is director Roman Polanski’s first foray into the world of Charles Dickens. The fugitive filmmaker’s own life story (who also happens to be the man behind such masterworks as “Knife in the Water,” “Chinatown,” “Rosemary’s Baby” and “The Pianist”) mirrors that of the author’s diminutive protagonist in strikingly similar ways. Polanski was an orphan, maneuvering through the carnage of Polish ghettos during World War II, thus granting him an insight into the mind of young Oliver other directors might not have.

So why, then, does this third retelling (after Carol Reed’s 1948 version and 1968’s Oscar-winning musical) feel so out of sorts? If you’ve read Dickens, and here’s hoping you have, then that dingy dangerous dichotomy between light and dark, evil and heroism that the author made so breathtakingly clear shouldn’t be new to you. The social satirist and chronicler (and former newsman) could take a myriad of characters and social issue and break them down to their brutally transparent core, realizing that no matter how pristine the soul darkness and hatred still conspire to intrude upon even an angel’s beatific life.

Unfortunately, Polanski only hits those kinds of moments from time to time, so much of his telling of young Oliver’s (Barney Clark) travails rather yawn-inducing. Not that it all doesn’t look authentic. The director has always had a painterly eye for detail and this picture is no exception. Don’t let the rather pathetic trailers fool you, Polanski’s recreation of 1838 England is wondrous, the human feces splashed across a wall every bit as alive and realistic as that piece of gum I’m still trying to get out from underneath my shoe.

But looking physically authentic and feeling emotionally authentic are two different things, and screenwriter Ronald Harwood (“The Pianist”) and Polanski have far too much trouble achieving the latter. Bits here and there get it right. Oliver’s first meeting with the Artful Dodger (Harry Eden) is wondrous, as is the boy’s time spent with the kindly-but-easily-cowed undertaker Mr. Sowerberry (Michael Heath). Best of all is the complex and ultimately tragic relationship between thug Bill Sykes (Jamie Foreman) and girlfriend Nancy (Leanne Rowe). Their love-hate story is Dickens at his best, Polanski and Harwood doing their finest work helping the two actors deliver some of the most stirring moments I’ve seen all year.

Where they go wrong is with poor Oliver himself and in the bizarre, over-the-top (and slightly grotesque) imagining of criminal mastermind Fagin (Ben Kingsley). For too much of this adaptation the central character is relegated to nothing more than a blank faced bystander. Long stretches have Oliver situated on the sidelines, pulled along by the events at hand instead of doing anything one way or the other to be a part of them. Yet, that’s far better than how I feel about Fagin. I admit, I do not know what it is director and star were going for in their recreation of this miserable miscreant of a villain. The stereotypes presented by the twosome are omnipresent. If they are making a statement, I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is. All I know is that Fagin isn’t hissable, he’s forgettable, and the only reason he makes an impression due to the sheer cavalcade of clichés used to bring him to life.

There are some other things that don’t quite connect. Oliver’s time spent in the workhouse is far too brief to pass on the horrors of what it must have been like to live there, while Jeremy Swift’s performance as the Beadle Mr. Bumble is stubbornly awful. The rooftop final also doesn’t work, the events much too forced to truly resonate the way in which they should. In fact, much of the first half is so choppy that by the time Oliver meets his hopeful end I wasn’t quite sure it was actually deserved.

And yet, I can’t take Harwood to task for streamlining Dickens' prose. Written in installments for a magazine, this story is so full of characters and adventures that it is only realistic screenwriter and director felt the need to whittle it down some. A few of their edits even prove to be outstanding, Harwood and Polanski wisely forgoing an awkward subplot revolving around Oliver’s parentage, instead making the orphan’s benefactor Mr. Brownlow (Edward Hardwicke) a more well-rounded and perceptive character then I remember him being in the book.

Better, Polanski is completely unafraid to dive into the complex morass of degradation existing between Sykes and Nancy. When dealing with them, this movie becomes something uniquely special. Not only is it an outstanding character study it also becomes a fascinating social commentary with unnerving relevance to our modern day. Both Foreman and Rowe deliver astonishing performances (the latter – who’s Oscar-worthy – in particular) bringing these two to life like no two actors ever have before. Their work is breathlessly sensational and the movie jumps to life (and death) every time they appear onscreen.

The rest remains an unfortunately perplexing mixed bag. In this age of hurricane Katrina and political upheaval, some of it sinisterly mirroring the English Poor Law Act of 1834, a new version of “Oliver Twist” is certainly relevant. But this one can never make up its mind as to what it actually wants to be, relegating its main character to near invisibility far too often. As much as I’m loath to say it, this is one literary adaptation where I can sadly say with certainty I do not want more.

Film Rating: êê1/2  (out of 4)