Mirabelle (Claire Danes) works in an accessories department of Sak’s Fifth Ave in Los Angeles. She sells ladies’ gloves, and judging by the wistfully crestfallen look on her face she knows she should be doing more with her life than this. At first, Mirabelle wonders if part of that more could be coming to her in the form of the slovenly and slightly uncouth Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman), a charming and almost attractive font artist with dreams far larger than his miniscule drive. It can’t be him, though. He’s too needy, too lazy, too much away from anything that could be remotely considered an attribute to be what this lovely and shy salesgirl is looking for.

Enter Ray Porter (Steve Martin), an electronics engineer with homes in both Seattle and L.A. with eyes for Mirabelle. Carefully, step-by-tiny-little-step, the duo enter into a May-December romance, each looking to gain something completely different from the other all the while realizing falling in love could be the biggest mistake of them all. There is no future is this romance, both Mirabelle (“I could hurt now, or I could hurt later,” she tells herself) and Ray (“She knows what this is,” he tells his disbelieving shrink) know that, yet both are still loathe to pull away.

Based on Martin’s best-selling novella of the same name, “Shopgirl” is a surreal and sometimes acidly funny character study bristling with rich performances and an absurd sense of cinematic style. Danes (and isn’t it nice to see her again – and, no, “Terminator 3” does not count) is particularly good, carrying the film with a fearlessly alive and introspective portrayal that can’t help but command a person’s attention. She’s wonderful, bearing both her petite lithe naked frame and the entire weight of the picture with equal aplomb.

Too bad I don’t like the movie. “Shopgirl” is an unfortunately meandering bore that never emotionally resonates. Unlike Martin’s brilliant novella, the comedian’s script can’t decide what it wants to be. Darkly depressing character study satire of melancholy and ennui? Free-spirited odd couple romantic triangle revolving around disparate characters all searching for life’s meaning? Hard-hitting drama of a woman coming to the realization life won’t happen for her until she tarts taking chances? Strange road trip slapstick comedy of errors and journey of unrequited love tinged with regret? I’m not sure, and I’m pretty positive neither is Martin. As beautiful as many of the separate moments are, many of them when added together add up to absolutely nothing of consequence.

Too bad, because there is a lot here to love. Visually, director Anand Tucker has crafted an esoteric romantic marvel shifting from scene to scene majestically. His transitions are almost ethereal, he and cinematographer Peter Suschitzky crafting a spell of eye-popping enchantment that’s truly one of a kind. Combined with Barrington Pheloung’s stirring score, large portions of “Shopgirl” are so astonishing on a purely visual level it would almost be nice to turn off the rest of the feature’s soundtrack and just sit back and watch the imagery mesh with the music.

And that’s the problem. As hard as everyone tries to make a person care these is nothing here worth taking the time to be interested in emotionally other than the film’s technical majesty. While Martin isn’t the slimiest guy in the history of motion pictures, pleasant demeanor and genuinely caring sentiments aside he’s still a lonely old man lecherously using a young woman who’s still trying to find herself as nothing more than a fleshy love doll. Although he cleans up well and has a smile that could light up Vegas, Schwartzman is still an unmannerly schlub with no more manners (or hygiene) than a rat scouring a back alley for food.

This is as good as it gets for Mirabelle? Choosing between these two and popping antidepressants is going to be the kick this burgeoning artist needs to get her life together and start chasing dreams? I don’t buy it, not in the least bit, and no matter how big Danes’ grin got or how nicely Martin looked into her eyes or how hard Schwartzman worked to improve himself nothing any of them did ever got me to care.

Pity, because this worked (although in vastly different ways and with major differences) in paragraph form. As a novella, Martin’s prose made me laugh, made me cry and, most importantly, got me to care. I wanted to see Mirabelle succeed, ached for her to finally make the right decisions, pined for the salesgirl to realize there was more to life then opining about all that’s gone wrong. But that was then and this is now, and this time the best a person can do is to not cut the tag and mark “Shopgirl” for return.

Film Rating: êê1/2  (out of 4)