Snobs are the real pigs in this fairy tale

Think of the title character in "Penelope" (Christina Ricci) as a spunky fairy-tale princess in a modern world. This first-born daughter of an old-money clan of snooty manners and overweening vanity has been cursed by a vengeful witch.

Simply put, she has a porcine snout. (Her matched set of floppy ears appear to have receded since the baby pictures.) Ricci manages to make even that look cute, yet the very sight of her drives prospective, well-bred suitors into blind flights of panic so extreme that they dive straight out second-story windows.

It's an extreme reaction, to be sure, but then the hereditary blue bloods of this fairy tale are vain, shallow creatures either terrified or horrified by anything that does not conform to their standards of decorum. That includes Penelope's mother (Catherine O'Hara) who, less wicked than hysterically obsessed with appearances, locks her daughter away in a lavish tower of the family mansion.

Seven years of dramatic rejection gets old, even after one shabby but spirited ringer (James McAvoy) seems to connect with her, so Penelope flees her lonely exile for the big city, skipping wide-eyed through the vaguely British metropolis (with New York City grace notes) with her schnoz hidden under a scarf. But even when it's inevitably revealed to the celebrity-starved public, the reaction is unexpected.

"Penelope" has a lighter sense of whimsy and a more subtle storybook play than the bright, insistent parody of "Enchanted," and director Mark Palansky plays it in more modest key than Tim Burton's imaginative fantasias. He fills his world with snobs out of an Edwardian drawing room comedy, shadowy gambling dens of '40s crime films, and a timeless tabloid culture.

There are some flat moments, to be sure, and Palansky's direction can be a bit unsteady and awkward, but he doesn't wallow in the eccentricities or the modestly self-empowering moral. This fairy tale feels pleasantly down-to-earth.