It's pointless (and somewhat mean-spirited) to compare how the plot of the film differs from the plot of the book. They both share a premise--the friendship between a wealthy bastard boy and a dwarf child as they grow up in the '60s--but Simon ends the dwarf's story abruptly, while Owen expounds upon it against the backdrop of Vietnam. They're fundamentally different tales, with different intentions. Simon Birch's intentions, however, deserve scrutiny.

Simon Birch stars the talented child actor Joseph Mazzello as Joe, the fatherless preteen son of a beautiful, scandalous small-town flibbertigibbet (played by the luminous Ashley Judd). An outsider himself, he relishes his carefree conversations with the town's other youthful outsider--the dirt-poor, obstinate Simon (newcomer Ian Michael Smith, who, like the character he plays, suffers from Morquio's Syndrome). In between talking about girls, playing baseball, swimming, and terrorizing the local Sunday school teacher (Jan Hooks), the two boys investigate the mystery of who Joe's dad might be.

The strong core of Simon Birch is the easy chemistry between Mazzello and Smith, who portray the bonds of juvenile buddydom with an appealing realism that recalls Stand By Me (a connection that Johnson overemphasizes with novelty pop hits and a centerpiece gross-out scene). Their performances are engagingly natural, as is Judd's. (Oliver Platt also shines in his small role as a suitor.) As for the movie they're acting in, it's an episodic crowd-pleaser, with carefully massaged moments of comedy and tragedy. You'll laugh, you'll cry...that sort of thing.

If you ask the average filmgoer what kind of movies they like, most will reflexively peg action and comedy as their genre of choice. But ask what specific movies are their favorites, and audiences tend to lean toward dramas like Simon Birch--sweet tearjerkers about love, death, and growing up. It's hard to begrudge the public fascination with these films, but one wishes that Simon Birch itself weren't so obvious. There's no unique funk to the film, nothing hard or dangerous. Even the foul-mouthed kids are doing an overworked shtick--children swearing is as easy a gag as nuns speaking slang.

The least edgy element of Simon Birch is its focal point: its indistinct, wishy-washy religious theme. Simon himself insists that he is "a miracle," put on this earth for a special purpose. This contention, along with his disdain for church pageantry, earns Simon the wrath of the local pastor (David Strathairn), even though every minister I've ever known would thrill to talk shop with a mind as inquisitive as Simon's. It's more conventional, though, to make the film's man of the cloth a conservative fuddy-duddy; it takes less imagination.

Granted, Simon Birch is not A Prayer for Owen Meany--but why even adapt the work of a writer as inventive as John Irving if you're going to reduce his distinct spiritual viewpoint to cornball plot twists and watery musings about a vague God? Some read Irving's novel and find a powerful story about the intersection of politics, friendship, and faith; Mark Steven Johnson read it and used the opportunity to film a two-hour Hallmark card. Simon Birch's intentions are noble, but its sentiments are paper-thin.