Speaking in the honeyed, insinuating tone of the Wolf cajoling Little Red Riding Hood to do his bidding, the narrator of “The Book Thief” is none other than Death himself (Roger Allam), although he coyly refuses to disclose his identity. This irritating know-it-all regularly interrupts the story of Liesel (Sophie Nélisse), a bright-eyed girl living with foster parents in a fictional German town during World War II, to comment obliquely on human nature and mortality.
Except for the Nazi flags hanging from every building, the town, under a glistening blanket of snow, could be the cozy setting for a holiday greeting card. The pieces of the story, which begins in 1938, are so neatly arranged that the movie has the narrative flow and comforting familiarity of a beloved fairy tale.
A contradiction between a veneer of innocence and the realities of Nazism and the Holocaust is a signature characteristic of “The Book Thief,” Markus Zusak's immensely popular young-adult novel, from which the movie, directed by Brian Percival (“Downton Abbey”), was adapted, with a screenplay by Michael Petroni (“The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader”).
The years-spanning film, which observes traumatic historical events through Liesel's eyes, looks and tastes like a giant sugar cake whose saccharinity largely camouflages the horrors of the war. Like a caring dentist reassuring a frightened child, it purveys a message: “Don't be afraid. I'll try not hurt you, although you might feel a little pinch.”
There's one scene of Jews wearing yellow stars and being herded grimly out of the town. There's another of Nazi officers searching houses for Jews concealed in cellars. And late in the movie, the town is leveled by bombs. Although the damage is catastrophic, the bodies laid out on the street seem untouched, as if the victims were fast asleep and ready for instant transport to heaven.
Liesel's foster father, Hans Hubermann (Geoffrey Rush), is an impoverished, kindhearted house painter and “good German,” suffering from deprivation because he never joined the Nazi Party. He plays the accordion, and even in the darkest moments, its lilt conveys a spirit of bonhomie. His wife, Rosa (Emily Watson), is a fearful scold when Liesel meets her for the first time. But a soft heart beats under the surface.
The actors play their characters like storybook figures imagined by a smart, curious child. From character to character, their accents vary from Germanic to British; the language spoken is English with German exclamations.
Liesel is a little princess whose foster father teaches her to read after her schoolmates taunt her for illiteracy. After witnessing a book-burning rally, she borrows, then steals, volumes from the home of the local burgermeister, whose wife (Barbara Auer) lets her visit her late son's personal library. Memorizing what she reads, she distracts fearful Germans huddled in a bomb shelter with her recitations.
Liesel's best friend and next-door neighbor, Rudy (Nico Liersch), is a towheaded angel who idolizes Jesse Owens, the track star of the 1936 Berlin Olympics, and is taunted for painting his face black in imitation. When he is selected by the Nazis for elite military training, he rebels and runs off with Liesel to a secluded location, where they both shout, “I hate Hitler!”
The Hubermanns risk their lives when they shelter Max (Ben Schnetzer), the impossibly noble son of a Jewish army buddy who saved Hans' life during World War I. There are hints of a possible romantic competition between Rudy and the older Max for Liesel, whose portrayal by Nélisse is appealing but bland.
I can't imagine that the creators of “The Book Thief” were aware of their movie's underlying message that it really wasn't that bad. John Williams' score – a quieter, more somber echo of his music for “Schindler's List” – lends the film an unearned patina of solemnity, for “The Book Thief” is a shameless piece of Oscar-seeking Holocaust kitsch.