The thought that Beatrix Potter might actually have enjoyed a sex life will doubtless come as a terrible shock to Mrs Tiggywinkle’s many admirers. That it’s taken the best part of a century for a film to explore the idea seems a remarkable oversight. The story of how Miss Potter defies her stuffy parents and gets secretly engaged to the first true love of her life is as gripping as the publishing deal that made her a fortune.

Chris Noonan’s film won’t win prizes for biographical rigour, but he paints a haunting picture of a young woman at proud odds with the stifling times. There isn’t a dry corner in this romantic melodrama. The prim title is less than sincere. And the casting is inch-perfect.

Renée Zellweger is a frumpy delight as the lonely Beatrix. When we first see her in 1903 she is virtually manacled to middle-class privilege. Her Kensington mansion is stuffed with maids and sinister aunts. Queues of chinless wonders try to impress her over tea and cake. And her Victorian parents fondly indulge her love of art without taking her talent or ambition the slightest bit seriously.

Zellweger throws comic looks of frustration at the camera like scrunched-up sheets of paper. Heaven is her gloomy attic, where she pores over a desk and talks to Jemima Puddleduck. These light-fingered scenes of animated film magic are as cute and cleverly illustrated as the books themselves.

Beatrix’s contempt for formality is the sparkling tonic. It’s the only real weapon that she has at her disposal until Frederick Warne & Co unexpectedly agrees to publish The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Even then she is regarded by these crusty bachelors as a useful tax loss. The film promptly goes weak at the knees when the youngest and freshest partner, Norman Warne (Ewan McGregor), falls head over heels for Beatrix’s watercolours. Their desperately shy courtship is neatly trimmed into a lemon-biting comedy of manners.

Like all the best Edwardian fables, the film has a light dusting of Poppins. Everything seems slightly exaggerated. Beatrix’s stern father (Bill Paterson) has sideburns as large as sheepskins. The dinner-party small talk is as indigestible as the food. McGregor’s handsome publisher tiptoes into every scene as if it were made of eggshells. And Potter’s fabulous success gives her a freedom and power beyond anything that she could possibly dream.

The real surprise is the chilly price, and the terrific way that Zellweger copes with the grown-up streak of tragedy that turns hopes to ashes and comedy into heartbreak. One of the pleasures of Noonan’s film is that it doesn’t stint on pain. That’s rare for a classic melodrama. Then again, this is a rare film.

JAMES CHRISTOPHER

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