In the world of Demi and Ashton and Tom and Katie, large age discrepancies between romantic partners may have lost their shock value. In “Shopgirl,” based on Steve Martin’s novella of the same name, director Anand Tucker shows audiences the subtle intricacies of relationships with an age gap as wide as the distance between Vermont and Los Angeles. It’s a distance audiences may feel from the characters, and the characters seem to feel between themselves.

Mirabelle Buttersfield (Claire Danes) appears to be at that awkward age when she’s caught between youth and adulthood. As she precariously straddles the line between the two, the rest of her world unfolds into a series of binary oppositions.

The audience first encounters Mirabelle as she uncomfortably mans her oft-neglected glove counter at a Los Angeles Sak’s Fifth Avenue department store. Far removed from her big-bosomed, blonde co-workers, her Plain Jane appearance shines all the more beautifully. Danes has a distinct grace about her which she uses to show Mirabelle’s contrasting simple beauty to the heavily made-up faces all around her.

As she makes her way home through the warm, honey glow of the city, Mirabelle transforms as she dons her librarian glasses and frumpier dress. Leaving the glamorous world of her upscale department store behind, she returns to her modest apartment and – the epitome of the lonely woman – her cat.

A Vermont native, Mirabelle is caught up between the contradictions of her humble roots and the bustling city as well as her fabulous work environment and simple living conditions, while her occupations are also at odds. She wishes to pursue her art (her original motivation for heading west) but spends much of her time standing just beyond the overpriced lipsticks and perfumes.

But it isn’t until two very different men enter her life that Mirabelle has to actually choose between two very different worlds.

Jeremy (Jason Schwartzman) is a slacker who makes up for his lack of social skills with an abundance of earnestness. Schwartzman is a mixed bag of nervous tics and idiosyncrasies which elicit winces at first but soon evolve into charm.

That transformation isn’t soon enough, however, as the debonair older man Ray Porter (Martin) arrives in Mirabelle’s life. He’s handsome, romantic, funny and, most distracting of all, the narrator.

In one of this film’s most noticeable pitfalls, Martin not only has written the screenplay and stars in one of the leading roles, but he voices the mostly useless narration that spends much of its time telling us how Mirabelle is feeling, instead of letting us see it for ourselves. Martin’s easily recognizable voice goes beyond its inherent lack of purpose and is difficult to separate from his important role.

As Ray, though, Martin is wonderful. Played distinctly sophisticated in comparison to the “wild and crazy guy” he once was, Martin shows a great degree of depth and maturity here as he alternately fills and breaks Mirabelle’s heart.

At first, Tucker’s directorial approach keeps us at a distance from Ray and Mirabelle’s blossoming romance. For a film revolving around the complex nature of their relationship, we are kept at arm’s length from the characters as they develop. While at first frustrating, we soon learn the distance we feel from these characters is simply transferred from the distance they share between themselves while fully connecting.

Tucker takes the time to jerk us through some quick cuts, then decelerates the action for a slow-motion shot of Danes flipping her hair. It feels a little uncomfortable, but it’s only fitting to capture a couple that is occasionally awkward (as when Ray tries to sit comfortably on Mirabelle’s futon) and occasionally completely consumed with their romance.

“Shopgirl” is not the “Lost in Translation” it hopes to be. Despite incredible performances from the three lead actors, the distance audiences are kept from Mirabelle and Ray leaves many questions to be answered at the end of the film about why they acted as they did and how they felt throughout their relationship. It’s almost as if we are supposed to leave carrying out Mirabelle’s baggage face one final proposition of our own: Paper or plastic?