Long before he became France's greatest playwright, Moliere was the leader of a bankrupt 17th century theater troupe. Writer-director Laurent Tirard's Moliere suggests that during a few months after a stint in debtors prison, when history is unsure of exactly what the young actor was doing, he lived out the kind of moral farce he would later compose and stage to much controversy and the general delight of Louis XIV's court.

This handsome French production obviously bears similarities to Shakespeare in Love, but it's not as thoroughly successful.

Tirard, a former movie journalist, cooks up a cunning series of deceptions and seasons the scenario with well-chosen references to Tartuffe, The Love-Sick Doctor and other Moliere satires. But the setup is slow, and even after that, tone wobbles between sheer buffoonery and wise, humane insight. But fine performances all around and a handful of truly riveting scenes near the end make the movie a satisfying experience overall.

Reigning Gallic heartthrob Romain Duris (The Beat That My Heart Skipped) plays Moliere as an amoral conniver and a pretentious twit - but also as a consummate actor and plot-weaver of quick, incipient genius. He's bailed out of jail by a mysterious benefactor, the wealthy, weak-chinned merchant Jourdain (Fabrice Luchini, masterful at both puffing up and swallowing the character's shaky dignity). The breathing definition of dilettante, Jourdain wants Moliere to teach him all the actors' arts so that he might impress the snooty young widow Celimene (Swimming Pool's Ludivine Sagnier) by performing a bad play he's written at her chic salon.

But there's a catch. Moliere can't let anyone at Jourdain's estate know the true nature of their agreement, since the rich man doesn't want to be exposed. Plus, Madame Jourdain, Elmire (Laura Morante), probably wouldn't dig the Celimene part.

So Moliere must disguise himself as a stuffy cleric named - voila - Tartuffe, allegedly brought in to teach the atheist Jourdains' daughter some morals. Outraged Elmire quickly detects that this impostor knows jack about the Bible; for his part, Moliere intuits that the lovely matron may just be turned on by the notion of a predatory religious hypocrite who might not be at all what he seems.

Complications don't just ensue. They multiply like rabbits.

The three principles prove expert at embedding their characters in increasingly nuttier packs of lies as well as locating real poignancy and emotional growth amid all the unsavory machinations. Luchini is especially adept at physical comedy, bringing an odd grace to utter gracelessness. Morante is persuasive as Elmire careens from lust to maternal devotion.

Like the recent French production of Lady Chatterley, Moliere is well worth sticking with despite some initial plodding and stumbling. It may not be a brilliant act of speculative history, but it's a clever and respectable one.