In 1963, director Stanley Donen (best known for his unequalled work on musicals such as “Singin’ in the Rain”) proved himself unlimited by genre with “Charade.” The Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant film mixed mystery with strong doses of humor and romance, succeeding on all fronts.

Jonathan Demme has proven his range, with “Silence of the Lambs,” “Philadelphia” and many other first-rate films. But with “The Truth About Charlie,” he has taken a huge step back. Here, he is the director of the excellent “Stop Making Sense,” trying to take French New Wave sensibilities and translate them into a film in which they don’t belong.

The camera work in “Charlie” lacks subtlety to the point of distraction, like a Woody Allen version of “Citizen Kane.” With the beautiful background of Paris, Demme has chosen awkward close-ups and quick, spinning shots that seem a frail attempt to add tension to a movie lacking that lacks it.

“Charade” created tension with clever plot twists, interesting characters and a solid, if now slightly dated, script. “Charlie” eviscerates the original screenplay and loses most of the original’s quality.

Indeed, the first half of “Charlie” is practically a scene-by-scene rewrite bordering on parody, with just enough slight changes in character and dialogue to avoid crediting Peter Stone (“Charade’s” writer) with a screenwriting credit. Instead, “Charlie” is “based upon” the script by Peter Stone.

The story for each film is virtually the same: Thandie Newton (reunited with her “Beloved” director) is Regina Lambert, a British woman who returns from vacation to find that her new husband, Charles (Stephen Dillane, “Spy Game”) — whom she hardly knew and was planning to divorce — has turned up dead, after selling all their furniture and buying a ticket to South America.

Soon she is caught between the police investigation of Charles’ murder (led by French actress Christine Boisson), a U.S. government inquiry into money Charles had stolen, and three of her husband’s old acquaintances, trying to find the fortune they were supposed to share.

To complicate things, a new man has entered her life (Mark Wahlberg, in a better remake than his lamentable “Planet of the Apes”). Is he sincere in wanting to help her, or does he have an agenda of his own?

As the plot unfolds, “Charlie” veers slightly off the course set by “Charade.” But the changes add nothing but artificial complexity to what was a well-streamlined story.

The only other notable other changes are modernity (though pre-Euro currency is used) and characterization; Mark Walhberg’s “Joshua Peters” has less than 10 percent of Cary Grant’s “Peter Joshua” charm, and U.S. government agent Bartholomew is played as a bit of a bumbler by Walter Mathau in the original, but as sharp and professional by the able Tim Robbins (“High Fidelity”) in “Charlie.”

Newton is convincing in her role, though without the humor of Audrey Hepburn’s original, American Regina Lampert (note the subtle name changes that separate the two films). What lacks between Newton and Wahlberg is the chemistry shared by Grant and Hepburn, owing largely to the humorless script.

Why does a director with Jonathan Demme’s credentials need to make a lesser version of a very good film? This is not Gus Van Sant trying to increase his stock by color-copying “Psycho.” This is a director who can give us so much more, and has shown it.

There are only two reasons to see “The Truth About Charlie” instead of renting “Charade.” First is “Charlie”‘s tribute to the French New Wave, featuring vignettes with Charles Aznavour (in out-of-place, Burt-Bacharach-in “Austin Powers” moments) and Anna Karina (in a preposterous “Rushmore”-esque full-cast dance scene).

The other is “Charlie”‘s complex stance on smoking, featuring far more cigarettes even than its 1963 predecessor, but also one scene that shows exactly how unbearable a smoke-filled train compartment can be to a non-smoker.

In conclusion, rent “Charade.”

Grade: A/B