In this age of relentless information, of having the ability to find out the color of a candidate's socks on any particular day, it's almost impossible to remember a time when privacy was a given, when every conceivable detail wasn't written down somewhere.

But there was such a time, and the fact that some things remain unknown makes them even more fascinating.

Consider Johannes Vermeer, a Dutch painter who worked in the city of Delft in the 17th century and painted ordinary everyday scenes that became timeless by his perfect use of color and light.

Little is known about Vermeer; he had no agent or publicity machine. He was born in 1632 and died 43 years later, leaving behind his wife, Catharina Bolnes, 11 children, and 35 paintings.

As sparse as this information is, even less is known about his subjects. Vermeer painted mostly quiet domestic scenes, a maid pouring milk, a lady writing, a woman examining her necklace in the mirror. The names of these women have been lost to history, but not to fiction.

Author Tracy Chevalier has made a career of creating stories for such mysterious figures, and one of them became the best-seller Girl with a Pearl Earring, which has been adapted by Olivia Hetreed into a motion picture guided with meticulous care by first-time film director Peter Webber.

The film works on several levels. It is an interesting look at middle-class life in the mid-1600s, a period of great prosperity in the Netherlands. Equally engrossing is its exploration of how an artist finds inspiration.

And thanks to an exquisite performance by Scarlett Johansson, the movie is far better than it should be.

Johansson, who seems to be everywhere these days, has been plying her craft for many years, from 1995's Just Cause with Sean Connery to 1998's The Horse Whisperer with Robert Redford to last year's Lost in Translation and this week's The Perfect Score.

Johansson plays Griet, a young woman who, after her father is injured, is forced to help support her family by working as a maid in the home of the painter Vermeer (Colin Firth).

It is a chaotic place, filled with babies, diapers, Vermeer's self-centered wife, and his strong-willed mother-in-law. As a servant, Griet is supposed to be invisible, to speak only when spoken to, so Johansson doesn't get to say much. From the humiliations Griet suffers at the hands of Catharina, the exhaustion of her heavy workload, the meticulous way she cleans Vermeer's studio, the core of Johansson's captivating portrayal comprises body language and facial expressions.

It does not take long for Vermeer to discover that Griet has an artist's eye and awareness. She hesitates to clean the windows in his studio for fear of changing the quality of the light. She subtly shifts the props in his studio to make more pleasing arrangements. She is the only person in Vermeer's chaotic household who is attuned to him as an artist, not as a man, a husband, a breadwinner. This awareness makes Griet the target of Vermeer's oldest daughter, Cornelia, who is jealous of the attention and approval her father bestows upon the servant.

When financial straits force Vermeer to take a commission from his amoral patron, Van Ruijven (Tom Wilkinson), it sets in motion a chain of events that ends with a loss of trust, the end of a friendship, and a masterful work of art.

Cinematographer Eduardo Serra brings an artist's eye to the film, bathing the serene studio in bright, light colors and the chaotic household in dark rich tones, turning even the most mundane scenes into striking compositions.

Unfortunately, there is a down side.

Webber moves his story along at a ponderously slow pace, and the interaction among Vermeer, Catharina, Griet, and Van Ruijven takes on the tones of a torrid romance novel, with longing glances, deep sighs, and heaving bosoms. This is the kind of movie where the twitch of a finger signifies passion.

The movie also skimps on detail. We see that Griet's father has been injured. What the movie fails to explain is that he, too, was an artist, a painter of the famous Delft blue tiles and porcelain, who was blinded in a kiln accident. Griet became his eyes, and her descriptions of the world around them helped to hone her understanding of art, balance, and color, qualities that Vermeer recognizes. These are details that helped to make Chevalier's book so successful, and the lack of them deprives the movie of texture and depth.

On the other hand, Johansson's compelling performance overcomes these flaws, and by the end of Girl with a Pearl Earring, it's hard to believe that this modern actress wasn't the inspiration for a 370-year-old masterwork.

First Published January 30, 2004, 12:56 p.m.