The whimsical, yet politically tinged, double entendre of the title "An Everlasting Piece" serves as a precise reflection of the nature and extent of the humor in this good-natured, exceedingly wispy film. A diversionary little knockoff for director Barry Levinson amid his usual alternating pattern of big-star vehicles and more personal Baltimore projects, this gently eccentric yarn about a Catholic and Protestant team of hairpiece salesmen in '80s Belfast would no doubt have been embraced on the specialty circuit worldwide had it been an indigenous British or Irish low-budgeter; as a Yank-financed major studio production that can only be sold on the director's name, it's hard to see how this modest venture won't get lost in the commercial shuffle.

News of Levinson taking on such a non-Hollywood project -- one that emanated from New York pub readings of the script -- stirred a bit of attention at the time, and at its heart there is something quite appealing about the way actor and first-time screenwriter Barry McEvoy makes light of the long-standing religious/political conflict in Northern Ireland by filtering it through faintly absurdist shenanigans. At the same time, the humor is mostly on the level of clever wordplay, small jokes and glancing ironies, attributes that generally provoke smiles rather than outright laughs. It's a film of myriad minor pleasures but scant compelling qualities.

Premise throws together the Catholic Colm (McEvoy) and Protestant George (Brian F. O'Byrne) as barbers at a Belfast hospital. Quickly getting past their religion-based mutual suspicions through their shared love of verse, the young men hatch a business scheme when they find that the only men's hairpiece provider in Northern Ireland is a ferocious fellow named Scalper (Billy Connolly) who's now in for an extended stay at their facility.

Stepping into the void, the young men procure a hairpiece (one of the film's repeated gags hinges upon how this word's Irish pronunciation makes people think the men are offering them herpes) and sell it on partial credit to a disagreeable gent who subsequently refuses to pay the balance. This leads to the picture's big action set piece, a chase triggered when Colm snatches the rug off the man's dome.

More trouble surfaces when another duo, who call themselves Toupee or Not Toupee, start horning in on the action. As the holidays approach, a big English concern, Wigs of Wimbledon, announces that whichever team sells the most hairpieces by Christmas Eve will become its exclusive distributor for all of Northern Ireland. Lagging in sales with the deadline looming, the Belfast boys struggle to single out a large group of bald people for a big sale, a matter in which Colm's feisty and foxy girlfriend, Bronagh (Anna Friel), proves very helpful.

While there's just enough plot to keep the narrative wheels turning, McEvoy, who got a lot of the material here from his Belfast barber/wig salesman father, devotes most of his writerly attention to inflating anecdotes and small incidents as far as they will bear. A prime example is a long sequence in which Colm and George become hopelessly lost in the countryside one night and are accosted by hooded IRA terrorists, who put them through the wringer at gunpoint until the lads turn the confrontation into a sales opportunity.

Then there are dozens of nice smaller touches: the incongruous positioning of Colm's isolated family home up against a wall overlooking the Protestant quarter, the old vicar who must be convinced a wig is made of Catholic hair before he buys it, and some menacing goons who force Colm and Bronagh to stay for the playing of "God Save the Queen" at the end of the evening in a cinema. Such bits are amusing, insightful and ironic by turn, but are hardly the stuff of significant comedy or drama.

McEvoy, who appeared on Broadway in the musical "On the Waterfront" and "The Sisters Rosensweig," and O'Byrne, who was Tony-nominated for both "The Beauty Queen of Leenane" and "The Lonesome West," interact well, with the former embodying a certain brash glibness and the latter conveying a more sensitive, contemplative nature. Friel, who looks smashing in a tartan miniskirt and black tights, adds zip to all her scenes, while supporting players are uniformly responsive to the deadpan drollery of the material.

Despite the Hollywood pedigree, pic is not overproduced in any overt way, having employed local talent in all positions except for production designer, editor and composer. Wintry setting adds a vivid, chilly dimension to the already bleak Belfast location, which represents a strong character of its own.