Mr. Popper's Penguins: Flightless birds meet flightless script

Jim Carrey and his co-stars in a scene from "Mr. Popper's Penguins"Barry Wetcher/The Associated Press

Once upon a time, casting Jim Carrey and penguins in the same movie would have been box-office overkill. Since then, the rubber-faced one has lost much of his mojo, but not those tuxedoed troupers - flightless creatures with soaring careers, nothing will ever dim their pop wattage. So there's no mistaking who deserves top billing in Mr. Popper's Penguins. What's more, it's kind of reassuring to know that star power can still save a picture. Even this thing.

Don't be fooled by the classic source, the celebrated children's book from the thirties. In the name of "updating" the original, the script drains off most of the charm to make room for all of the poop jokes. Yet before the goop comes the goof. Meet Carrey's Popper, no longer a humble housepainter in the sticks but a rising real-estate honcho in the Big Apple. Divorced from his wife Amelia (Carla Gugino), distanced from his teenage daughter and young son, he lives alone in a Park Avenue penthouse, rolling in dough but a quart low on love. Still, Popper does have his faithful assistant Pippi, an English missy with a lisp whose principal job is to perpetuate the title's alliterative propensity. Lisps Pippi: "Punctuality is a priority of this particular person". Ain't it perfectly phunny.

Well, obviously, Popper could do with a lesson in family values, and who better to teach it than his polar opposites and our loveable feathered friends? Enter penguin No. 1 in a refrigerated box, sent as a parting gift from Popper's late dad the world explorer. The recipient hoists the bird, dubbed Captain, to eye level and SPLAT - the first penguin regales us with the first poop joke. Others will follow. Other penguins too, five of them to make an even half-dozen. By happy coincidence, their names - Bitey, Loudy, Stinky, Lovey and Nimrod - pretty much double as a plot summary.

Anyway, when his children catch a glimpse of the cute sextet, Popper is stuck with them - kids and critters alike. The latter, taking a cue from their favourite movie actor - the Little Tramp who stole their walk - get right down to making reliable mischief. Of course, they're all about honking and biting and stinking et al., but, to their credit, they also raise their game impressively on occasion - for example, playing soccer in Central Park, or, on a more artistic note, body-surfing down the spiral ramps of the Guggenheim.

Leaving you to wonder: Are the penguins real? Sometimes, and sometimes, during the tricky scenes, they're CGI replicas. Then again, all stars have their stunt doubles. And kudos to director Mark Waters for nicely fudging the distinction. Such is the magic of today's movie technology, it's getting so you can't tell a real penguin from a fake.

Alas, the same might be said of Jim Carrey. Used to be that his on-camera mania at least felt vital - his improvised riffs may have tested your patience but they never lacked energy. Here, those same riffs seem, much like him, older and a bit tired, their vitality more feigned than genuine. So when Popper throws open the windows of his penthouse to let in the Manhattan winter, the penguins enjoy the polar climate but Carrey looks frozen out of his own movie - a stiffer and less elastic version of the younger dynamo. He could have used some of that CGI magic himself.

Luckily, the penguins march to his rescue. To be honest, I prefer their work in documentaries where, whether shivering in huddled colonies or gliding effortlessly though the watery depths, they get to show off the full range of their acting talents - comedians one moment, tragedians the next. Still, even when they're reduced to pooping in Park Avenue toilets, you gotta give them their due - it takes a true star to outshine dull material.

Mr. Popper's Penguins