There’s genius, somewhere, in the idea of casting Jim Carrey against a mini-flock of penguins: Their stiff, flapping carriage is its own kind of grace, and Carrey — when he’s not mugging, or getting whacked in the nuts with a soccer ball — is still among the most gracefully physical of actors, no matter how many dud movies he makes.
And Mr. Popper’s Penguins — which was directed by Mark Waters and has next to nothing to do with the 1938 children’s book by Richard and Florence Atwater, though it’s credited as the source material — isn’t quite the dud you might expect. Carrey’s Popper is a ruthless, unlikable Manhattan real-estate deal maker who’s transformed by the love, if you can call it that, of a bunch of Arctic birds in tuxedo outfits. The penguins have been bequeathed to him by his late explorer dad, because lingering father issues seem to be a prerequisite for just about any movie these days. Popper hides the birds in his Park Avenue apartment, opening the terrace doors to let the cold winter air in — the penguins thrive in the mini winter wonderland he creates for them, and paradoxically (or not), Popper himself begins to thaw.
The birds are great — they do some very cute things via CGI, though they’re best when they’re just allowed to be themselves — and they bring Popper closer to his two kids (Madeline Carroll and Maxwell Perry Cotton) and may even help him broker a reconciliation with his ex-wife (Carla Gugino, luscious as always).…
