Directed by Mark Waters. Starring Jim Carrey, Carla Gugino, Angela Lansbury, Maxwell Perry Cotton, Madeline Carroll G cert, gen release, 94 min

Jim Carrey gurns his way through this mild, undistinguished family comedy, writes DONALD CLARKE

‘DO YOU KNOW how many soccer games and dance recitals I’ve missed?” Jim Carrey says at some point in this routine family film. Yes, we’re back with the most overused plot in recent movie history. You know the one. Some selfish twit ignores his lovely kiddies and long-suffering wife while fanatically pursuing a career in a particularly unlovely division of the puppy-killing or widow-eating industry. Something vaguely supernatural happens and he is forced to reconsider his values.

It's almost as if the theme hits home with Hollywood producers. "I'm sorry for not making that ice hockey match, Zack Jr. But, look, I've made Mr Popper's Penguinsfor you. Sorry, gotta run." That's what they say.

Anyway, as you have probably deduced, the latest film in the

genre finds distracted Jim Carrey (he’s a mean estate agent this time) inheriting a bunch of flightless birds and allowing them to facilitate reconnection with his mildly troubled children. Along the way, while trying to annihilate an iconic piece of Central Park, he encounters a cheeringly indomitable Angela Lansbury and learns sobering truths about his own neglectful father.

Based on a popular book by Richard and Florence Atwater, Mr Popper's Penguinsmakes good use of its Manhattan locations and features a nice array of supporting turns. But it feels fatally limp and wearyingly second-hand.

Part of the problem lies, alas, with Carrey himself. Whether or not you enjoy the actor’s high- caffeine hysteria, you’d surely admit that he has been playing a young fellow’s game. Carrey looks good for 49. But his yelping, gurning and wild gesticulating now looks like the work of a man – slightly creased, mildly thickened – desperately trying to repel a mid-life crisis with broad comedy.

One thinks of the older Muhammad Ali struggling manfully against the likes of Leon Spinks or Trevor Berbick. Carrey’s moves are the same, but they’re slower and less stylish. The energy levels are maintained by stubborn will rather than by any residual enthusiasm.

You’ve been working too hard for too long, Jim. Just think about all the soccer games you’ve missed.