Review: March of the Penguins

Imagine walking from Toronto to Kitchener in the dead of winter with no chance to rest, save for sliding part of the way on your belly. Upon arrival, you've got to hook up like it's last call in Hull, endure an awkward quickie, and then stand around in the cold waiting on your pregnant girlfriend. After the birth, she hands you the baby and takes off for a two-month girls-night-out-bender back in Toronto. You've been standing in minus 62-degree temperatures, you're half-starved, and the kid's screaming when she stumbles back. You and the woman split custody for several more months and then everyone parts ways. The kid won't even be around to put you up in his basement when you're old and incontinent. And in this hard scrabble story you have the documentary, March of the Penguins. The cinematography is spectacular and Morgan Freeman is a soothing, if sometimes melodramatic, narrator. If for no other reason but to make you grateful that you're not a penguin, on a go/no-go scale, I give March of the Penguins a "go".