I have mixed feelings about this film. It’s a nice documentary, but there’s not much of a “movie” feeling to it. If you watch the National Geographic Channel on a big TV it’s nearly the same experience. Also, the pacing is intentionally deliberate. It’s understandable, but that allows my mind to wonder. I couldn’t stop thinking of the poor cinematographer who froze off his junk just to bring me the mating ritual of a beanie baby I once had. I also couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I was doing in that theater. What has happened to me? I used to enjoy things as men do. Yet, I just paid money to watch some French guy’s interpretation of penguins getting it on. That’s not good. Tonight I'll be drinking beer while watching porno. Don't want to turn queer. DE-FENSE! DE-FENSE! On a scale of 1 to Club 11, March of the Penguins gets a 7.
I'm wondering if, as your mind wandered, you felt that you were in a weird Antarctic/Shawshank Prison dimension. Falling in and out of consciousness as Morgan Freeman narrates can be a dangerous thing.
And in case your review is a threat to my masculinity, I'm countering the potential effects by eating beef jerky and thinking about football.
I think the director of this movie also directed that "Winged Migration" movie, but I'm not sure and I'm too tired to look it up. That movie was very well-done, but put me out several times. Birds are awesome when they fly past because you can marvel at their grace and speed for a few moments and they're gone. Grace and speed can't really sustain a two-hour movie, though.