"Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas"

And just who are these Whos anyway? It's impossible to translate the button-nose charm of the Seuss characters into live action. So why did Howard even try? His Whos -- including a host of unnecessary characters from Cindy Lou's parents (Bill Irwin and Molly Shannon) to a pompous mayor (Jeffrey Tambor) to a bodacious Who sexpot (Christine Baranski, who's flirtily amusing) -- with their prosthetically elongated nasolabial folds and chipmunk teeth, are the stuff childhood nightmares are made of. (They look something like Meckis, hedgehog-like stuffed creatures with unnervingly human features made by the German toy manufacturer Steiff, the kind of creepily cheery playthings that, dressed in their weird old-world pants and kerchiefs, look like they might come to life and murder you in your sleep.)

And then there's the script (by Jeffrey Price and Peter S. Seaman), which resembles the original story only in the most basic way. In case we ever wondered, we learn that the Grinch became cranky as the result of childhood trauma, eventually exiling himself to Mount Crumpit to distance himself from the Whos who had so cruelly Who-miliated him in his youth. He's coaxed down from the mountain when the abominably charitable Cindy Lou nominates him for a special Christmas honor. After a doomed visit in town, he decides to sabotage Christmas, the Whos' favorite holiday, dressing as Santa and invading their houses on Christmas Eve to steal off with all their presents and decorations.

In the Seuss-Jones version, the Whos don't even blink when they awaken to their barren homes and denuded town square; they march to the empty space where their town Christmas tree used to be and sing their special Christmas song. In Howard's "Grinch," the Whos are a dreadfully materialistic little bunch. When they awake to find their homes ransacked, there's a kafuffle in the town square, and the mayor blames little Cindy Lou for ruining Christmas by trying to extend kindness to the Grinch. Somehow, though, the troubled citizens finally catch on to the idea that Christmas isn't about stuff after all. They gather to sing, and the Grinch, who's just about ready to shove their loot over a mountain peak, is so moved by the sound that he repents for good, ultimately returning the stolen goods. Howard stretches this sequence out interminably, just in case we're not clear on its meaning.

But there is no meaning to this "Grinch." Its effects seem aggressively elaborate while you're watching the picture, but they're barely memorable a day afterward. (One exception: Baranski decorates her house with the help of a machine gun that shoots out a string of Christmas lights like cake frosting.)

This "Grinch" might have partially redeemed itself if it had at least provided Carrey with a chance to shine. The prosthetics and heavy makeup heightened the challenge: With his facial expressions restricted, what kind of amazing physical shenanigans might he come up with? As it is, Carrey pulls off an admirable impersonation of an animated figure. Behind those sadistic yellowy eyes and that rangy green fur, he gets the facial tics, and the precise, slippery mannerisms, of Jones' Grinch just right.

It's fine as mimicry goes -- but mimicry isn't the best playground for comic genius. Shouldn't we be asking more of a man who's very likely the most gifted comic actor of his generation? Carrey's rubbery grace marks him as the most physically gifted comedian since Jerry Lewis, and his dotty free associations, here and in just about every picture he's done, from "The Mask" to "Dumb & Dumber" to "Me, Myself & Irene," suggest a mind that's mosquito-zapper quick.

He does pull off a few terrific ad-libs here: Making a mental list of the things he might do on a given day, he mutters, "Solve world hunger," then waits a beat and adds, "Tell no one." But mostly, his jokes come off as nothing more than a desperate effort to inject some offbeat humor into an otherwise numbingly unhip, nonsensical and just plain dull story. Howard's "Grinch" clocks in at about an hour and a half, but, padded, bloated and frenetic all at once, it trundles along like an eternity. By the time the Whos finally get around to discovering the meaning of Christmas, they've sapped our will to live. It's enough to make a Grinch out of anyone.

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