Movie review: The Pink Panther 2

by John P. Meyer

The work of director Harald Zwart (Agent Cody Banks) will never be confused with that of Blake Edwards - it lacks the sophistication and wicked/sly adult sensibility that characterized so many of Edwards' unforgettable comedic outings.

But that's probably just fine with the producers of The Pink Panther 2, because the direction they're taking the franchise is anything but sophisticated. Rather, they're aiming dead center for the kid crowd. And judging by the end credit cheers from Thursday night's (Feb. 5) kid-heavy preview audience at the AMC Stonebriar in Frisco, they've hit the mark.

As for adults: I'm afraid the prospects are not as promising.

The Pink Panther 2 is by no means without entertainment value for the older, wiser crowd: the cast is made up of actors with proven talent and charisma, from supporting players Jeremy Irons, John Cleese and Lily Tomlin, to Jean Reno, Emily Mortimer and Andy Garcia in the leads. And, of course, Steve Martin.

But it's in regard to the participation of Mr. Martin that we must express our greatest reservations, because we can't help comparing his Inspector Clouseau to that of Peter Sellers - and to say that he suffers by the comparison doesn't begin to describe it.

Sellers' Clouseau was an abrasive, self-deluded character whose epic downfalls (and pratfalls) derived from his myopic delusions of grandeur; as an audience, we experienced his spectacular defeats as catharsis. There was never any chance of identifying sympathetically with a figure so intent on his own aggrandizement while immersed in such callous disregard of the interests of those around him.

Mr. Martin's take on Clouseau (in addition to playing him, he contributed to the screenplay) features the inspector as the sort of misunderstood, put-upon, downright likeable chap whom pretentious bosses despise but kids and small animals warm to on first meeting. Sure, he's an egotistical buffoon, but that wouldn't stop us from inviting him over for dinner. (As long as we had taken the prior precaution of securing all the breakables.)

Which is all fine and dandy - new roles for a new century, and all - but I just can't get around Martin's mush-mouthed fake French accent. It's so much less effective than what Sellers essayed that - once again - suffering by comparison fails to convey the disappointment.

But enough grousing: Martin is the new Clouseau, and there's nothing I can do about it. So I'll settle for telling you what he's up to:

There's a sneaky globetrotting thief at large who styles himself The Tornado, and he's just stolen the Magna Carta, the Shroud of Turin and the Emperor's Sword - from museums in England, Italy and Japan, respectively. An international police organization (Interpol is not mentioned by name, nor is the Sûreté in regard to Clouseau's home agency) is putting together a detective "dream team," composed of one representative from each of the affected nations. Clouseau - thanks to the acclaim afforded him after he successfully solved the Pink Panther jewel heist - has been nominated to head up the squad.

The master detectives meet at the site of the latest burglary: the (unnamed) Paris museum which housed the infamous Pink Panther diamond. Pepperidge (Alfred Molina), Vicenzo (Andy Garcia) and Kenji (Yuki Matsuzaki) are a study in contrasts, with Pepperidge specializing in Holmesian deduction, Kenji in computer sleuthing and Vicenzo - well, Vicenzo apparently concentrates on being suave and charming, as he demonstrates by insinuating himself into the good graces of Clouseau's secret girlfriend, co-worker Nicole (Emily Mortimer, sexy behind schoolmarm eyeglasses). It should be noted that Andy Garcia's Italian accent isn't any less embarrasingly atrocious than Martin's French one.

Showing up to the party conspicuously late is an exotic dark-haired beauty named Sonia (Aishwarya Rai), who introduces herself as an expert on The Tornado - she knows, for instance, that he sustained a bullet wound in his shoulder as a result of a previous heist. While Nicole's affections drift from Clouseau's orbit under the influence of that "hot-blooded Italian" Vicenzo, Sonia goes out of her way to make it known that her romantic satellite is ripe for capture.

Serving as an apt and engaging straight man to Clouseau's good-natured bumbling is Jean Reno as Ponton, who sees the inspector for something he is not: namely, a sleuthing genius. Against all evidence, Ponton attempts to convince the other detectives that Clouseau will solve the crime, using methods that are admittedly "unorthodox" and "oblique." No one is buying it, with Pepperidge going so far as to declare that he will spend an entire day walking around in a tutu if Clouseau breaks the case. (I guess you can see where that might be leading.)

There are a handful of comedic high water marks in the story, with the flood stage represented by a scene in which Clouseau attempts to reconstruct the theft of the Pope's ring. He (Clouseau) dresses up in full papal regalia (the better to reconstruct the crime) and stands out on the porch of the papal apartment overlooking St. Peter's Square (as the Pope did on the night of the theft). Naturally, he is mistaken for the actual pontiff by the noontime crowd there assembled. When, in typical bumbling fashion, the faux-Pope ends up dangling from a flagpole, a gaggle of nuns ends up swooning to the flagstones.

Lily Tomlin makes a couple of marginal appearances as a political correctness adviser named Berenger, who periodically calls Clouseau to the carpet for his indiscretions in regard to ethnic stereotyping and unprofessionalism in his approach to attractive female co-workers. And John Cleese shows up as Chief Inspector Dreyfus, though he brings none of the unhinged psychotic aversion to his inept underling that characterized the giddy train wreck performances of Herbert Lom.

Need a kid-friendly flick for the weekend and you've already seen Hotel for Dogs? Here you go.

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