Steve Martin flummoxed about on the screen for 90 minutes this weekend...to what end, this reviewer does not have a clue. The white-haired comedian, who once famously wore a fake arrow around his head, would be better dignified in putting an actual arrow through his brain as opposed to putting audiences through this color-by-numbers malarkey. This is the same literate funnyman who wrote the near-classic stage comedy Picasso at the Lapine Agile, so why are moviegoers seemingly buying him a Barbie Dream House for channeling Mack Sennet and Pepe Le Pew in a hodge podge of slap-sticky un-fun for the whole family? In an age when Pixar films (Toy Story, WALL-E) manage to be intelligent, insightful, AND clownish entertainment for the G-rated masses, there is no need for this Z-grade buffoonery.
In this PG-rated sequel, Inspector Clouseau (Martin) must team up with a squad of detectives (Andy Garcia, Alfred Molina, et al) to catch a globe-trotting diamond thief.
If the French love the comic stylings of Jerry Lewis, than they will love being reduced to one-note child's play by a man once known for his brilliant standup. Oh wait, 'love' is not the word...it's hate. Through the running time of the movie (and this reviewer got whiplash from checking his watch so often), it proved amazing to watch the awed expressions of the actors playing witness to Clouseau's incessant bumbling...and then watching the same expressions on the faces of the audience who just plucked down cold hard cash to watch a palsied Charles Boyer, er, Martin defecate on his CV.
Bottom line: One in the stink