The art of the remake has become shameless entertainment, and it was only a matter of time before somebody decided to drag that peacefully resting pink panther back out of his shut-for-a-reason cage and give him an official 21st-century Hollywood execution. But hey, if you’re going to rebutcher a classic (I say “re” because they unfortunately attempted “Pink Panther” sequels in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s), you might as well make it as gory as possible by casting Steve Martin as a moustache-quivering, mascara-batting, blundering idiot who manages to destroy any fond memories we might have had of Peter Sellers’ original Inspector Jacques Clouseau. And then, throw in hip-pop’s finest piece of ass (Beyonce) to guarantee at least a decent profit.
First-time director Shawn Levy and a handful of screenwriters including Martin himself bring us the all-too-familiar story of a murder, a stolen diamond and the halfwit police officer stuck on the case so the “real” detectives (led by an out-of-place Kevin Kline) can get the job done out of the public eye. I don’t think I’m ruining anything for you when I say that Clouseau ends up stumbling across the answer himself (though this time around, it does involve a little brainwork) while, of course, Beyonce does her thing on the dance floor.
Thankfully, the only part of the Pink Panther legacy this 90-minute pile of slapstick has successfully recreated is the notorious cartoon character and that annoying jingle he never travels without, which is tolerable in small doses, and present only to give some basis for creating such a ridiculously bad movie and then expecting people to watch it. Otherwise, all details fall so far from the 1964 version that there’s no confusing it for a serious imitation. Martin’s obnoxiously exaggerated (but admittedly humorous) French accent, the supersized dime store ring, unashamed strings of tasteless bathroom jokes — nobody’s trying to pretend this is anything but terrible.
Okay, I admit it, I laughed really hard when he couldn’t pronounce “hamburger.” And when the globe tripped all the bicycles. And when the antique vases got stuck on his arms, and when he electrocuted his balls, and when he thought the killer planned for the body to fall into the white tape (I think I woke up the old guy next to me on that one). There was even a surprise guest star, the hunky Agent 006, whose name happens to be Clive Owen. Don’t hold me to this, but I might have enjoyed it just a little bit.