This 1960s film is a real oddity - a Clouseau comedy without director Blake Edwards OR star Peter Sellers. Alan Arkin plays the French sleuth.
It starts off well, with the usual comic cartoon credits - sans Henry Mancini score however. Clouseau arrives in England by plane, as he gets onto terra firma he realises he's in his socks and tries to barge past back onto the plane. There's a good line in some English bigwig's office, said bigwig says superciliously "I must say, it was not my idea to bring you onto this case." "You are too modest," replies Clouseau, oblivious to the insult.
But my, it goes downhill quick. Arkin, who looks like Freddie Mercury and has a bit of Borat about him, or maybe the English spy dressed as a policeman in Allo Allo!, is proud and bumbling enough, but lacks the boldnesss of Seller's portrayal. Arkin is too low key; Sellers's man would enter a room (or reum) and take command - when someone would make a fool of him without even trying he would suddenly turn brusque and a bully to reclaim the initiative.
Twenty mins in there seems to be no plot, just Clouseau faffing about, going to the Edinburgh Festival, which seems to be in London for some reason. Even as a curiosity, you feel the wind go out of your sales. You don't even know what the plot is, as the Pink Panther jewel is sadly absent too. There's the obligatory gadget rundown, with the usual "That's not a gadget, that's my electric razor/inhaler/lunch!" gag, later used in the actual James Bond films.
Arkin's Clouseau put me in mind of Johnny Depp when he's not chewing the scenery as Captain Jack but just fading into the background and being uncharismatic in films like Blow. Overall the film has a fourth-rate 1960s British comedy feel about it. You get the impression that even a lead actor wouldn't be bothered to rewatch this one. There is, however, a funny scene where Clouseau eavesdrops on a gangster's funeral service that made me laugh out loud.
Avoid.
It starts off well, with the usual comic cartoon credits - sans Henry Mancini score however. Clouseau arrives in England by plane, as he gets onto terra firma he realises he's in his socks and tries to barge past back onto the plane. There's a good line in some English bigwig's office, said bigwig says superciliously "I must say, it was not my idea to bring you onto this case." "You are too modest," replies Clouseau, oblivious to the insult.
But my, it goes downhill quick. Arkin, who looks like Freddie Mercury and has a bit of Borat about him, or maybe the English spy dressed as a policeman in Allo Allo!, is proud and bumbling enough, but lacks the boldnesss of Seller's portrayal. Arkin is too low key; Sellers's man would enter a room (or reum) and take command - when someone would make a fool of him without even trying he would suddenly turn brusque and a bully to reclaim the initiative.
Twenty mins in there seems to be no plot, just Clouseau faffing about, going to the Edinburgh Festival, which seems to be in London for some reason. Even as a curiosity, you feel the wind go out of your sales. You don't even know what the plot is, as the Pink Panther jewel is sadly absent too. There's the obligatory gadget rundown, with the usual "That's not a gadget, that's my electric razor/inhaler/lunch!" gag, later used in the actual James Bond films.
Arkin's Clouseau put me in mind of Johnny Depp when he's not chewing the scenery as Captain Jack but just fading into the background and being uncharismatic in films like Blow. Overall the film has a fourth-rate 1960s British comedy feel about it. You get the impression that even a lead actor wouldn't be bothered to rewatch this one. There is, however, a funny scene where Clouseau eavesdrops on a gangster's funeral service that made me laugh out loud.
Avoid.