Okay idiots, it’s pop quiz time:
Are you amused by bad and inconsistent French accents?
Do you enjoy seeing Steve Martin stuff his face into a woman’s crotch, allegedly for comedic effect?
Do you think Beyonce can act?
Is it funny when Steve Martin is trying to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a woman, but he’s doing it in such a fashion that it would appear to Jean Reno that he’s actually having rough sex with the woman?
Do you never get tired of the same joke repeated over and over and over again?
Are Viagra jokes still funny?
Do you want to see Steve Martin electrocute his own crotch, once again for allegedly comedic purposes?
Are you willing to believe that all of Paris slopes downhill, thus allowing for a large globe to continually harm random bystanders?
Is it funny when Steve Martin’s electrocuted crotch is still steaming in the next scene?
Have you ever wanted to find Peter Sellers’ grave, dig up his corpse, piss all over it and then set it on fire?
Now, if you answered ‘yes’ to any of these questions, you are a moron. And you’ll love The Pink Panther.
The Pink Panther is, quite possibly, the worst movie I’ve ever seen. The only movie I can think to compare it to would be Troy. Like Troy, The Pink Panther is loosely based upon a classic work of art. And, much like Troy, The Pink Panther takes the classic original, drags it into the living room of a doublewide trailer, and shits all over it. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Although, it wouldn’t surprise me if Wolfgang Peterson actually did take a shit all over The Iliad. He obviously doesn’t think much of Homer.
Everything that made the original Pink Panther films so great is absent in Steve Martin’s remake. Peter Sellers’ Clouseau was clueless and bumbling, but went about his business with as much dignity and class as he could muster. Steve Martin’s Clouseau goes out of his way to be confrontational, annoying and retarded. And the mild-mannered racism of the originals is nowhere to be found. I loved it when Peter Sellers referred to Cato as “my little yellow friend.” Hilarious. Unfortunately, Jean Reno is French, so Steve Martin’s Clouseau can’t make fun of his ethnicity. Without the racial jibes and understated grace of Peter Sellers, Steve Martin’s The Pink Panther is forced to rely entirely upon not-so-silly accents, fart jokes and Beyonce’s overrated figure.
Another similarity between The Pink Panther and Troy is that they are both staggering failures filled with usually top-notch talent. Troy had Eric Bana, Brendan Gleeson, Brian Cox, Sean Bean and “Tony” Orlando Bloom, all of whom have never been worse. The Pink Panther features Steve Martin–one of the funniest people ever–doing absolutely nothing that’s even close to mildly amusing. This is the guy who made The Jerk! It’s unthinkable that he could possibly make a movie as thouroughly unfunny as The Pink Panther. But he did.
As for the supporting cast, Kevin Kline saved Salma Hayek’s titties and he’s married to Phoebe Cates. But for some reason, he decided that half-assing his way through a terrible remake of a classic movie would be better than just staying at home porking Phoebe Cates. It boggles the mind. And what the hell is Clive Owen even doing in this movie? He should be happy that Ewan McGregor has made such terrible movies recently, allowing Clive to jump up to my #2 most favourite actor. Why is he making a cameo, and as a James Bond character, no less? Steve Martin and director Shawn Levy must have photos of Kevin Kline humping Clive Owen while Jean Reno sits in a corner and masturbates to pictures of a 12-year-old Natalie Portman dressed as John Wayne. That’s the only logical explanation for this mess.
In short, The Pink Panther is unspeakably bad. Rent the original. Rent The Jerk. Rent The Professional. Rent Croupier. Hell, even rent Wild, Wild West. Rent anything but The Pink Panther. Or Troy. Rent anything but The Pink Panther or Troy. Not surprisingly, on my scale of one to five tiny heads of Sergei Eisenstein, The Pink Panther merits the dreaded evil tiny head of Sergei Eisenstein.
And the question is why on Morrissey’s green earth would you ever watch this terrible film? There’s nothing in the review that you couldn’t have written without suffering through the film. Okay maybe except for the CLive Owen bit but still…
Off day for the Mariners. I prefer not to leave the house. Wasn’t in the mood for Oblivion. I don’t have any friends. The more movies I watch, the more cost-effective Netflix becomes. While none of these reasons are particularly valid excuses, they all played a small role. And, just for the record, if I hadn’t watched the movie, I wouldn’t have known that Steve Martin pretends to have rough sex with a lady or that he electrocuted his own crotch while attempting to perform the good cop/bad cop routine.
Nobody can pull off a good crotch gag like an animated George C. Scott. Although, did you catch the soccer game today between France and Spain? One of the frogs took a laser beam of a strike off of his crotch. The player hit the ground like a, well, like a frenchman in a gunfight and the ball caromed a good 20 yards. He may or may not have said “Arrrgh, my groin.” (Or rather “Euuuuuu, mon aine.”), ESPN doesn’t capture the on-field sound all that well.
That Frenchman must have a groin made of rubber. Or would it be an incredibly hard and flat groin? Physics was never my forte.
It’s a crime to remake this absolute classic. I hate Hollywood.
I agree with your opinion Animate Myspace, but I’m not sure what to make of your comment. Part of me thinks it’s a legitimate comment on a terrible movie that never should have been made. On the other hand, very rarely are comments made on old posts that aren’t spam. That, combined with the large number of animated graphics on the link you gave as your webpage, give me the impression that your comment might be from some kind of super-smart spambot.