The latest and least unsuccessful post-Peter Sellers incarnation of The Pink Panther isn't a particularly good movie, but it's certainly a lot better than Blake Edwards last three disastrous bloody-minded attempts to prove that he was the genius of the series and didn't need Sellers (who, to be fair, had he lived was planning to pull the same crap on Edwards by replacing him with Clive Donner). Steve Martin certainly doesn't make the part his own but at least he fares better than Roberto Begnini, though the accent is wrong in all the unfunny ways. It doesn't need to be a Sellers impression, but remotely amusing would have been nice, especially since director Shawn Levy hasn't a clue how to stage a decent pratfall, rendering much of the physical comedy lukewarm. Along with being the only one of the series not to be shot in Scope, most of the old faithful setups of the series are discarded - Kevin Kline's rather flat Dreyfuss isn't trying to kill Clouseau all the time (no nervous tic or accidental dismemberment either) and Kato isn't constantly attacking him (though this is reworked as Clouseau constantly attempting to attack his assistant, who effortlessly pre-empts him every time) - with not enough new to fill in the void they leave. Indeed, in a sign of its troubled post-production that saw it shelved for the best part of a year, one of the one of the funniest scenes (a surreal airplane sequence that has nothing to do with the plot) got deleted, as did Dreyfuss' motive for bringing in Clouseau to the case, but at least they're both in the DVD extras.
Sadly, Jean Reno is almost entirely wasted as Clouseau's sidekick in the film. Looking like he's just had plastic surgery (it's easy to understand why he avoids the clean shaven look, it's scary in a faceless man kind of way), his only genuinely funny moment is a brief dance routine, which at least puts him one up on the one of the film's unbilled guest stars. In a cameo as a thinly disguised James Bond ("006. You know what that means?" "You're one away from the big time?"), Clive Owen proves that while he may have all the dramatic ability of a block of wood with woodworm when it comes to `serious' films, when it comes to comedy he's even worse (think Charlton Heston in trying-to-prove-he-has-a-sense-of-humor mode, only much worse). His delivery of even the simplest lines is astonishingly stilted even by his standards, making you wonder if he's unable to speak English unless it's spelt out for him phonetically. Still, if nothing else his leaden touch proves what an unmitigated catastrophe he would have been as 007, and it's a fairly brief moment in a film that's watchable with a few laughs. There's no reason to watch it other than completism, but there's a lot worse out there.