Inspector Clouseau

Continuing to watch the "Pink Panther" film franchise, we come across a film that manages to be radically different from the two predecessors. It is a return to the franchise in which it seems that no one has returned together with it: Blake Edwards left his director's chair vacant to be occupied by Bud Yorkin and Peter Sellers, occupied in another job, was unable to wear Inspector Clouseau's raincoat, giving the opportunity to Alan Arkin. This, coupled with a weak and uninteresting script, makes this film an irritating failure. The script doesn't even bother to create a good story that justifies the way Clouseau is called upon to collaborate with British justice after a series of mysterious robberies: the idea that they suspect a traitor among the police forces just doesn't seem enough to justify it, though I believe the French saw with relief the departure of this clumsy investigator for Her Majesty's lands. Of course, thanks to an almost insane dose of luck, the detective will stumble on the truth, as he is the target of a series of attacks, which leads us to think that the thieves can be bipolar: at the same time who seem intent on taking advantage of Clouseau's stupidity and making fun of him, also seem to regard him as a serious threat to their interests and activities. The cast work is regular: despite not winning us over and making us feel like a usurper, Alan Arkin is effective and does a decent job. Unfortunately, he copies a lot of Peter Sellers' formula instead of believing in his own abilities and giving a more personal touch to the character he has been given. Frank Finlay appears little, but what little he does is convincing, and it works. Delia Boccardo is also not bad and gives the film some feminine charm, but she is far from being a sex symbol or a fashion icon like Claudia Cardinale or Capucine. Much less interesting, almost a mistake in itself, is the participation of Beryl Reid. Barry Foster is an obvious villain and proof that a ridiculous, poorly chosen hairstyle can make anyone laughable. In fact, the most serious problem with this film turns out not to be the cast, but the bad script, the poorly written dialogues and the almost idiotic humor, which a disinspired Yorkin must have simply accepted with a careless shrug. There are moments in the film that make us wonder where the screenwriters had left their wits when they wrote the script: this is the case with the entire Scottish Festival sequence and an almost obscene advertisement for the Lindt chocolates. In fact, the film has very few accurate jokes and a lot of stupid humor. The film has a regular cinematography, within what was done at that time, and brings to the film good scenes and easily recognizable London settings. There are few special effects, and what was used seems too cheap to be acceptable. The soundtrack, in turn, comes from the skillful hand of Henry Mancini and completely disappoints us, as does the horrible animated opening credits sequence, without any humor or creativity.