film | French twits

The big mystery in THE PINK PANTHER doesn't involve who killed the french soccer coach and made off with his honkin' diamond ring. No, it's whether the limited screen time of Beyoncé Knowles — billed third on the poster but eighth in the closing credits — was scanty to begin with, or if her vacant acting as a sexy pop diva (a stretch, I know) led to some unexpected overtime in the editing room. Or, hell, maybe she was hastily shoehorned into an already-completed script in order to attract an audience beyond the remaining 27 fans of the now-moldy Pink Panther film franchise Blake Edwards debuted in 1963, and that's why our girl B is only required to look fantastic, politely giggle at the madcap shenanigans around her, perform a musical number, smile, bat her eyelashes, provide a hit soundtrack single for MTV play, and split.

These questions'll be on your mind for the duration of this family-friendly caper from director Shawn Levy (Cheaper by the Dozen) because very little of the bumbling physical comedy of clueless Inspector Jacques Clouseau (Steve Martin, who co-wrote the screenplay, in the quintessential Peter Sellers role) engages beyond a sporadic chuckle. Unless, that is, you're at the age where you eat your own boogers, and then desperate shtick in which Martin breaks wind over the intercom of a sound-proof recording studio or demolishes a posh hotel bathroom in an attempt to retrieve his "miracle pill for the middle-aged man" from a drain pipe will make you lose your shit. Sellers enthusiasts, meanwhile, are probably going to hang their heads in shame. If so, they'll miss a scene-stealing Emily Mortimer (Match Point) as Clouseau's adoring secretary and a terrific sight gag involving an airborne police badge, and, um, that's about it. D+