I am convinced more than ever that Steve Martin is on a mad quest to kill his own career after viewing The Pink Panther. Not only does Martin's name headline this appallingly laughless attempt at a farce, but he's also credited as a co-writer. Writing a film like this for yourself is akin to slitting your own wrists. Director Shawn Levy (Cheaper by the Dozen, Just Married) obviously has no clue to stage a slapstick sequence, as literally every gag from frame one falls flat on its face, coughs, wheezes, and lies there dying as it chokes on its own blood. There's no other way to say it, this Panther is a disaster.

The film is not a remake of the original film, rather it is a prequel of sorts that is supposed to tell how the bungling Clouseau (Steve Martin) became an Inspector in the first place. A famous, yet openly hated by many, soccer coach (Jason Statham) is murdered during the victory celebration at a big playoff game, and his famed Pink Panther ruby ring is mysteriously stolen in the process. The hot-tempered and scheming Chief Inspector Dreyfus (Kevin Kline) intentionally plans to put the most incompetent officer on the case, so that he himself can take over the case when the bungling officer inevitably fouls up, solve it, and win a prestigious award and fame. Clouseau happily takes the promotion to Inspector and the case, unaware of Dreyfus' plans to make him a fool in front of the whole world. Of course, Clouseau is already a fool, causing chaos and mayhem literally wherever he goes, often without realizing that he is the cause of it. Teamed up with a French detective who is secretly monitoring and reporting Clouseau's actions to Dreyfus (Jean Reno), the clueless Inspector begins his search for the truth and the long list of suspects, which includes pretty much everyone on the soccer team (since they all hated him), and the coach's American pop superstar girlfriend, Xania (Beyonce Knowles).

Intended to be released last August and forced to sit on the shelf for six months after a series of disastrous test screenings, The Pink Panther is every bit the clunker that most fans of Blake Edwards' franchise pegged it to be from the beginning. I myself cannot claim to have much knowledge of the film series, as I have not seen many of the films. But, I can say with complete certainty that even if you walk in with no pre-conceived opinion on the original films, you will be able to see this film for what it really is - a great big insult to a classic series. There is not a single bright spot in the film's entire dreary 90 minute running time. It is simply a series of unfunny and misdirected gags that you can predict coming from a mile away, and are even less funny than you think they're going to be. That's because Shawn Levy does not know how to film slapstick sequences. The scenes are slow and poorly paced instead of fast and frantic like they should be. Most of the jokes fail because they are just plain not funny in the slightest, but some fail because they simply don't make any sense. In one scene, Clouseau is using the Internet, and clicks on a button on the screen. This causes his computer to literally explode, and then all the lights in Paris go out. There is no set up, that's the entire scene in itself. Ho ho.

When the film is not making us groan at its tired pratfalls, it makes us groan even more with jokes that grew old a long time ago. Do people still find Viagra jokes funny? And a running gag where Clouseau keeps on being caught in seemingly sexual positions with his secretary (Emily Mortimer from the far superior Match Point) falls flat each and every time, but that doesn't stop the movie from using it 3 or 4 times, hoping it will be funnier each time it tries it. And then there is a painfully embarrassing scene where Clouseau and his partner must pretend to be Xania's back up dancers for a concert she is giving, and to throw suspicion off of themselves, they are forced to do a sensual dance with each other where they grab each other's crotches and slap their butts. If I am ever forced to watch Steve Martin and Jean Reno in skin-tight outfits grabbing at each other again, I will personally tear my eyes from their sockets. And that's a guarantee.

Although Steve Martin is obviously enjoying himself in his role and seems to think he's a screaming riot, watching his performance is kind of like watching a stand up comedy act die right there on the stage, and the comedian somehow deludes himself into thinking he's bringing the house down. His antics did not crack a single smile with me, and I downright hated him before the film had hit the half hour mark. He is not a likeable fool, he is simply annoying. Martin and the film bring many other talented actors down with them like a sinking ship. Jean Reno is supposed to act embarrassed by Clouseau's screw ups, but sometimes I couldn't tell if he was acting or not. And Kevin Kline, who is actually a very gifted comic actor, is positively horrid as the scheming Chief Inspector who just can't get rid of Clouseau no matter how he tries to shame him. He seems to slip in and out of his fake accent at various times, and his performance is more pathetic than comedic. It's like he knew what he was stuck in, and just didn't even bother to try. And fans of Beyonce Knowles will have to simply wait for Dreamgirls to come around this December, as her role here is nothing more than a glorified 10 minute cameo used mostly to promote the film's soundtrack.

It takes a real kind of talent to make a comedy as clueless as The Pink Panther. Not even the film's opening credit animation sequence generates any laughs, and those have always been the best part of the earlier films, even the more forgettable ones. This is a charmless, humorless, pointless, and excruciatingly painful comedy that should have never seen the light of day. To say that this film has at the moment shot to the top of my Worst Films of 2006 list is an understatement. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go tear out the chunk of my brain that forces me to remember Steve Martin and Jean Reno doing a sensual dance with each other.

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