Alright, fellow tapeheads, slide that slightly worn cassette into the VCR, maybe give the tracking a little nudge, and settle in. Tonight on VHS Heaven, we're revisiting a title that likely caught your eye on the rental store shelf back in '93, sparking either curiosity or a healthy dose of skepticism: Blake Edwards' final directorial effort, Son of the Pink Panther. Hearing that iconic Henry Mancini theme kick in always felt like coming home, didn't it? But this time, the home felt… rearranged. Could the magic possibly endure without the incomparable Peter Sellers? That was the million-dollar question hanging over this release.
A Familiar Tune, A Different Dancer
The premise itself feels classic Edwards: Princess Yasmin of Lugash (Claudia Cardinale, gracefully returning from the 1963 original!) is kidnapped, and the bumbling local gendarme assigned to the case, Jacques Gambrelli, turns out to be the unknown, illegitimate son of the legendary Inspector Clouseau. Naturally, this brings him into the orbit of the perpetually twitching Chief Inspector Dreyfus (Herbert Lom, leaning into the familiar exasperation for one last, glorious time). The plot unfolds with the expected blend of international intrigue and opportunities for catastrophic slapstick, taking us from the French Riviera to the ancient city of Petra in Jordan – some gorgeous location work that really pops, even on a slightly fuzzy tube TV.
Pulling Gambrelli from relative obscurity is Italian comic force Roberto Benigni. Now, let's be honest, stepping into Peter Sellers' massive comedic shoes was less a challenge and more like trying to wear the Eiffel Tower as a hat. Benigni, who Blake Edwards genuinely hoped could carry the franchise forward, throws absolutely everything he has into the role. His energy is undeniable, a whirling dervish of flailing limbs and mangled pronunciations. It's pure, rubber-faced physical comedy, a style Edwards clearly loved. But does it feel like Clouseau? Not quite. Benigni is playing Benigni, dialed up to eleven, and while some of the gags land with manic charm, others feel like watching someone try very hard to be spontaneously clumsy. It lacks the sublime, almost accidental grace that Sellers mastered.
Edwards' Swan Song and Practical Pratfalls
Seeing Blake Edwards' name on this feels poignant. This was it, the final film from the man who gave us not just the Panther classics but also Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) and 10 (1979). His signature style is certainly present: intricately staged sequences designed for maximum physical chaos. Remember those scenes where one small mishap triggers an avalanche of disaster? That’s pure Edwards. And in 1993, this was still largely achieved the old-fashioned way. When Gambrelli sets a hospital room ablaze or causes havoc during a stakeout, you're seeing meticulously planned practical effects and stunt work. There's a certain raw tangibility to it – real props breaking, real performers taking bumps – that feels worlds away from today's smoother, often less risky CGI-aided slapstick. The sheer effort involved in these gags is something you can appreciate, even if the laughs aren't always as explosive as intended.
Adding to the sense of an era ending, this film also features the final score composed by the legendary Henry Mancini before his passing in 1994. That iconic theme, alongside his playful, jazz-inflected cues, provides a crucial link to the series' golden age, often lending a touch of class even when the on-screen antics falter. It’s bittersweet, hearing his unmistakable sound grace the screen one last time.
The Phantom Pain of Box Office
Let's not sugarcoat it: Son of the Pink Panther didn't exactly set the world on fire upon release. Critics were largely unkind, lamenting the absence of Sellers and finding the humor dated. Audiences didn't show up either; the film was a significant box office failure, reportedly grossing a mere $2.4 million against a fairly hefty (for the time) $25 million budget. Ouch. The planned relaunch of the franchise with Gambrelli at the helm evaporated instantly. I distinctly remember renting this one weekend, probably as a double feature with something equally questionable, filled more with Panther-brand loyalty than genuine expectation. It felt like an echo, a rerun with a different, albeit energetic, lead.
The presence of Herbert Lom is a huge plus, though. Watching Dreyfus’s eye twitch and his sanity fray yet again at the hands of another Clouseau descendant provides some of the film's most genuinely funny moments. And seeing Claudia Cardinale back, linking directly to the very first film, adds a touch of nostalgic warmth. These veteran connections almost make you want it to succeed more than it actually does. Shout out also to familiar faces like Burt Kwouk returning briefly as Cato, though sadly underutilized here.
Final Reel
Son of the Pink Panther is undeniably a flawed film, a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to keep a beloved cinematic institution alive after losing its soul. Benigni gives it his all, and Edwards directs with his familiar flair for physical comedy, but the shadow of Peter Sellers looms too large. It lacks the inspired brilliance and razor-sharp timing of the best entries in the series.
Yet, for fans of Edwards, Mancini, or completists of the Pink Panther saga, there's a certain melancholic charm here. It's a fascinating curio, a glimpse into what might have been, and a final bow from two cinematic giants. You can appreciate the effort, the practical gags, and the sheer audacity of trying to catch lightning in a bottle twice.
VHS Heaven Rating: 4/10
(Justification: While technically competent with some nice location work and featuring the final efforts of Edwards and Mancini, the comedy largely falls flat, Benigni can't escape Sellers' shadow, and the film fails to recapture the magic. Points awarded for the nostalgic presence of Lom and Cardinale, and the commitment to practical slapstick, but it’s ultimately a footnote rather than a highlight.)
Final Thought: It tried to inherit the trench coat, but mostly just tripped over the hem – a sometimes frantic, rarely funny, but undeniably physical echo from the twilight of practical slapstick's mainstream reign. Worth a nostalgic spin? Maybe, if your expectations are appropriately adjusted and you have a soft spot for cinematic 'what ifs'.