Post by Eddie Love on Oct 23, 2011 10:03:26 GMT -5
When Peter Sellers stepped in near the last minute for Peter Ustinov to create the secondary character of Inspector Clouseau in Blake Edwards’s 1963 film THE PINK PANTHER, an iconic comedic hero resulted, one that found favor with crowds around the world. The star and director would revisit the bumbling Frenchman the following year and both careers were revived when they collaborated again on more Pink Panther capers in the mid-70s. But there were other attempts to capitalize on the popularity of their creation. One was a respectable pretender and another a disastrous usurper.
Released in 1964 THE ALPAHBET MURDERS was meant to kick-off a new franchise with another eccentric, accented sleuth – Agatha Christie’s most beloved creation: Hercule Poirot. The character had been played before on screen, I think, one or two times in early British talkies, but had not appeared again, due largely to the fact the titled author was notoriously picky about screen adaptations.
However, with the success of a series, of diminishing quality, based on her Miss Marple character and starring Margaret Rutherford, the thought was to begin a series with her even better known protagonist. Initially, Zero Mostel was to star as the brilliant and finicky Belgian sleuth. Ultimately, however, the role ended up going to another American, Tony Randall, and the resulting film, a comedic take on the detective, wasn’t a commercial hit and was hated by the character’s creator. Alas, the ensuing franchise never got off the ground.
The mystery, based on one of Christie’s best known and plotted books, concerns a serial killer stalking London with victims whose alliterative names coincide with the alphabet. A mysterious woman with the initials A.B.C. seems to be implicated in all these crimes and Poirot must track this suspect while determining if the crimes are really, in fact, as random as they seem.
Randall is quite good in this for the most part. He showcases his facility with the fussy, yet athletic, heterosexual comic lead that would make him legendary on TV some years later. His bits with the accent are pretty good as well, and he projects the detective’s intelligence while also getting mileage out of his many comic quirks. There’s a solid British cast in support, but Robert Morley is perhaps too over-sized a personality to be relegated merely to the sidekick role he takes on here. The “ABC” suspect is played by 60s knockout Anita Eckberg but, given the staid English setting, there's little va-va-voom.
This picture has a kind of arch, perverse tone that reminded me a bit of The Avengers, particularly something in the final Tara King season. It was helmed by Frank Tashlin, and he displays a lot of his patented visual jokes, most of which are pretty witty if never always laugh-out-loud funny.
But while the Marple films (Rutherford cameos by the way) were shot in English village settings in a crisp black and white that lend mystery and atmosphere, things here are set in London and the proceedings feel very gray. Was this the only Tashlin film not in color? His sensibility may be off-kilter as a result, though he does have some arresting moments, including a scene with Poirot at a bowling alley (he’s an ace) and another at a giant indoor swimming pool. The rest of the picture though is kind of bleak looking for a comedy.
Additionally, the underlying mystery is so fluffy the film feels lightweight. The Rutherford pictures were also comic, but they play the crimes seriously enough that we’re invested somewhat, here though, not at all. Also, how and why Poirot gets involved in the case is very muddy, and the nature of the “ABC” suspect’s motive has been revised from the book and as a result doesn’t make much sense at all.
Poirot wouldn’t become popular on screen until the arrival of big-budgeted, all-star cast period takes starring Albert Finney and later Peter Ustinov in the 70s. Arguably, the character would find his definitive embodiment with David Suchet on TV years later. Still, I have a soft spot for this odd, lost little picture. It’s flawed and doesn’t really work, but is a curious misfire that at least attempts something unique -- an absurdist, comic mystery.
While Sellers and Edwards were getting on each other’s nerves filming THE PARTY in 1968, the Clouseau character’s rights were still in play and he was brought back in a third film neither participated in called INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU, with Alan Arkin in the lead for his one and only outing.
And, Jesus Christ, does this movie suck.
The plot concerns Clouseau being brought in to aid Scotland Yard in tracking down the culprits of a massive train robbery as authorities fear the loot will be used to stake even greater criminal enterprises. Boredom ensues. (Why on Earth anyone would think Clouseau would be of any use to this or any investigation, is not plausibly explained.)
While the Sellers’s version of this character may be incompetent and pretentious, Arkin’s take is almost a complete asshole. His Clouseau is decidedly lecherous and generally boisterously mean-spirited. In the Sellers’s films the character is a bumbler, but one we’re always confident is at least trying to do the right thing. In this film Arkin projects an arrogant, anxious hostility that may not be uninteresting -- there are moments were it almost works -- but is totally unsuited to a farcical caper where we have to root for the comic hero even a little.
And all the comic bits fall flat – hard. Edwards and Sellers may not have been kings of subtlety, they at least knew how to set up the bits. The audience would have some frame of reference as to what was about to go wrong for our clumsy gendarme. In this film Clouseau just barrels from one set piece to the next with no build up or context. For instance, there’s a big scene where he goes to some giant indoor Scottish festival and before we can take a breath he’s suddenly in the midst of the action, hurling those huge logs around. There’s no set-up, no pay-off, just one chaotic gag after another. It’s exhausting to watch and impossible to sit through without liberal breaks. And I love Alan Arkin! (Even if he is sitting at home with Eddie Murphy’s Oscar.) But this is not his best work and watching this it seems clear that he knows it.
The one thing this picture has going for it, besides some good British actors (Frank Finley, Barry Foster) and its generally colorful production, is that they certainly didn’t skimp on the gorgeous starlets. There are more than a couple comely co-stars to provide mild distraction from the unrelieved agony of watching the rest of this, particularly the heart-stopping Delia Boccarado who is photographed to perfection.
Part of the reason the Sellers Panther movies work (sometimes – they can be tedious at times as well) is that at some level the audience knows…well…that you’re watching a Sellers Panther picture. We know the program. You buy into the hit-or-miss nature of the gags because we know another will be coming along shortly. If you remove that level of expectation and have a naturalistic actor take on the role, that self-conscious layer falls away and we look on appalled. At least I do.
Released in 1964 THE ALPAHBET MURDERS was meant to kick-off a new franchise with another eccentric, accented sleuth – Agatha Christie’s most beloved creation: Hercule Poirot. The character had been played before on screen, I think, one or two times in early British talkies, but had not appeared again, due largely to the fact the titled author was notoriously picky about screen adaptations.
However, with the success of a series, of diminishing quality, based on her Miss Marple character and starring Margaret Rutherford, the thought was to begin a series with her even better known protagonist. Initially, Zero Mostel was to star as the brilliant and finicky Belgian sleuth. Ultimately, however, the role ended up going to another American, Tony Randall, and the resulting film, a comedic take on the detective, wasn’t a commercial hit and was hated by the character’s creator. Alas, the ensuing franchise never got off the ground.
The mystery, based on one of Christie’s best known and plotted books, concerns a serial killer stalking London with victims whose alliterative names coincide with the alphabet. A mysterious woman with the initials A.B.C. seems to be implicated in all these crimes and Poirot must track this suspect while determining if the crimes are really, in fact, as random as they seem.
Randall is quite good in this for the most part. He showcases his facility with the fussy, yet athletic, heterosexual comic lead that would make him legendary on TV some years later. His bits with the accent are pretty good as well, and he projects the detective’s intelligence while also getting mileage out of his many comic quirks. There’s a solid British cast in support, but Robert Morley is perhaps too over-sized a personality to be relegated merely to the sidekick role he takes on here. The “ABC” suspect is played by 60s knockout Anita Eckberg but, given the staid English setting, there's little va-va-voom.
This picture has a kind of arch, perverse tone that reminded me a bit of The Avengers, particularly something in the final Tara King season. It was helmed by Frank Tashlin, and he displays a lot of his patented visual jokes, most of which are pretty witty if never always laugh-out-loud funny.
But while the Marple films (Rutherford cameos by the way) were shot in English village settings in a crisp black and white that lend mystery and atmosphere, things here are set in London and the proceedings feel very gray. Was this the only Tashlin film not in color? His sensibility may be off-kilter as a result, though he does have some arresting moments, including a scene with Poirot at a bowling alley (he’s an ace) and another at a giant indoor swimming pool. The rest of the picture though is kind of bleak looking for a comedy.
Additionally, the underlying mystery is so fluffy the film feels lightweight. The Rutherford pictures were also comic, but they play the crimes seriously enough that we’re invested somewhat, here though, not at all. Also, how and why Poirot gets involved in the case is very muddy, and the nature of the “ABC” suspect’s motive has been revised from the book and as a result doesn’t make much sense at all.
Poirot wouldn’t become popular on screen until the arrival of big-budgeted, all-star cast period takes starring Albert Finney and later Peter Ustinov in the 70s. Arguably, the character would find his definitive embodiment with David Suchet on TV years later. Still, I have a soft spot for this odd, lost little picture. It’s flawed and doesn’t really work, but is a curious misfire that at least attempts something unique -- an absurdist, comic mystery.
While Sellers and Edwards were getting on each other’s nerves filming THE PARTY in 1968, the Clouseau character’s rights were still in play and he was brought back in a third film neither participated in called INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU, with Alan Arkin in the lead for his one and only outing.
And, Jesus Christ, does this movie suck.
The plot concerns Clouseau being brought in to aid Scotland Yard in tracking down the culprits of a massive train robbery as authorities fear the loot will be used to stake even greater criminal enterprises. Boredom ensues. (Why on Earth anyone would think Clouseau would be of any use to this or any investigation, is not plausibly explained.)
While the Sellers’s version of this character may be incompetent and pretentious, Arkin’s take is almost a complete asshole. His Clouseau is decidedly lecherous and generally boisterously mean-spirited. In the Sellers’s films the character is a bumbler, but one we’re always confident is at least trying to do the right thing. In this film Arkin projects an arrogant, anxious hostility that may not be uninteresting -- there are moments were it almost works -- but is totally unsuited to a farcical caper where we have to root for the comic hero even a little.
And all the comic bits fall flat – hard. Edwards and Sellers may not have been kings of subtlety, they at least knew how to set up the bits. The audience would have some frame of reference as to what was about to go wrong for our clumsy gendarme. In this film Clouseau just barrels from one set piece to the next with no build up or context. For instance, there’s a big scene where he goes to some giant indoor Scottish festival and before we can take a breath he’s suddenly in the midst of the action, hurling those huge logs around. There’s no set-up, no pay-off, just one chaotic gag after another. It’s exhausting to watch and impossible to sit through without liberal breaks. And I love Alan Arkin! (Even if he is sitting at home with Eddie Murphy’s Oscar.) But this is not his best work and watching this it seems clear that he knows it.
The one thing this picture has going for it, besides some good British actors (Frank Finley, Barry Foster) and its generally colorful production, is that they certainly didn’t skimp on the gorgeous starlets. There are more than a couple comely co-stars to provide mild distraction from the unrelieved agony of watching the rest of this, particularly the heart-stopping Delia Boccarado who is photographed to perfection.
Part of the reason the Sellers Panther movies work (sometimes – they can be tedious at times as well) is that at some level the audience knows…well…that you’re watching a Sellers Panther picture. We know the program. You buy into the hit-or-miss nature of the gags because we know another will be coming along shortly. If you remove that level of expectation and have a naturalistic actor take on the role, that self-conscious layer falls away and we look on appalled. At least I do.
