Son of the Pink Panther (1993)

What makes Son of the Pink Panther worth your time is the sheer, live-wire physical comedy Roberto Benigni brings to the Clouseau legacy—he doesn’t imitate Peter Sellers so much as ricochet through scenes with his own elastic, fearless energy. Blake Edwards stages the mayhem with an old-school slapstick rhythm: pratfalls, near-misses, and escalating chaos set against a sunny Riviera-and-palace backdrop that keeps the whole caper light on its feet even when the story involves kidnappers and intrigue. It’s a breezy, PG crime-comedy that plays like a cartoon brought to life, more interested in comic momentum than airtight plotting. If you want the elegance of the classic entries, this may feel broader and goofier, but if you’re in the mood for a buoyant, body-comedy showcase with a Pink Panther vibe, it’s an easy watch.

Son of the Pink Panther is clearly trying to pass the Clouseau torch to Roberto Benigni and revive that old-school slapstick-meets-crime-caper vibe, with Blake Edwards leaning hard on familiar series beats. The problem is the comedy often feels labored and repetitive, with gags that drag on past their welcome and a plot that lurches forward with awkward continuity rather than clever momentum. If you’re hoping for the crisp timing, inventive set pieces, or effortless charm of the better Pink Panther entries, this one can feel like a cover band playing the hits without the spark. Still, Benigni brings committed physical energy, and seeing Herbert Lom again has a nostalgic pull—just don’t expect the laughs to match the pedigree.