Of all the genres, comedy is the least open to franchising (…well, there is drama). Any genre with a physical threat, like action or horror, can endlessly build on that threat. Meanwhile, comedy is founded upon jokes, a nebulous property, which can only repeat for so long. Ignoring for now the successful way television comedies endlessly serialize, we look to one of the most prolific of comic film series: The Pink Panther.
The series’ constant, its reason for perpetuation, is a single character: Inspector Jacques Clouseau of the French Sûreté. A bumbling, inept imbecile, Clouseau’s clueless form can be dropped into any number of relatively straight stories. So that is the key to this 11-film series: a simple and caricatured figure responding to non-comic stories, police stories. It’s like a comic variation on the James Bond premise, where an unchanging lead melds perfectly with plots-of-the-day.
But Inspector Clouseau – Peter Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau, I must say – was not always the focus of series, for indeed 1963’s original The Pink Panther wasn’t even intended to engender sequels. As conceived of by the late, almost-certainly-great writer/director Blake Edwards, The Pink Panther was to be a sophisticated comedy of manners, something like a funnier version of Alfred Hitchcock’s already breezy To Catch a Thief. And so the main character is not Inspector Clouseau, paragon of law, order, and falling over yourself. The hero is a jewel thief. In contrast to Clouseau, the notorious diamond-robbing Phantom, also known as British playboy Sir Charles Lytton, is effortlessly competent – smooth, debonair, a lady killer, forever self-assured and ready with a perfect bon mot.
So the star of The Pink Panther is actually David Niven, doing a variation of the role he perfected in 1940 with Raffles. A former Best Actor winner (for Around the World in Eighty Days, though), Niven is perfect for this kind of suave role – Hell, this is the man Ian Fleming had pegged to play James Bond! The thing is, though, a man like Sir Charles Lytton cannot be the butt of the joke, not if this film is to be a Blake Edwards comedy – as the film has no intent to undermine Charles’ former confidence. The dramatic focus of The Pink Panther is to see Charles succeed, to play others for fools. So how does one create a comic caper out of such a setup?
Well, Blake Edwards was nothing if not a grand student in the art of comedy, and even a bit of a formalist in this sense. In academic works examining the various comedic plot structures, books I once read (for fun) and now forget, the Competent Comic Hero is set apart from the more familiar Inept Comic Hero – that being the Clouseau role. A comedy built around a CCH can either see that figure succeed or fail – and we’ve opted for success. So the humor – usually a light and gentle form of humor – comes from seeing the CCH triumph where we would fail.
This is an incredibly difficult form of humor to pull off, as most audiences prefer a comedy of superiority where they can laugh at the hero in some form, feel better than him. Edwards no doubt realizes this, just as he realizes solely focusing upon Charles’ competence would make The Pink Panther no more than a Hitchcock pastiche or another Bond movie – that is, not really a comedy. No, while maintaining Charles’ skills, Edwards employs Farce to build up a comic head of intensity/hilarity – this requires many more characters, with a multitude of other desires.
I guess I ought to address the plot at some point. It being a jewel thief movie, there is a jewel – the titular Pink Panther, a classic MacGuffin which exists mostly to justify a nonsensical title. It belongs to Princess Dala, of the fantastically fictional nation of Lugash – all this an intentionally elaborate setup to give The Pink Panther a light, otherworldly flavor, almost like a soufflé. And though Dala is meant to be Indian or Middle Eastern or some such, she resides in Italy and is played by an Italian – Claudia Cardinale, specifically, and allow me a moment to pause and drool loudly…
Grahhhhggggaaaaaaaaaaaah!
You can take your Sophia Lorens, for I think Miss Cardinale the most beautiful woman of 1960s Italy – an era just teeming with beautiful women, which is as good a reason as any to delve into that nation’s cinematic output. For genre hounds, Claudia is all the femininity needed in the wonderful Once Upon a Time In the West, while the pretentious among us may find her as one of many gals in 8 ½. But I’m getting distracted…
So Charles intends to steal Claudia’s – er, Dala’s – Pink Panther, and no, thank you, that’s surely not meant to sound euphemistic or anything. As a master jewel thief, Charles shall do this…by seduction. The sort of seduction which makes Cary Grant look like a leering pervert. Such of class is just ridiculously ostentatious – as is Cortina, Italy, setting for most of the pic, a world of privileged wealth just waiting for a Marx Brother or three (I’m ignoring Zeppo).
These seductions (which are long – everything in The Pink Panther is, say no more) are the “straight” scenes, showcasing Charles at his finest with none of the controlled wackiness we might expect from a Blake Edwards. With sophistication this, er, sophisticated, the comedy doesn’t wholly emerge. Still, the scene works like a charm, and for an explanation as to why may I direct you back to that picture of Claudia above.
But I said this was a farce..No, a Farce! That comes in the form of others with aims on Dala’s diamond. One such fellow is George Lytton (Robert Wagner), Charles’ nephew and himself an urbane master burglar. Charles doesn’t know George is a crook, nor does George suspect Charles (ah, plot convenience!), hence lotsa confusion as each man tries to dodge the other one while making the moves on Dala.
There’s also Charles’ partner-in-crime, Simone. She’s played by Capucine, and any woman with a modeling career and one name ought to be the most attractive in the picture – except we’ve already met Claudia. Mmm, Claudia… … What’s that? Oh, right, but George prefers Simone, whom he tries to seduce – all this unrelated to his desire for the diamond. Simone doesn’t reciprocate, a challenge considering she has to justify being around Charles. Oh, and she also wants the diamond! And with all these various motivations, things rather resemble a drawing room French farce – an example of Edwards the formalist identifying another form of comedy and ushering it into his broader picture.
Shall we try for more complications? Oh sure! Simone is not just Charles’ partner and George’s would-be paramour, she’s also the wife…of Jacques Clouseau! Enter the almighty Clouseau, much later in this write-up than in the film, hot on the trail of the notorious Phantom, while he does not suspect Charles (or anyone else). In fact, Clouseau is such an imbecile, he offers approximately zero threat to Charles. So much for our antagonist! But that’s the Edwardsian joke, as the subsequent lack of suspense combines with a prescribed genre story (jewelry capers) to not distract audiences. As played, Clouseau provides moments of low comedy against Charles’ high comedy, like the gravediggers of “Hamlet” assuming “Hamlet” were funny the whole way through. But it’s more complicated than that.
Initially, twasn’t Peter Sellers cast to play Clouseau, but Renaissance man Peter Ustinov (with Ava Gardner then as Simone). She dropped, then he, enter Sellers.
Now, Sellers… He came to prominence as a comedian on “The Goon Show,” a radio show (of goons) where Sellers parlayed his skill at vocal impersonation to create character comedy – of the sort later to be seen in things such as “Saturday Night Live” and also more pertinent shows I cannot now think of. Sellers entered film with dreams of huge stardom, studying alongside fellow chameleon Alec Guinness in The Ladykillers and such. Then came Lolita, and a partnership with Stanley Kubrick – Sellers’ greatest non-Edwards teamp-up. Sellers learned to improvise, and developed his act more fully for that medium – creating characters so total, it is often said Sellers had no actual personality. Sellers craved fame, specifically to be a proper leading man – like Niven or Wagner. Hell, he even lost weight for his new career, leading to eventually-life-ending heart problems, becoming a man who (with glasses) I cannot distinguish from Woody Allen.
But Sellers’ talents did not lead to suavity. Rather, his natural comedic skills helped make Clouseau a greater clown, defining the role through an intricate French accent and physical mannerisms. Word has it this process occurred while The Pink Panther was filming, pleasing Edwards greatly even while it enraged ostensible star David Niven (who rightly I.D.ed Sellers as a scene stealer – and good for Sellers). Under Sellers’ performance, Clouseau’s buffoonish qualities flourish, suggesting an unhinged comedy the rest of The Pink Panther would rather not be.
So apart from cluelessness, Clouseau is among the most physically clumsy figures you’re ever likely to see sober. He has a knack for upsetting basically every prop he gets his hands on, like a high school stage production or an Ed Wood movie – except here it’s intentional. Clouseau behaves like the one figure not at home in this sophisticated comedy of the upper classes, which oddly serves to point out the strangeness of the hoi polloi scenario. That’s even while Clouseau is in no way a realistic figure, oh no, not when he seems an exaggeration of an exaggeration of an outdated French stereotype – but an artificial character isn’t necessarily a poor character. The Pink Panther is good, but Sellers suggests what more it could be.
Thankfully, unlike so many goddamned comedies, The Pink Panther does not coast solely on its central funny man. Edwards the director noticeably massages the comedy, especially in certain formalist scenes. Remaining for now in the drawing room mode, consider the countless scenes of Clouseau, George and Charles all creeping around their connected hotel suites, each one with different intents upon Simone, completely unaware of each other. (Over half of the movie seems to consist of this predicament.) So very many old screwball comedies employ a similar approach, as do even more stage plays – because it’s a one-setet premise. The sexual double entendres retain a ‘30s flair, even if a champagne bottle “ejaculating” at scene’s end is somewhat more risqué than usual.
Blake Edwards, of course, grew up in Hollywood, his father and grandfather themselves big(ish) figures in the industry. So he was intimately familiar with these old comedic forms, familiar enough to even insert an old Buster Keaton physical routine (from Spite Marriage) amidst his dialogue. What Edwards does to make such common stuff his own is…formalism. (Yeah, yeah, yeah.) For instance, as though making a joke on cinematic censorship, Edwards’ camera often lingers on the empty room, bed off screen even while Clouseau chats up his wife. (Hence the image above, which adds up to several minutes overall.) Conceptually, it’s pretty layered, even if the specific laugh moments aren’t especially dense. Leave other critics (I ain’t no critic!) to ponder Edwards’ deeper sociopolitical messages, or whatever, this is what I most appreciate about his work.
That formalistic approach extends to random moments, such as an extended musical interlude (featuring another anonymous and unknown random super-hot ‘60s chick, wow what a great decade). This is tossed in because Edwards also dabbled in genuine musicals (specific citation not found). Oh, and it’s done in a one-shot, just to show off!
Of that music: Henry Mancini provides an iconic score, with a famous “sneaking” theme. (This in an era of the committed comic soundtrack, where music for films like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World strive to make the humor more funny, not just serve as the straight man.) The song Mancini employs to (welcomely) stop the film dead in its tracks is “Meglio Stasera” (it’s sung in Italian). The “random super-hot ‘60s chick” is in fact Fran Jeffries, a singer and model and Playboy centerfold and – See, one of the beautiful people! And back when that meant something!
As the story goes on, the apparent Sellers influence (on set) grows more pronounced, the movie dropping its pretence towards Hitchcockian sophistication and approaching Laurel and Hardy-style zaniness. Thus fulfills its destiny as a ‘60s callback to the ‘20s, something that’d occupy much of Edwards’ career (see The Great Race). So at long last Charles is found out as the Phantom, but not because of any actions on Clouseau’s part. Oh Lordie no! Edwards is too disciplined to let his clown influence the plot like that. Instead the connection is made by Tucker, a police assistant provided every time the story demands competence on the part of the law. At any rate, Charles flees from Cortina, which we leave behind for a great comic climax…
A masquerade ball!
For whatever Clouseauian reason, Clouseau deduces that Charles shall use the cover of this event (held at Dala’s estate) to steal the Pink Panther. And Edwards shall use the cover of this event to stage any number of random gags, cheap puns, awkward visuals, whatever. Such as when Clouseau fondles Cleopatra, she informs “Take your filthy hands off my asp.” After so much effort spent setting up complex wealthy characters, it’s actually heartwarming to see this degree of scattershot jokery. Some may critique it as lazy, but these moments are cleverer, more spontaneous…more Sellers.
Besides, costumes allow for new confusions, such as two guys in gorilla suits. It remains studiously comedic (rules of classical Farce apply), but the outfits lend that special degree of absurdity which Edwards can claim as his own.
Take also, then, how each gorilla separately tries getting into Dala’s safe (oh, it’s Charles and George, by the way). The gag is no different from the old mirror routine seen in Duck Soup and its brethren, but the whole gorilla thing is a new layer of silliness. This is the same sort of abstract, academic “comedy” as the endless shot of the bed. Eh, that or it’s a cheap joke.
But if we accept that Edwards is a student of silent cinema, then the actual climax must be a doozy. That’ll be a zany car chase, the intricate choreography of the bedroom comings and goings now transposed to vehicles in the middle of Rome. And everyone is in wacky clothes! And the loony, loony soundtrack! Hell, so many damn bits of nuttiness are piling up, it’d take a deft hand to keep this from simply reading as chaotic.
It’d take a Blake Edwards.
For again Edwards identifies his formalistic focus and centers his scene around a drunken local trying to cross the street. The entire chase is seen from his point of view, his slowness offsetting the chase’s speed. So a car climax like something out of The Bank Dick or The Lavender Hill Mob instead becomes something out of Godard (as per my misreading of that other auteur), and is all the funnier for it. Even the inevitable pileup happens off screen!
The Pink Panther is near an end, one which betrays its disinclination to be a franchise. Had a series been planned out, in particular with its devotion to Inspector Clouseau, surely Edwards would not have the final punchline be Clouseau’s incarceration in Charles’ stead. It’s all a joke on the usual protagonist/antagonist routine, where structurally Clouseau is the villain even while he is the most hapless, luckless fool possible. Thus, kicking the buffoon while he’s down is counter to what we’d expect, a studiously pessimistic ending and gleefully amoral. At least Clouseau, now sans wife and job and honor, at least has the respect of being Europe’s greatest cat – er, panther – burglar.
No, even while Sellers was busy making Clouseau into something far greater than written, there was no sense that he’d become the breakout star. The reason for Clouseau’s eventual fame is the unique combination of talent in Sellers and Edwards. Both were funny men, with an intellectual devotion to comedy. Together, their distinct viewpoints meshed, yielding efficiently-spun comedic gold. That was the reasoning in 1963, back when their professional relationship was still mostly…professional.
One further star emerged from The Pink Panther: the Pink Panther. No, not the diamond, nor Clouseau (it’s ridiculous how often people mistake his character for the series’ title). No, this Pink Panther is indeed a pink panther, an off-red animated feline featured in Friz Freleng’s credits sequence. Unlike the lightning strike of Sellers, this continuation was premeditated. The Panther was pegged to star in a series of spin-off animated shorts, starting in ’64 with The Pink Phink…Then it gets complicated, with television shows, specials, and assorted other characters. This Panther’s adventures are a wholly different beast from the Edwards/Sellers series, with nothing like a feature-length theatrical flick to gum up the works. Let’s just say The Pink Panther was taking the first steps of greater franchising: spin offs. And if the film’s credits could engender such success, imagine what Clouseau could do!
Related posts:
• No. 2 A Shot in the Dark (1964)
• No. 3 Inspector Clouseau (1968)
• No. 4 The Return of the Pink Panther (1975)
• No. 5 The Pink Panther Strikes Again (1976)
• No. 6 Revenge of the Pink Panther (1978)
• No. 7 Trail of the Pink Panther (1982)
• No. 8 Curse of the Pink Panther (1983)
• No. 9 Son of the Pink Panther (1993)
• No. 10 The Pink Panther (2006)
• No. 11 The Pink Panther (2009)
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