Showing posts with label purposeless retrospective. Show all posts
Showing posts with label purposeless retrospective. Show all posts

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Hercules, No. 19 - Hercules, the Avenger (1965)


Though this post is primarily a consideration of Hercules the Avenger (1965), let it stand as an epitaph for the entire defunct Italian sword-and-sandals craze.

What leads to the death of a franchise (or a genre)? One may usually cite related notions like audience disinterest and reduced profitability. For Italian pepla, these movies (be they Herculeses, Macistes, Ursi or mere Atlases) were so ridiculously cheap, profitability was mostly guaranteed, no matter how niche they became. In response, the marketplace was submerged in bargain basement bodybuilder bonanzas boasting an intense misinterpretation of ancient times, a “mythological” without the “logical.” Such rancid feces are rarely watchable as simple movies. Hence comes audience apathy, as the moronic mania neared a wretched decade in length.

What is lost in this arrangement is another fatal symptom of series mortality: filmmaker disinterest. Oh, producers still desired more Herculeseseseseseses, from now until Ragnarok. They could only see lira signs cartoonishly in their own eyeballs, nothing more. Directors, actors, even lowly technicians, they’d shirk Herc, and by 1965 were off in the Spanish desert creating rip-offs of A Fistful of Dollars in favor of rip-offs of Hercules Unchained.


But for someone like Maurizio Lucidi, a Hercules movie could still be made, in total defiance of Zeus, Yahweh, even dreaded Xenu! For all you need is a back catalogue of the scant good Herculi, an editing booth, and the dubbing capacity to alter things as you see fit. Thus Hercules the Avenger, the dead final film in the cycle, is hastily cut-and-pasted from preexisting efforts, accomplishing top spectacle for minimal effort. And since dubbing is a phenomenally common factor in Italian movies, this makes the task that much simpler.

It seems someone was preemptively listening to my claims that the best of the series were always Hercules and the Captive Women and Hercules in the Haunted World. These came of the genre’s glory years, and of capable directors (Mario Bava for the latter). Even more usefully, Reg Park starred in each. So with a quick rejiggering of formula elements, the standout scenes of Park’s two efforts can be reshuffled into a new narrative, edited slightly for pace and whatnot (Lucidi is primarily an editor), and you’ve spuriously created the final Hercules!

Hercules the Avenger is a remarkably painless viewing experience, surely in light of the emaciated wastrels the later pepla had become. It helps that the original movies are decent – you won’t find me complaining about rewatching a Mario Bava movie. And the seams aren’t hugely obvious, a credit to the dubbing approach. Compare this to Trail of the Pink Panther, a similar(ish) cannibalism of former footage, but it a stagnated story with huge discrepancies in tone, quality, etc. And Avenger further solidifies my theory that the best pepla have been preserved more scrupulously than their lesser castoffs. There is actual color in this movie…though to compare it with images from the original movies, one still sees a certain degradation.



Actually, so non-misguided is Lucidi’s lucid effort, he was even granted the capacity to film assorted new scenes, amounting to at most 10% of the final product, to add the needed connective tissue (and tiresome tyrant subplot). And with so little time needed to be filled, Lucidi was able to accomplish a lush look comparable to the pilfered footage. They even got Reg Park back! All told, for a project as ignominious as “outright plagiary of something I’ve already scene,” Avenger is easily in the top 90th percentile of its genre.

Avenger’s story is spurned on by scenes of political intrigue, which seems to be new footage, if memory serves. Not that any one throne room scene is distinguishable from any other. King Eteocles (Franco Ressel) of the Kingdom TBD offers to wed Syracuse’s Queen Leda (Gia Sandri), to join their two realms. Okay, this always happens, and so does what follows. The wicked Eteocles learns, via a plot-enabling prophecy, that Hercules shall one day stop him. So Eteocles sets about scheming against Hercules, never realizing it’s just this behavior which’ll cause his defeat. As Eteocles puts it, “I know who the enemies of my kingdom are. They are my enemies.” Oh well thank you then!

Meanwhile, Hercules has worries all his own, as his new dubbing fills us in. He’s just slain the Hydra, something I think about three different Hercules films cover. This time, it’s earned him the undying wrath of, oh, let’s say, Gaea. Basically, it’s like those assorted Ulysses-invoking pepla which hypothesize a Poseidon vengeance in regards to the Cyclops’ de-eyeballing. Gaea’s de-Herculizing of the world involves bestowing a bizarre illness upon his son Xantos (Luigi Barbini). Hercules sets off on some vague voyage to “save his soul,” though it takes Avenger a good long while for this entire though process to become clear. Which is just in keeping with the other pepla, for a clarity of storytelling is priority # 196 for every single Italian genre artist. Besides, the audience needs something to confuse ‘em every once in a while.

Hercules’ trek starts out like the introductory sea voyage out of Hercules and the Captive Women. Actually, footage of Hercules randomly traveling on a ship (as he does in both instances) is so easy to plop into new contexts, there’s not even very much new dubbing. So the same sequence follows with nary an alteration: mutiny, marooning, Hercules singlehandedly tugging the ship back via chain, Hercules along escaping on the ship.



The entirety of Hercules’ subsequent adventure has nothing to do with Eteocles and his political intrigue. The only reason that stuff exists, as with most of Lucidi’s new footage, is to get this up to a proper, non-Hercules and the Princess of Troy running time, and to give Hercules a climax.

Sticking with the interesting thing (old footage), Hercules’ ship is wrecked in a storm. He slowly drifts from the start of Captive Women into the middle of Haunted World, and it really simplifies identification since all this even follows the order of the original films. But look what a little trimming of dialogue allows! In Captive Women, the Herc battles a shakeshifting elemental, who takes (among other shapes) the form of a large, rubbery iguana-man. Without citing the elemental, Avenger simply plops Hercules down in some inexplicable underwater yet completely dry grotto, to fight a real giant rubber lizard.


Meanwhile, Eteocles sets about his unrelated scheme against Hercules, which can move ahead even without Hercules’ presence. For, in something a little more clever than the standard “Go murder the unmurderable demigod,” Eteocles has decided to damage Hercules’ reputation (he’s gonna release a series of uninvolving exploitation movies?!). No, Eteocles has wrangled up a Herc lookalike, a Hercalike, and charged him with a sequence of (newly filmed) chaotic murders that rival the Joker’s. Never mind Eteocles, like most peplum tyrants, betrays his own villainous intentions by chumming around with a serial-killing muscleman.

Now, it seems many long-running series eventually succumb to the lookalike plot. It’s only surprising Hercules managed to avoid this until the very end. But oddly enough, it’s not a briefly returning Reg Park who plays the Herceauxles, Anteas. Nope, that’d be Giovanni Cianfriglia (a peplum bodybuilder so undistinguished, we haven’t even encountered him in this cycle). It’s telling that you can cast two entirely random bodybuilders as each other’s doppelgangers. I doubt Avenger does this to make a subtle satirical point, as it’s too concerned with telling a rousing yarn to make such meta statements. Still, for whatever reason Lucidi had to use a non-Park to seem Park-like, and it never seems exceptionally foolish.

That’s the new stuff, which necessitates new interpretation. Back on the Hercu-front, Hercules is well and surely in the Haunted World’s haunted world, though this time it’s not Hades, but simply some generic Land of Vague Damnation (Or Some Such). With no evident alterations, Hercules once again assists the Hesperides in obtaining their Golden Plot Apple. He then proceeds to cross a familiar pit of fire, and skips ahead to Haunted World’s climax for his wonderfully Evil Dead II-esque zombie fracas.



In considering screen shots back to back, it’s clear a lot of Mario Bava’s beautiful, hellish surrealism has somehow been lost, though the imagery remains. The crispness is gone, as are the rather immaculate widescreen compositions (which barely register at their present scale). It’s a testament to Bava’s art that even in this bastardized state, a repurposed Haunted World sequence remains the crown jewel in the genre.

Hercules frees Xantos’ bound soul, which is represented by the guy from Haunted World who played Theseus (awkward! – especially since there’s a totally different Theseus in this one). Thus ends the Haunted World segment of Avenger, and with it the movie has peaked.

Emerging from Quasi-Hell, Hercules learns of the ridiculous Anteas plot some good 2/3rds in. He also finds himself back in Captive Women for the majority of the ensuing action sequences, as Lucidi has the good grace to not trust himself with competent physical choreography. And now, as if we're in a completely different movie (which we are), Syracuse is well under the iron bicep of Anteas. And with Anteas’ body count somehow besting Jason Voorhees’, Hercules goes to the Valley of Agony (formerly the Valley of Unsuitable Leprous Would-Be Sacrifices) to amass an army of extras.



As in Captive Women, Hercules decides (here for less justifiable reasons) to trigger a volcanic eruption, because somehow Syracuse’s salvation lies only in Syracuse’s (nee Atlantis’) violent, cataclysmic destruction. What is it with Herc and wanton mass murder? (He does up Anteas’ kill count in a single swoop, for what it’s worth.)

Thus the prophecy is mostly fulfilled, with a little impenetrable detour so that Xantos can question his father’s sanity – see the general Italian issue with “B follows A” storytelling. At last, in new footage making up the climax, Hercules and Anteas face off in Peplum Cave. It’s a surprisingly legible wrestling match between two greasy dudes, something most pepla cannot manage. Here’s perhaps why Lucidi cast a new actor as Anteas, as he wouldn’t want the challenge of having Reg Park fight himself.


And this is how the Hercules franchise ends, on a much higher note than it has any right to, honestly. Though the whole series’ existence is a similar fluke, owing to a coincidence of timing, plagiarism, and good U.S. distribution. It’s pretty amazing that a cobbled reediting of preexisting movies could be among the better of this franchise’s efforts, due to the quality of those original films, the competence of the editing, or the general crappiness of everything else.

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Over on the Maciste front, that semi-Herculean franchise itself produced one more film after Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus, which by all means should’ve been the end of these franchises. And ever the follower where Hercules was the trail blazer, Maciste mangles out its final token entry, 1965’s Maciste, Avenger of the Mayans, using Lucidi’s Hercules approach. Namely, this is another cobbled-together act of filmic photocopying.

But like all Macistean efforts, it habitually sucks worse than Hercules – this I am unfairly assuming, having not seen the MACISTE Avenger. For the two films cruelly press-ganged into franchise eulogy service are Maciste vs. the Headhunters and Maciste vs. the Monsters. Now, I haven’t seen the latter (unavailable), but I maintain that the former is among the worst of its kind. Not to mention, while Lucidi had the common sense to reuse two Herculi with the SAME actor, these Macistes seem chosen at random, starring, respectively, Kirk Morris and Reg Lewis. Forget howall these actor/strongmen are one and the same; there is no way switching actors around like Heath Ledger in The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (only without that Gilliam-esque artisty) could work.

And there’s no English version of this thing either.

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Such covers, to my inestimable gratitude, the conclusion of the ‘60s peplum trend, with its glut of needless crossovers (which necessitated this interminable blog exercise in the first place). This is now the epilogue. Cinematic subgenres come and go in cycles; sword-and-sandals films existed prior to 1958’s Hercules, and would exist again afterwards.

Sticking briefly with Maciste…Only two more movies have emerged since 1965 with his name. These are not a part of the central franchise; besides, they are genuinely lost films. Both are the products of Spain’s über-crud-meister Jesus Franco, because when you need cinema which makes Italy seem like France, Spain is your man! Franco’s reputation is noxious, equivalent to the worst “Ed Woods” of various nations. And his Macistes? The Erotic Exploits of Maciste in Atlantis and Maciste vs. the Amazon Queen, both with Val Davis as Maciste (and each shot as one solo movie, then split up in another marvelous example of producers milking their products dry).

No more Macistes have followed, not even in Italy, the world’s only place where that name holds any sway. But seeing as Hercules derives from antiquity, whereas Maciste hails from 1914, it makes sense the one name would persist beyond the other.

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Hercules, the name and mythological (i.e. non-copyrightable) character, reappears with frequency fairly often. Consider the incomparable Arnold Schwarzenegger himself, early in his bodybuilding career when he was in serious danger of getting lost in the wilderness like his he-man forbears, in 1970’s Hercules in New York.

It was also Schwarzenegger who inadvertently reignited the peplum’s second wave of the 1980s, with his Conan the Barbarian. Soon Hercules returned again, now played by Lou “The Incredible Hulk” Ferrigno, in Hercules and Hercules II. By now, the formula which defined the ‘60s movement was long ago abandoned, and the nouveaux pepla are more “barbarian” than “Roman” – reflecting the general temperament of the ‘80s. So different were these movies, they fall under the wholly distinct term of “swords-and-sorcery.”

Toga movies evolved still, as mainstream, big Hollywood made Braveheart, leading to Gladiator, Troy, Beowulf, 300, and more such films I don’t want to list. These have more to do with Spartacus and Ben-Hur, films which were the impetus for the ‘60s Hercules craze to begin with. And with the only recent major “Hercules” being Disney’s in 1997, we’re well beyond the scope of our original discussion. And totally done with this branch of cinema. I’m out!



RELATED POSTS
• No. 1 Hercules (1958)
• No. 2 Hercules Unchained (1959)
• No. 3 The Revenge of Hercules (1960)
• No. 4 Hercules vs. the Hydra (1960)
• No. 5 Hercules and the Conquest of Atlantis (1961)
• No. 6 Hercules id the Haunted World (1961)
• No. 7 Maciste Against Hercules in the Vale of Woe (1961)
• No. 8 Ulysses vs. Hercules (1962)
• No. 9 The Fury of Hercules (1962)
• No. 10 Hercules, Samson and Ulysses (1963)
• No. 12 Hercules in the Land of Darkness (1964)
• No. 16 Hercules and the Tyrants of Babylon (1964)
• No. 17 Hercules, Samson, Maciste and Ursus (1964)
• No. 18 Hercules and the Princess of Troy (1965)

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Pink Panther, No. 7 - Trail of the Pink Panther (1982)


In the yo-yoing, mutually antagonistic professional friendship between Blake Edwards and Peter Sellers, disagreements over the Pink Panther series rose and fell. They had good years and bad, and it seems Sellers’ increasing mental instability following Revenge of the Pink Panther saw them nearing the end of a fruitful mid-‘70s period.

The fallout of this falling out was Sellers’ desire to continue The Pink Panther on his own, sans Edwards, this comic star having finally warmed to the role which put bread on his table and stagnation on his creativity. It helps that Sellers had just defined his personality-deprived career with Being There, playing the personality-deprived Chance. As a playful lark in the wake of that heavy, dry satire, Sellers proceeded penning a potential Panther perceived as Romance of the Pink Panther. In it, Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau would have fallen in love with a cat burglar known as the Frog.

Preproduction on this effort was a challenge, as Sellers wished to direct it himself, while the studio (unimpressed with his drafts) considered freaking Sidney Poitier instead. But whatever life support they’d planned for The Pink Panther, there’s always one surefire way to end a franchise.

Have the star die.


Following Sellers’ fatal heart attack and touching Time retrospective, Edwards reentered negotiations to determine a means of inexplicably continuing The Pink Panther sans Sellers – or at least bringing closure to the franchise.

For whatever damned reason owing to old age, complacency, lack of artistic ambition, whatever, Edwards insisted that the series march on indefinitely, with a new actor taking over as Clouseau and entering audience’s hearts for years to come. And we’ve seen how poorly new leads fare in this franchise…

As part of an eventual compromise, Edwards negotiated the creation of two Panthers at once, tomorrow’s Curse of the Pink Panther, and the transitional Trail of the Pink Panther, a film starring Peter Sellers despite the fact his cadaver had been cold and buried for quite some time. Edwards was dead-set to use a dead Sellers.

It isn’t most celebrities who “enjoy” prolific post-death careers, at least ignoring the shameless output of the television commercial industry, those swine. Only the most iconic are so blessed, among them Bruce Lee and Heath Ledger. Trail of the Pink Panther is in many ways like Lee’s posthumous Game of Death, except more so. It is Clousploitation to rival any Bruceploitation the ‘70s could front. At least no Peter Cellars emerged in the manner of Bruce Li.

How does a movie feature a dead man without its creators violating the laws of God and man?

Archive footage!

… Well…at first…


In those benighted pre-DVD dark ages, outtakes and deleted scenes languished in cutting room obscurity (as opposed to digital obscurity). So it became possible, albeit also unethical, for Edwards to repurpose certain dropped scenes he’d previously made, specifically from The Pink Panther Strikes Again (as the best recent addition, not a horrible thing). This would, theoretically, give the public some “lost” Peter Sellers antics, meant ostensibly in Sellers’ loving memory. This ignores the fact that these scenes were initially deleted for a reason.

Edwards’ challenge, one he was doomed to lose, was to fashion a narrative around disparate, random scenes of Inspector Clouseau hijinks. It helps that the Pink Panther series has largely been constructed out of scenes of random slapstick chaos, with little direct connection to the plot…so the seams shouldn’t show too much. Or will they?

They show. Blake “Entertainment” Edwards, as an opening title seems to call the man, had long ago lost serious passion, now just going through the motions of his former love – like my grandparents in bed. With a lack of actual stories to tell, Trail merely posits that the damned, stupid fucking Pink Panther diamond has been burgled a third time. Ho hum! To show how joyless Edwards is in this approach, its robbery occurs in less than a minute, as opposed to the nearly 20 lavished upon the act in Return of the Pink Panther.

That’s as good a reason as any to present a scant amount of Clouseau footage. Because we can only see Sellers doing plot inspecific things from former entries, the entire story is handed over to his associates at the French Sûreté – that means assorted bland men in suits, uncelebrated series regular Francois (André Maranne), and Chief Inspector Charles Dreyfus…Ah, Dreyfus! Herbert Lom again lends his talents, running through a creatively emaciated series of jokes between him and his psychiatrist. If you weren’t sick of these sanity gags due to series longevity, Trail will alone tire you out.


Every new attempted plot development must pass through this crew. Rather than us see Clouseau decide to go to London (because Strikes Again’s footage includes Union Jacks in the background), we have Francois telling Dreyfus about all this, though Dreyfus could care less. It’s painfully obvious thus where the new footage begins and ends, but such is a necessary evil once you’ve made the scandalous decision to stitch together a movie like a Mexican automobile.

But there’s a problem with fashioning a film out of discarded old footage – I mean, beyond the mere idea of it being awful. Simply put, there was only about 20 minutes worth of unused stuff to cull from, and it takes under a third of Trail for that stuff to run out. How’s Edwards gonna deal with this?


Why, by taking a page straight out of Ed Wood’s fantastic playbook! It’s Panther 9 From Outer Space, as an actor I know the identity of but shall not further embarrass has the ignobility to play chiropractor to Sellers’ Bela Lugosi. That is, lotsa long shots of a clearly not Peter Sellers fellow wandering along, and totally mis-delivering pratfalls. Add to that the terrible voice over, entirely too nasal for Clouseau, delivered only when we can’t see the extra’s mouth, we’re lucky they didn’t just superimpose a cutout of Sellers over new scenes.

Trail of the Pink Panther is already a fascinating and unwatchable abortion of a sequel, but it’s just gettin’ started! Edwards cannot even stretch his latest cover-up. So as a rashly scripted reworking, Francois up and announces that Clouseau has just disappeared on a plane flight, or some such nonsense. Which is a complete non sequitur, considering what we’ve seen. It’s truly a full and complete disappearance, in fact, with zero fanfare, as even that damned Pink Panther “plot” never gets mentioned again.

We’re halfway through.

Instead, for the third time in as many pictures it’s “Clouseau is dead, long live Clouseau!” Twice the franchise has cried wolf, and now that their star is well and truly decaying underground, they’ve no more material to milk out of this particular conceit (but what else is new?).


Suddenly the main character, without even a proper introduction to help the audience, is news reporter Marie Jouvet (Joanna Lumley). She is intent upon chronicling Clouseau’s blessed life. On the air, Marie delivers a Clouseau retrospective, which may as well just be a Sellers retrospective with the facts switched up. Trail is now simply a memorial service, an unauthorized eulogy, which Blake Edwards expected audiences to pay to see.

It all plays like something that’d’ve worked out far better on television – and never mind the fact Marie’s TV scenes are simply scenes of her ON a TV, watched by others. NOT her in the studio! This is disengaging filmmaking right here!...Anyway, Trail really ought to have been a television special. That would’ve justified the clip show it becomes.

Oh yeah, a clip show, that is how far we’ve fallen from even Trail’s initial premise! Marie interviews Cato (Burt Kwouk, withered with age). Cue every major battle Clouseau had with Clouseau over their four films together, edited with as little excitement as anything else.

This is the highpoint of the clips, as it at least necessitates editing. During Marie’s interview with former assistant Hercule (Graham Stark), Edwards simply plops in a solid 4 minute clip from 1964’s A Shot in the Dark, sans context or explanation or anything. Ignore the merely technical issue of marrying something shot in ’82 with something nearly 20 years older, which is not accomplished well. Rather, this plot-heavy old scene of Clouseau working on the Gambrelli case (see here for an explanation) stands best as an example of how far the Pink Panther standard of quality has fallen. Innumerable subtle little jokes pass by, alongside outsized pratfalls. There was energy to this old stuff.


Then it’s further back, to 1963, to the original Pink Panther. Master thief Sir Charles Lytton again gets dusted off, satisfying a request no one ever made. David Niven resumes his archaic role, despite not having returned for Return. And for his few minutes of sitting motionlessly on a chair in the sun, while another actor does his voice-over (what is this, an Italian movie?!), Niven gets second billing – behind only the dead man. As part of this underperforming reunion, Capucine is there as Lytton’s wife (and Clouseau’s ex) Simone. Which I now realize was the name of an unrelated female lead in Revenge. And Lytton’s wife in Return was not Simone, but the totally forgotten Claudine. The Pink Panther series has never been much (like, at all) for continuity, but each new entry picks and chooses so randomly that it feels insulting.

Anyway, Lytton is an excuse for Pink Panther footage. Trail is an amazing artifact, as it continues to find new ways to get worse, even in the clips. For now Lytton feels the need to occasionally voice over the original film’s climax, explaining perfectly clear jokes. “I’ll never forget the old man trying to cross the street.” Really, Charles? Really? I doubt you even noticed that old guy during your zany car chase.

Well…we’ve even run out of old movie clips to refer to here, with an entire Third Act (such as it is) still to go. It’s time for Trail to screechingly change gears yet again, and become nothing more than a thinly-veiled advertisement for the upcoming Curse (without possessing a single frame of footage from that yet-unmade non-masterpiece).


Marie is of the opinion that Clouseau has survived his death by exposition. The film’s final shot (and I’m jumping ahead here) seems to suggest the follow-up shall give us a new actor in Sellers’ old role, as this entry’s stand-in gets shat upon by a bird (5th time the series has crowed that joke). Marie is opposed in her quest by a generic criminal villain, who won’t really have anything to do until next time. That is Bruno Langois (Robert Loggia), who is in the Mafia, but in all other respects is basically Douvier from Revenge with a new accent. Hell, even his uninteresting business meetings use the same camera angles and dialogue, for as little difference as it makes. And nothing even comes of him here, despite an extended scene with Marie.


Not to mention Edwards doesn’t even try to toss any jokes into these extended Marie scenes, forgetting that a Pink Panther movie is supposed to be a comedy. There are attempts to correct that oversight, which make one wish Edwards hadn’t bothered. With Langois’ scenes now over, Marie has another 10 or 20 minutes of movie to fill out, and so she goes to meet with Clouseau’s father (Richard Mulligan). His bumbling grotesque is as good an example as any why non-Sellers actors should not adopt his Clouseauesque mannerisms. The way Gene Siskel put it is actually funnier than this entire movie (except that all of the old Sellers stuff is still funny). He calls this bit a “boring scene.” It’s all in the delivery.

There’s a final flashback with no purpose or context, showing another non-Sellers as Clouseau in his youth during the WWII French Resistance. At least it’s new content; it is still unfunny. Now add “childhood flashback” to the motley life support devices Edwards employs.

Then the best part of Trail comes up: the end credits. I don’t simply mean in the cynical sense that the movie is over, but because this is where all the good clips got shuffled, all of Clouseau’s greatest comic bumblings collected together in one spot.

But that’s the kind of thing you could find today on YouTube with no difficulty. Of the footage I hadn’t seen before (meaning the bits cut from Strikes Again), why, hell, some enterprising rapscallion has condensed it 10 simple minutes of YouTubular goodness. There, now you never have any reason to watch the stillbirthed Trail.

If this was what Edwards needed to do in order to make more personal projects such as 10 and S.O.B., then so be i- No! I still won’t stand for such shenanigans! Besides, Trail failed to bail a stale, ailing tale.

Sellers’ wife (Lynne Frederick, that is, not Anne Hayes nor Britt Ekland nor Miranda Quarry) was herself as offended by the project as, well, as the entire movie-going public. Edwards professed the best of intentions, but nonetheless Frederick sued him for tarnishing her late husband’s reputation as a merry japester. She won $1 million. At least someone made money off of this movie.

But no danged lawsuit could stop the inexplicable continuation of the Pink Panther franchise, not when Hollywood studio contracts were already in place for a follow-up. Like Back to the Future II and III, concurrent production meant Curse was a go, pointlessness or no.


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Pink Panther (1963)
• 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. 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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