Chief Inspector Jacques Clouseau is dead. At least that is what the world—and Charles Dreyfus—believe when a dead body is discovered in Clouseau's car after being shot off the road. Naturally, Clouseau knows differently and, taking advantage of not being alive, sets out to discover why an attempt was made on his life.
I suppose the writing was on the wall for this Sellers/Edwards production right from the start with the rearranged Henri Mancini theme tune. Thereafter, we introduce "Clouseau" (Peter Sellers) to the (more lucrative?) American market as he is targeted by the Paris branch of the New York mob. Philippe Douvier (Robbert Webber) leads the local team and is under pressure to demonstrate that he still has what it takes. They decide some proof is needed, and what better way than to beump-eouf France's most acclaimed detective. This result might also give the long-suffering "Dreyfus" (Herbert Lom) a chance to reclaim his job, sanity and the limelight. Of course, nothing goes to plan and soon the bumbling policeman is causing havoc across the city trying to find out who wanted him pushing up the daisies. It's Lom who steals the scenes for me - his sessions with his psychiatrist (Ferdy Mayne) and his increasingly nervous twitches and paranoid behaviour when even the name of his nemesis is mentioned is really all that remains that's funny now. Sellers does just enough, but the plot is thin, the writing has lost much of it's originality and it struggles to find things worthy of the usual standard of parody as even "Cato" becomes embroiled in something akin to "Mister Wong". They ought to stop now.