I thought about never admitting it to anybody. Just keeping it a secret, and know that I did it, and make sure that nobody found out, because I deserved nothing but the hatred of every living man, woman and child for what I had done. But I couldn't.

That's not what this weblog is for.

That's not who I am.

Which is why, although it pains me to say it, and I want to beg your forgiveness - every single one of you - I have to confess that I spent money to see The Pink Panther.

It was very bad. I regret my actions very much, and I wish I could take them back. But I was curious; very morbidly and as it turned out, very destructively curious.

There's nothing redeeming about this film. I laughed two or three times for the whole thing, every single time at something Jean Reno said or did. That was it. The rest was just embarrassing - Steve Martin especially, doing a painfully broad impersonation of Peter Sellers, rather than making the character of Inspector Jacques Clouseau his own. It was like watching 12 year old boys playing at The Pink Panther, and while I am happy that people enjoy the Blake Edwards originals, that does not mean I want to see 12 year olds, or a bunch of otherwise-talented middle-aged men, making fools of themselves.

I rewatched the first twenty minutes of the first Clouseau film right after finishing this one, but I had to stop - I felt dirty. I have to earn the privilege of Sellers back; I sullied myself as a film viewer by going of my own free will to the "remake" or "reinterpretation," or whatever the hell it's called.

I will never ever talk about this film again.