For all their achievements in other contexts,
Tim Conway and Don Knotts delivered consistently disappointing results in the
films they made together, combining dimwitted physical comedy, insipid verbal
gags, and truly stupid characterizations into tiresome cinematic experiences.
Sure, the Apple Dumpling Gang flicks
have a certain goofball charm, but Conway and Knotts are confined to supporting
roles. The duo’s final major collaboration, The
Private Eyes, reveals why putting Conway and Knotts front and center was
unwise. Both actors tend toward bug-eyed reaction shots, overly long pauses
(designed, one fears, for anticipated waves of laughter), and voluminous
amounts of bumbling. If watching desperate comics pretend to be idiots is your
idea of a good time, The Private Eyes
might amuse you. If not, it’s more likely to sap your will to live. Something
of a riff on Sherlock Holmes, the picture is set in England, with Conway and
Knotts playing American investigators who work for Scotland Yard. When a woman
is killed at a private estate, the investigators snoop around the mansion,
encountering cobwebs and secret passageways and the like, while trying
to determine which of the victims' avaricious enemies was responsible for the
murder. A typically moronic running joke involves the investigators using carrier
pigeons to send messages, throwing the pigeons through windows amid much
crashing of glass. There's also juvenile gross-out dialogue, on the order of, “That
buzzard pus is backing up on me!” and “You ever have pudding with cat hair in
it?” Some young viewers bonded with this movie at the right age, so it’s not as
if The Private Eyes lacks advocates.
Moreover, the old-fashioned production values recall Universal’s horror movies
of the ’30s and ’40s, which is moderately appealing. But if the best one can
say about a comedy is that it has a enjoyably musty look, that tells you what
you need to know.
The
Private Eyes: LAME
3 comments:
Oh, dear God, this movie. I suspect they were trying to recreate Abbot and Costello, but lordy, these second bananas couldn't make a first banana if they were surgically fused. I only remember this bit of sparkling dialouge:
Stereotypical Asian servant (while bowing): Ah so!
Knotts: What did you call me?
Oddly, it has something in common with one of the best 1980 films, Peter Sellers' _Being There_: Both were shot at Biltmore Estate, the Vanderbilt home in Asheville, NC.
This hit the spot for a 5-year-old at the drive-in...like me!. The false rhymes in the murder notes had a profound effect on my sense of humor at the time. Watched it again recently though and the whole ordeal is indeed painful.
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