British TV comic Rowan Atkinson's Carrey-esque contortions are probably
responsible for this big-screen update of his Mr. Bean show. But
Atkinson's reactive brand of bug-eyed and near-silent comedy has always been
more akin to Jacques Tati -- plus a lecherous pinch of Jerry Lewis, the better
to invade the viewer's personal space. Essentially a string of gut-busting
visual vignettes for Atkinson's titular man-child -- Bean shaving his tongue
and forehead with an electric razor, Bean humping a men's-room hand dryer after
wetting his pants, Bean wearing a half-stuffed turkey on his head -- the film
pulls what little plot it has from Lewis's trademark mistaken-patsy formula. A
distinguished group of Royal National Gallery board members nominate the
violently inept Mr. Bean to accompany a $50 million painting to LA, mainly to
get him out of their hair.
Hence, Mr. Bean does America: making himself at home with a highly forgiving
LA curator (Peter MacNichol) and his dysfunctional family; wreaking havoc at an
amusement park; and straining to restore the pricy painting that he literally
defaces. Unfortunately, director Mel Smith (Radioland Murders)
disregards the Englishman's culture shock in favor of universal bodily-function
gags and male bonding. But as in the series, the film's deliberately slow pace
contrasts with the comic's antics to make them even funnier. And if
Bean's tacked-on final third plays like a separate episode (imagine Bean
as a hands-on surgeon!), this is still a side-splitting showcase for Atkinson's
abrasive gift.
--Rob Nelson
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