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Here is the USA TODAY's review of the movie. As long as you are willing to forget Peter Sellers and give the franchise a fresh new start ( like the James Bond series, where people gave Roger Moore and Pierce Brosnan a chance without comparing them to Sean Connery), I think it just might work...

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Martin bumbles into fun

By Mike Clark, USA TODAY

The Pink Panther * * * out of four Stars:

Steve Martin, Kevin Kline, Beyonce Knowles, Jean Reno, Emily Mortimer, Clive Owen (unbilled)

Director: Shawn Levy

Distributor: Columbia

Rating: PG for occasional crude and suggestive humor and language

Running time: 1 hour, 33 minutes Opens today nationwide

Think of his two recent Cheaper by the Dozens atop two Father of the Brides— or quadruple-barreled pabulum. Then pile on Bringing Down the House plus the outright atrocity that was Sgt. Bilko. And you know what?

It's tough to see much red about a new version of The Pink Panther when the mostly ill-used titan Steve Martin is finally back in substantial form, taking on Peter Sellers' most "owned" role. At the very least, it's no desecration to see Martin take a flying leap (multiple, actually) at playing French police Inspector Jacques Clouseau, from director Blake Edwards' revered Panther series. (Related story: Beyonce is pretty in 'Pink')

There, I said it.

A French soccer coach gets murdered publicly here as a "Pink Panther" diamond is stolen. But, as ever, the casualties that matter are all Clouseau victims: logic, the English language and antagonized police chief Charles Dreyfus.

Transforming Clouseau's perennial nemesis into a more urbane smoothie, Kevin Kline delivers like a pro — though his performance is dwarfed by memories of Herbert Lom, who originated the role, and his degrading descents into foamy lips and straitjackets. Highest marks in the foil department go to Jean Reno as a stolidly confused Clouseau colleague and Emily Mortimer (perfectly adorable) as a dizzy morale-booster. The movie's ringer is Beyoncé Knowles as one of the zillion suspects. As with Fran Jeffries in the first Panther pic, Knowles' big number is good for some chanteuse-y hot-cha!

But her benumbed performance isn't helped by a self-conscious tendency to laugh affectionately at Clouseau's antics.

The script, co-written by its star, is often clever. But the big questions are Martin vs. Sellers and (this Pink's director) Shawn Levy vs. Edwards. Forget the second matchup: It's no contest. Edwards brought a widescreen distinction (both in décor and actor movement) that is cavernously missing in this entry. Some of screen history's most violent sight gags played off Edwards' visual elegance (kind of like Jerry Lewis mandating that much of his own slapstick be done in a tux).

But even if you give Sellers the edge in facial expressions, Martin is his equal in mangled verbiage. Martin's mouthings probably aren't for everyone. But I suspect the same people who'll resist them would have panned the original films. (Some of us took names.)

Though retreading screen traditions is among current movies' most odious practices, the newly clawed Panther makes me guffaw — though I won't go to the mat defending it. Except on one count: Take away 1999's Bowfinger, and this is the first prototypical Martin comedy in years.