On Her Majesty's Slapstick Service
Rowan Atkinson has long been established as one of British comedy’s most treasured assets. He flaunts some of the most hilarious features you’re likely to see – but, regrettably, they’re on his face rather than his filmography.
Although memorable in his Four weddings And A Funeral cameo (as the blundering vicar who utters the benediction, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spigot"), and as the nasty egotist in The Tall Guy, Atkinson has struggled to parlay his true talents onto the silver screen. The Oxford PhD graduate built his reputation in three popular TV Brit-coms: the groundbreaking satirical sketch show Not the Nine O' Clock News; the caustic and inspired Black Adder; and the farcical, slapstick Mr. Bean.
The latter series became a worldwide phenomenon, screened in more than 245 countries, and the highest-rating TV comedy show of the Nineties. Bean, essentially a silent clown, flaunted an appeal that transcended language barriers and, tellingly, the show was sold to more than 50 airlines. But while the screwball physical comedy made perfect in-flight fodder, Atkinson was always most lauded in his homeland for his sardonic wit in Black Adder. This smart, articulate cult favorite established him as a significant comedic force, making the virtually dumb-mute Bean seem comparatively wasteful of Atkinson’s quick-fire repartee and linguistic dexterity. Nonetheless, the creation offered the rubber-faced funnyman an unprecedented global showcase; the inevitable, diluted movie cash-in was a sure-fire international hit, and also the third highest-grossing UK film ever.
Now Atkinson extends the hapless spy he created for a string of credit-card commercials into a full-length feature (and, echoing that odious Bond convention, unwittingly maintains his advertising credentials with some decidedly unsubtle product placement). It’s hardly groundbreaking stuff: no movie genre has been spoofed quite as comprehensively as 007, and the self-aware Bond franchise immunized itself with wedges of pre-emptive satire long ago. Atkinson even appeared in Never Say Never Again, although the closest he got to any action was when Sean Connery threw him in a swimming pool. This at least reflects his seemingly boundless capacity for playing incompetents, of which Johnny English, is a vigorous celebration; the bumbling protagonist seems to be the unfortunate bastard offspring of Mr. Bean and Inspector Clouseau.
The convoluted plot sees English, a witless desk-jockey, thrust into the limelight when the rest of Britain's intelligence personnel are assassinated. His mission is to recover the Crown Jewels, which have been stolen as part of a fiendish plot cooked up by evil magnate Pascal Sauvage (a deliciously hammy John Malkovich). He’s aided and abetted by his long-suffering assistant Bough (Ben Miller), and mysterious beauty Lorna Campbell (Natalie Imbruglia).
As attested by Mr. Bean’s success, and like Leslie Neilson, Atkinson has the propensity for inducing mirth with a well-timed blink or facial twitch. That extraordinary, almost-chinless, face with its bulbous nose and protruding ears, is a pliable comedy instrument in its own right - just as well, as Johnny English shoots from below the belt at the lowest common denominator. Pratfalls, sight gags and bodily-fluid jokes are the order of the day, featuring some well-executed set pieces, (including a welcome variation on the car chase). With its heavy-handed title and plethora of tourist-clich้ shots of London, the movie is clearly targeted at a Mr. Bean-style audience in lucrative foreign territories.
John Malkovich, who lives in Paris, joined the project on the strength of his 
admiration for Atkinson, and graces the movie with a deliberately terrible parody of a French accent. But the script bafflingly asks him to play his Gallic villain straight, nonsensically denying him any funny lines. Ben Miller, a fine underground comedian, also does everything required of him in the bemused sidekick role, but feels similarly wasted. Natalie Imbruglia, reprising her acting career for the first time since dodgy Aussie soap opera Neighbours launched her in England, provides the stunning set dressing and little else.
Directed by English actor-turned-director Peter Howitt (Sliding Doors, AntiTrust), Johnny English is a competent enough genre exercise, likeable and funny without ever being as side-splitting as it could have been. The mutual disdain between the English and the French is sensitively handled, never degenerating into unsavory xenophobic baiting, and the film, which breezes along at a satisfyingly brisk pace, plays like an English interpretation of The Naked Gun or Austin Powers. Maybe not quite as groovy, baby, but loaded with sufficient eccentric charm to earn its slapstick stripes.
-- Published by MovieSeer.com, 2003