By Susan Lee

Bean, Bean, the comedic froot.  Unfortunately, this movie is not a hoot.

In contemplating this review, I was tempted to pull a decidedly Bean-esque stunt: not see the movie at all, ‘borrow’ a ticket stub for reimbursement purposes and cobble the story together by pilfering random sentences from previously published reviews.

However, I realized this would not only be really annoying (what, with all the plagiarism lawsuits I’d have to endure), but profoundly unfair to the critics who actually sat through the film.

After winning a trip to Cannes in a church raffle, Mr. Bean proceeds to leave a typically Bean-ish trail of confusion, anger, annoyance and mystified looks in his wake.  On his pilgrimage to that legendary beach in the south of France, Bean accidentally separates a young Russian boy from his father, is mistaken for a kidnapper, performs a wacky street performance for money when he loses his wallet, inappropriately masticates a ‘fruits de mer’ platter at a swanky restaurant, and eventually winds up at the film festival with Willem Dafoe (whom we haven’t seen so exuberantly and gleefully goofing on his own character since SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE).

For those who have been Bean fans for years, this film – like it’s predecessor – offers up little that we haven’t seen before.  However, if this is your first Bean encounter, it’s well worth a matinee on a hot summer Sunday. 

Our leading man, Rowan Atkinson, is a physical comedic genius.  Part Charlie Chaplin, part Roberto Benigni and part malevolent Buster Keaton, Atkinson is able to utilize his gangly frame and rubbery face to attain perfect hilarity.  His silly walk rivals that of John Cleese, his hands flap like rubber chickens and he should never, ever be allowed to dance.  And that’s just from the neck down.  Northwards lay a whole ‘nother set of  shenanigans.  His eyes goggle, cheeks bellow, wet lips flobble, his tongue darts erratically – is this a human head or a limp puffer fish gasping on the end of a pointed stick?


LES VACANCES DE MSSR. BEAN is the second and reportedly last MR. BEAN movie, and not a moment too soon.  The combination of Bean’s self-centered nature, simple meanness, bizarre cunning and lack of empathy make for a comedic curiosity best enjoyed in small, sharp shocks.  The idea of making Bean lovable and having him genuinely care about others is an insult to Bean fans.  Remember, at the onset of the original television program, Bean is dropped from the heavens, fully formed and raring to go (I don’t say Heaven, because if that’s the truth, then God has one sick sense of humor).  His (Bean’s, not God’s) inability to fully comprehend human nature or to fathom the ideals of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ made Bean an instant mascot representing our inner ID – the lizard part of our psyche that exists for only ME. 

In fact, Bean’s motto could be “All For One and One For Me”. We also need to remember that this is a man who has, in the past: popped an airsickness bag on a child, served twigs and vinegar to New Year’s Eve party guests, painted Wite-Out on the pages of a priceless illuminated tome, used jumper cables to defib a man having a heart attack, proposed stuffing corks up dogs’ backsides to solve the neighborhood poo problem, headbutted the Queen and put raw meat down a man’s pants.


Atkinson should to stick with short form and seriously get back into bed with writer Richard Curtis (LOVE ACTUALLY, BRIDGET JONES, FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL).  Yes, Mr. Curtis had a hand in the film, but obviously not enough!  Oh, and speaking of writers, take a look at the people behind the BEAN movie.  Very little in their backgrounds suggests a predilection toward the funny.  While director Steve Bendelack’s previous projects include episodes of LITTLE BRITAIN, SPITTING IMAGE and FRENCH AND SAUNDERS, the writers’ credits are head-scratchers.  Screenwriter Hamish McColl and story originator Simon McBurney are both actors who, as far as I can fathom out on IMDB.com, haven’t written anything else.  In fact, the last projects McBurney was involved with were: THE GOLDEN COMPASS, THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND and THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE.  Oh yeah, kneeslappers, all of ‘em.

Mr. Bean needs to be restricted to the small screen in a small, damp English dormer room, kept and coddled like a prize mushroom where he can thrive in his tiny domain and lay his convolutedly sociopathic plans which provide us with a painfully funny payoffs within 15 minutes.