Echoing Edmund Wilson on a different detective story: who cares who's Harry Crumb? Since he's the detective on the case, however, this is a more serious absence of interest than not caring simply who the culprit is. He -- to go ahead and answer the question, anyway, in the face of slumbrous indifference -- is a sort of American Inspector Clouseau (pratfalls, disguises, funny accents) in a Nero Wolfe body (John Candy's body, more exactly), and we're stuck with him every lumbering step of the way. Jeffrey Jones, Shawnee Smith, Annie Potts; directed by Paul Flaherty. (1989) — Duncan Shepherd
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