Film

If you first caught Rowan Atkinson’s grimacing, grunting manchild on the boob tube, you probably thought that silent comedy’s pantheon had gained another member. Although neither as culturally resonant as Chaplin’s Little Tramp nor as nationally emblematic as Tati’s Monsieur Hulot, Mr. Bean was nonetheless an ingenious representation of a manic id unleashed; within the parameters of a half-hour episode, Atkinson’s pantomimed primal urges were sublime.

There’s only the faintest hint of that vintage buffoon in this sequel to Bean (1997), the initial big-screen offering that forced the character into a rickety wrong-man narrative and ended up throwing snake eyes. Things take an even bigger turn for the worse with No. 2. Like the regrettable Mr. Bean children’s cartoon that followed the series, this latest misadventure replaces the show’s selfish dolt with an easier-to-swallow version for kids. Saccharrine was never his best flavor.

Not that Atkinson’s physical virtuosity is totally absent, especially during a set piece involving raw seafood. But pairing Bean with a lost boy (Baldry), putting him through the tired paces of a road movie and including nausea-inducing video-cam footage isn’t enough to justify the kind of mugging that would give Mack Sennett pause. The hilarious sting of the TV show is gone; only the rubber-faced shtick remains.