An art curator decides to seek revenge on his abusive boss by conning him into buying a fake Monet, but his plan requires the help of an eccentric and unpredictable Texas rodeo queen.
Firth, despite the Harry Palmer style glasses, lacks the roguish charm of Caine. Perhaps he should stick to playing monarchs.
The film is aiming for the breeziness of The Pink Panther or Charade, but more often than not Gambit’s fart jokes, racial stereotypes and frequent nose punches are silly rather than funny.
You’ll smile a few times and the cast work hard but interest and goodwill fizzles out.
The combination of American sass and British cool is a total washout.
An awful lot of talent has been put to waste here.
Gambit’s a mixed bowl of nuts, all told, but if there’s nothing in it that raises so much as a chuckle, you may need chuckling practice.
We laugh out of pity and embarrassment as the script blunders from dream sequences that suggest Harry might actually pull off his hare-brained heist to Austin Powers-style nudity.
A few smiles and some fraying charm, but big laughs are missing. This just about gets away with it rather than romps off with the loot.
Comic caper that doesn't caper comically.
Firth blundering around The Savoy with no trousers on...might appeal to anyone who still gets weak at the knees at the memory of Mr Darcy. Everyone else will leave this con-man movie feeling that they're the ones who have been conned.
Flat-footed.
Make it stop! Make it stop! Oh please just make it stop!
Does it really take two?
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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