Review Detail

Somehow, you can always tell a movie that was made in 1967 apart from any other year, I'm not sure what it is, but if it isn't Peter Sellers' presence, it's usually the adolescent "we're walking right up the line of an R-rating but not quite crossing it." Or just all the paisley shit everywhere.

Either way, this 30-years-later homage to the British films from the Summer of Love gets a much-needed dialling back of the childish toilet humour, and as someone who finds Mike Myers occasionally funny but not enough to watch him piss for the better part of five minutes, or fart in a hot tub for (seemingly) even longer, this edit is a gift. My partner who loves Austin Powers more than me, and hates fart jokes more than me, wished me to pass along my high marks as well. Thanks, Frink.