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Strictly for kids, this 1999 live-action feature version of the popular cartoon series seems long even at 80 minutes. As a video, it's easier to take and appreciate for what works best in the story: the special effects. Matthew Broderick plays the security guard who is physically transformed into a multi-use cyborg with a zillion attachments, from stilts to helicopter blades to skis. A crimefighter in raincoat and fedora, and equipped with a nifty Gadgetmobile, the hero investigates the death of a man linked to the villainous Sanford Scolex (Rupert Everett). Scolex, who blames Gadget for having to wear a prosthetic hand, develops an evil robot twin of the good inspector, causing much mischief and giving Broderick an opportunity to poke fun at his own performance of the virtuous Inspector. The action is shaky, the script plods along, and the effects soon take over; Everett has to go to the extremes of hamminess just to be seen above it. But children of a certain age will almost certainly engage with the more clever stuff and forgive the rest.
--Tom Keogh
From The New Yorker
A short, meaningless blast of fun from Disney. The TV series is expanded, but not by much; the special effects have a cheerful, magic-toyshop feel to them, and the plot is equally low-tech. A humble security guard (Matthew Broderick) is blown up and then reconstituted; under his trademark raincoat (which makes him look like a dirty old man) lurk a thousand gizmos. Each of his fingertips, for instance, contains a different tool, and his head can fly upward on a spring. Thus accoutred, our man is ready to fight the force of evil, as incarnated in the unlikely person of Rupert Everett. A quandary: should Broderick and Everett be embarrassed to find themselves in this fluff, or should we be grateful that they agreed to lend it a little class? The quantity and intensity of product placement, including a last-minute plug for Disneyland, is a triumph of the publicist's art; it's a shame that the movie lags so far behind. -Anthony Lane
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker