David Zucker’s The Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear (1991) is a masterclass in comedic precision, wielding absurdity as both weapon and shield in its relentless satire of authority, romance, and environmental politics. The film, a sequel to the 1988 original, refines its predecessor’s formula, leaning harder into Leslie Nielsen’s deadpan Lt. Frank Drebin as a bumbling yet oddly heroic everyman. Nielsen’s performance is the gravitational center, his stoic delivery transforming even the most juvenile gags oil barons slipping on literal oil, a bombastic love scene scored to a pottery wheel into high art. His ability to play the fool with unshakable sincerity elevates the screenplay’s relentless barrage of visual and verbal puns, ensuring the humor lands without malice.

Zucker’s direction is deceptively sophisticated, orchestrating chaos with a rhythm that feels effortless yet meticulously controlled. The film’s pacing, brisk at 85 minutes, mirrors the frenetic energy of a Looney Tunes cartoon, yet its satire of corporate greed and political posturing remains sharp. The screenplay, co-written by Zucker and Pat Proft, excels in layering jokes: a throwaway line about energy policy might precede a sight gag involving a tank crashing through a zoo. This density rewards repeat viewings, though the environmental subplot, centered on Robert Goulet’s delightfully smarmy Quentin Hapsburg, occasionally feels like a narrative afterthought, lacking the bite of the film’s broader parodies.

Cinematography, often overlooked in comedies, deserves praise here. Robert M. Stevens’ clean, unpretentious visuals amplify the humor by treating every absurd moment Drebin scaling the White House or a lobster dinner gone awry with the gravity of a noir thriller. The exaggerated framing of action sequences, like the climactic bomb defusal, mocks blockbuster tropes while maintaining visual coherence. Ira Newborn’s score, with its brassy, over-the-top flourishes, mirrors the film’s tonal tightrope walk between earnestness and irony, though it occasionally overpowers subtler moments.

Flaws exist: the romantic arc between Drebin and Jane (Priscilla Presley) feels perfunctory, leaning on recycled beats from the first film, and some gags, like the ethnic stereotypes in the bar scene, age poorly. Yet these missteps barely dent the film’s relentless charm. The Naked Gun 2½ thrives on its commitment to unapologetic silliness, a rare alchemy that respects its audience’s intelligence while inviting them to laugh like children. It’s a reminder that comedy, when executed with such fearless precision, can transcend its era.