Peter Debruge Chief Film Critic One of the greatest mysteries that ever faced investigative reporter Irwin Maurice Fletcher (“Fletch” to his friends) is why there haven’t been more movies featuring the character.
Gregory Mcdonald’s popular Fletch novels, of which there are 11, were practically all dialogue. The author’s breezy style of repartee — which owed more to Hollywood’s screwball comedy tradition than film noir — should have lent itself well to screenplays, but only two ever got made: Back in the ’80s, we got a couple that positioned Chevy Chase as a goofy sleuth with a penchant for disguise, and others (including Jason Lee, Ben Affleck and Chris Tucker) have been trying to revive him ever since.
Reborn at last with Jon Hamm in the role and Greg Mottola (“Superbad”) behind the camera, “Confess, Fletch” makes no attempt to channel what Chase did before (elaborate costumes, complete with fake hair and teeth), instead going back to Mcdonald’s philosophy that mysteries were but an excuse for a sardonic reporter to wind up other people, be they sources, suspects or professional detectives.
The film opens with Fletch discovering a body in his living room (technically, it’s not his place, though his presence there instantly makes Fletch a person of interest for the police).
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