There’s something delightful about the idea of Jon Hamm, the maddest of television’s Mad Men, playing goofball detective Irwin M. Fletcher, who first appeared in the pages of Gregory Mcdonald’s mystery novels and was later made famous by Chevy Chase, at his smarmiest, in two comedies in the 1980s. Yet despite Hamm’s evident comedic potential (still best exemplified by his appearances on Saturday Night Live), Confess, Fletch plays like an attempt to perform CPR on DOA dad jokes. Chase’s Fletch “worked” (and it’s debatable that he did) because the character’s doofus condescension toward everyone around him oozed so naturally from the comedian’s own persona. Hamm offers a nice-guy variation on that, which is more palatable, but also quite bland. Which means the screenplay—cowritten by Zeb Borow and director Greg Mottola—has to do a lot of the work. Unfortunately, the script mostly consists of one-liners and wordplay that hangs in the air well before anything emerges from Hamm’s mouth. Confess, Fletch also features an elaborate mystery plot and an extensive supporting cast—including Kyle MacLachlan as a germaphobe art dealer, Marcia Gay Harden as an Italian countess, and Mad Men’s John Slattery (very briefly) as an old-school newspaperman—but the film’s only saving grace is Annie Mumolo as Fletch’s nosy yet oblivious neighbor. She injects a bit of chaos and physical comedy into an exercise that otherwise has all the surprise of a pun on a platter.
(10/3/2022)
