Hamm doesn’t rise to occasion as reporter unraveling mystery
The crime novels of Gregory Mcdonald emerged in the ’70s as a self-amused antithesis to more typically hard-boiled detective stories. The series began with “Fletch” in 1974 and continued a 20-year run, ending with “Fletch Reflected” in 1994. Irwin Maurice Fletcher (Fletch to everyone who knows him) is a shaggy if confident rebel without a cause — but with a reporter’s stubborn curiosity and tenacity. Helpful traits, seeing as he works for a newspaper when we meet him in the first book. Chevy Chase starred in two movie adaptations in the ’80s, and Jon Hamm steps into those shoes for the newest incarnation, based on Mcdonald’s 1976 follow-up to his debut effort: “Confess, Fletch.”
In the book, Fletch is engaged to an heiress from Italy. When her family’s pricey art collection goes missing (along with her father), Fletch works to unravel the mystery — and, in the process, is framed for murder.
Some minor details are changed in the screenplay adaptation from Greg Mottola (who also directs) and Zev Borow. Fletch isn’t engaged to anyone, but simply floating around Rome when he’s hired to track down a wealthy family’s stolen paintings. He falls in bed with the heiress, then her father goes missing, then they get a tip that maybe those paintings ended up in Boston. All of this unfolds in the story’s first few minutes, prompting Fletch to head back to the States to investigate.
When he arrives at his rented townhouse, whistling without a care in the world, he finds a
lamp knocked over and a woman sprawled on the floor, dead. And so begins Fletch’s quest to ensure he doesn’t go down for the crime and find those paintings.
But first: Phone the police. “There’s a murdered woman downstairs,” he says casually. “This is just a courtesy call.”
That’s more or less how it plays out in the book, too. But on the screen, it comes off as glib and sour when it should be conveying the guy’s worldview, which is one that just doesn’t particularly respect law enforcement — or anybody else, for that matter. Fletch, as a character, is sarcastic and irreverent, but that’s only fun if the movie gets you on his side from the word go.
There was a buoyancy to the original movies, which date from 1985 and 1989, but I’d wager Fletch is a blank slate to a sizable chunk of movie audiences born in the years since. And the newest film doesn’t do the necessary work to introduce who he is: The guy’s a jerk, but he’s our jerk. He’s wry and unflappable, but there’s supposed to be a moral compass in there somewhere, beneath that self-satisfied exterior. He
is forever obfuscating the truth, and if you know why he’s employing these tactics each step of the way, you’ll buy into them. Not so here, he’s just up to … something.
Hamm is not loose enough, nor particularly keyed into playing someone who appears to be not all that invested in what’s going on around him while actually being very invested.
Hamm made his name playing the fictional 1960s ad exec Don Draper for seven seasons on “Mad Men.” It was such a specific performance, of a cool, handsome poseur who was a figment of everyone’s imagination, including his own. It was magnetic to watch, but one career-defining role does not necessarily translate into the kind of movie stardom (or actorly instincts) needed to carry a film like this. Hamm just has no take on the guy.
Fletch tends to think he’s the smartest guy in the room. So how is that supposed to work when the performance itself is so adrift and unappealing?
MPAA rating: R
Running time: 1:39
Where to watch: In theaters and video on demand