Fletch

Rarely has a screenplay been tailored for a particular star as smoothly as the script of Fletch has for Chevy Chase. Andrew Bergman, who co-wrote Blazing Saddles and wrote the script for the funny The In-Laws a few years ago, adapted Gregory Mcdonald’s bestselling novel, and it’s clearly been styled exactly for Chase’s talents.

I’ve never read any of Mcdonald’s Fletch novels—the hero is a newspaper reporter who goes sleuthing—so I don’t know how much of a disservice this reshaping might be to the literary figure. Mcdonald himself is reportedly pleased with Chase, and has said that the spirit of the character is in the film.

If that’s true, then the books must be overrated, because the movie Fletch is pretty thin stuff. Bergman’s screenplay (perfunctorily served by Michael Ritchie’s direction) contains plenty of screwball one-liners, and Chase delivers them with his cool deadpan and impeccable timing.

This means that the movie produces laughs (enough to justify Universal’s decision to postpone release until the lucrative summer season—this film will be popular). But it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good movie, and Fletch, frankly, isn’t. There’s nothing underneath the surface wisecracks—you can’t get involved in the film as anything but a stand-up comedy routine.

Chase plays a master-of-disguise reporter (and dedicated Los Angeles Laker fan—in one scene he dreams he’s playing ball with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) who is dragged into a plot to fake the murder of a wealthy industrialist (Tim Matheson). Chase also falls for the guy’s gorgeous wife (Dana Wheeler-Nicholson). Somehow this all ties together with a big drug-traffic story that Chase is rooting out, which involves a Los Angeles police chief (Joe Don Baker).

It’s a typically convoluted detective-movie plot—but it never matters in any significant way. The show is Chevy and his patter, and the movie is fun to watch, even if it seems to evaporate a half-hour later. In particular, there are a couple of running gags—especially one involving a bigoted country-club member, to whose account Chase charges all his meals—that show Bergman’s talent for building comic ideas.

If only the movie had a solid core, these talents might have really put it together. But Fletch is a fluffy exercise, and it falls into that all-too-large category of comedy films that are not so much movies as flimsy vehicles.

First published in the Herald, May 30, 1985

Nothing against Michael Ritchie, by the way, a talented director, but I didn’t get much of him in this one. It was indeed a big hit, and coughed up the sequel, Fletch Lives.

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