CONFESS, FLETCH - It Ain't "Love, Actually"
Get that out of the way. "Confess, Fletch" the sorta re-boot of the Chevy Chase vehicle (Read that a couple times) is good. It's good. It's not great. It's not side-splitting. It's not filled with a cast of top talent, in particular on the comedic side.
But it's worth a look, especially for those of you who don't wake up in the morning and immediately slap a mask on your face; practice social distancing; and check the Covid case numbers. Time to get out to the theater if you're so inclined.
Fletch is played, this go round, by Jon Hamm. Yes, Don Draper of "Mad Men" is trotting out his thespian bonafides in the realm of laughs. And he's darned good. Hamm will have you slapping the top of every Uber and shouting "Five Stars!" upon completion of a ride. He lacks Chase's smug arrogance . . . thank God.
He stumbles into a murder. A dead body neatly deposited in a Boston AirBnB condo rented for his latest assignment. Fletch is an investigative reporter (Of "some note," he constantly reminds the audience), but he's also suspected as the killer by the supremely unfunny Roy Wood, Jr. and he's equally guffaw-killing partner, quota hire, Ayden Mayeri. Both are Boston PD. And both need a refresher at The Neighborhood Playhouse.
Joining the It's A Comedy, You Dolts! cast is Kyle MacLachlan as a germophobic art broker (Hah!), and the two-dimensional Italian actress, Lorenza Izzo. May they be set upon by the Marx Brothers for destroying a good script.
Thank goodness for Marcia Gay Harden, who takes a break from her current job as virtue-signaling Harpy to steal the movie as a countess of some obscure property in Rome. She's as great in her multi-lingual role as Christoph Waltz was in "Inglorious Basterds."
And Ken Kimmins as 'The Commodore' of the local pretentious yacht club is the master of what few scenes in which he appears, loose dentures and all.
The math works out to a good return on the $15 senior citizen ticket. The plot is thin in some places, bloated in others, but if Hamm, Harden, and Kimmins had gotten some assistance, "Confess Fletch" would be a cliche-ridden Howler.
To further entice the SJW crowd to hit the cinema, the phrase "White privilege" is uttered, AND BONUS: The cocktail party at the yacht club is filled with enough Monopoly Men and trophy wives to last the average bitter Leftist an entire year of jealousy and resentment.
Theaters only. Go, unless you're still too much of a wuss to appear in public.