Fletch Lives: Michael Ritchie

If the original Fletch reminded me of The Big Sleep (1946), then the sequel Fletch Lives reminds me of Norman Jewison's In the Heat of the Night (1967). But whereas that was a ground-breaking film that helped redefine cinematic race relations, Fletch Lives almost retroactively sets them back. Fletch Lives follows the eponymous fast-thinking newspaper reporter to Louisiana after he is bequeathed an antique Southern plantation from his aunt. However, things quickly go wrong after his attorney is found dead in his bed after a night of passion. Whereas Fletch had an intriguing mystery at its core, the mystery in Fletch Lives is rather lukewarm and uninspired. No joke, at some point in the film Fletch's new mansion burns to the ground. Yet later in the movie I had completely forgotten that I had seen a gigantic building go up in flames. It was just that forgettable. There's a holy-roller televangelist involved in the plot, but when Fletch messes with them, it seems cruel and mean-spirited. In the original Fletch, he messed with people because, well, they deserved it. But in Fletch Lives he publicly humiliates innocent people on national television for kicks. This isn't the Fletch that I fell in love with. It doesn't help that he is saddled with a terrible comic-relief partner in Cleavon Little who plays Calculus Entrophy, a hokum caretaker who hovers somewhere between Amos 'n' Andy and Stepin Fetchit.

5/10