David Fear for Rolling Stone:

Hahahaha, we’re totally kidding. Of course you have not heard there’s a new Fletch movie out. You have not been inundated with billboards, surrounded by full-page ads, beset by TV spots and trailers galore. You did not know that not only has this been out in theaters — possibly one or two near you! — since September 16th, but can also be rented digitally and/or online as well. Maybe you caught Jon Hamm doing his patented Jon Hamm thing on a late-night talk show, or more likely, saw clips on YouTube of Jon Hamm showing up on a late-night talk show, but weren’t exactly sure about the 411 of what he was promoting. What is this? When is it out? What’s he confessing to, or about? Is this a religious movie?

There is a poster, and a trailer, and the movie did get a Los Angeles premiere that allowed Hamm, director Greg Mottola and several other cast members to walk a red carpet — we know this only because we’ve seen photographic evidence, although we’re not quite convinced this isn’t a false-flag gala event. Some reviews trickled in; the majority of them were extremely positive. But in terms of an actually getting the word out that the movie exists in the first place? A movie like this should not automatically fall through the cracks. That said: how do you sell something like Confess, Fletch in the Year of Our Lord 2022, i.e. a comedy not featuring Will Ferrell or Ryan Reynolds, in which no Marvel heroes or Jedis or people named Harry Styles show up, and involving a film franchise that dropped its last entry prior to the first Iraq War?

A great piece which absolutely skewers how dire the state of moviemaking is when something as downright delightful as a new Fletch movie starring the absolutely goddamned star-worthy performance of Jon Hamm can’t even get a taste of oxygen.

I watched the movie over the weekend. You can too. It’s on VOD. And it’s a great laugh. But sadly, there just isn’t room for much more of these movies these days.

As Fear writes…

What is a tragedy is that a worthy movie like Confess, Fletch, which not only touches upon a gaggle of past genres (the ’80s raunch-com, the ’30s screwball, the murder-mystery farce, the launchpads for established marquee names to level up) but hits each mark so delightfully, no longer have a chance to find an audience at all, much less one that would respond to it. Frankly, it’s a minor miracle this exists at all. A complete willingness to creatively bring this market and get it in front of people dooms not only this movie but every one just like it. Unless you want nothing but franchises aimed at 11-year-olds, you’ll soon be out of luck. It’s. A. Huge. Fucking. Loss. And not just for those of those who live, breathe, eat, sleep and love movies.

Watch this damn movie. And tell your friends about it.