The Journalistic Exploits of Mr. Poon… Er, Jane Doe... I Mean, Fletch

Dr. Rosenpenis. Dr. Rosenrosen. Dr. Rosen. John Cocktoston. Mr. Poon. Arnold Babar. Jane Doe. Ted Nugent. Fletch F. Fletch. They're all the same man: Irwin M. Fletcher. Goes by Fletch. He's actually 6'5", with an afro 6'9", and if you spend the night with him he will make you very happy.

For my money, this 1985 film was, is, and always will be Chevy Chase's finest cinematic moment. Based on a series of books by Gregory McDonald, it follows the journalistic exploits of the aforementioned Fletch, an LA Times reporter gone undercover to investigate a drug ring at the beach. In the process, he gets all kinds of caught up in a suspicious scheme to murder a wealthy asshole—at the wealthy asshole's request—and decides to pursue that story (and the guy's hot, charming wife) instead.

Fletch is stupidly quotable one-liner after stupidly quotable one-liner—the kind of goofy-great movie that can be switched on at any time for guaranteed laughs, no matter how many times you've seen it. I keep a mental roster of these kinds of flicks (and TV shows), and lately find myself returning to them more than I would a favorite album: Turn it on in the background, get a giggle every now and again; no need to properly pay attention, but not bad if you want to sit down and watch at the best parts. The rhythms of the dialogue and jokes are just as fun in audio as visual.

Plus, Chase's real life persona as a loose cannon (aaand wealthy asshole) does absolutely zero to detract from his appeal here as laid-back hero to writers and Laker-lovers the world over.

Bonus: synthy theme song and soundtrack by German composer Harold Faltermeyer, veritable electro king of cinema at the time (he also did the Axel F tune from Beverly Hills Cop and opening anthem from Top Gun). Now someone bring me a glass of hot fat.

Watch Fletch now on Streampix or rent it on Amazon Prime.