Mister Faded Glory | www.misterfadedglory.com

As you know, I was away over the weekend and just returned to the official stomping grounds of Mr. Faded Glory. Much to my horror, I discovered that everyone’s favorite snooty online ‘zine decided to thumb its nose at one of the – nay, THE – seminal film among twenty- and thirtysomethings everywhere. That’s right, Slate doesn’t like Fletch.

The news greeted me with horror. Fletch! Chevy Chase! It should come as no shock to readers that I consider Fletch my absolute favorite movie of all time, and it is certainly the most-watched movie within my catalog. In fact, several of you very readers probably have seen the movie alongside me, reciting lines at every turn.

Anyway, I found it nearly impossible that someone – anyone – possessed this sort of vitriol against a beloved celluloid classic. Originally, I had planned to line-by-line debunk Mr. Salam‘s angry critique of Fletch - but I decided against it. How is that worth my time? I know Fletch is great. I know the 1980s quip-filled action-comedy was perfected by Chase in his prime. I know all this – and I’m sorry Mr. Salam isn’t privy to understanding the flick’s sophomoric dialogue – which has spawned countless inside jokes and quips and quotes among all cliques during the last two decades. I’m sure in Salam‘s high school the cool kids made fun of his Oldsmobuick and called him Arnold T. Pants. (No, never, never…)

But this guy isn’t the problem. Sure, who cares if he’s too cool for Fletch. The problem is Slate.

Once upon a time, Slate was a shrewd little online magazine, promising a little bit of thoughtful news analysis up and down the mainstream media and pop culture nation. However, it’s devolved into the Skip Bayless of left-wing mainstream thought – each and every article or opinion piece (Yes, except Hitchens and Saletan) is a contemptuous dismissal of conventional wisdom, current trends, or common human behavior. Whatever is currently cool, Slate is certain that it’s actually lame – eager to turn all things mildly popular or even cultish, upon their head. You see, unless you, as a mouth-breathing mastodon, don’t read the magazine – well, there’s no way you’ve realized Slate is actually the arbiter of all things cool. And shame on you.

It’s no tragedy, it’s just an annoyance. Once a collection of good writers, now Slate has simply become a pouty bloggers’ mouthpiece (Yes, point taken. Don’t bother pointing that out.) – the lunchtable with all the kids who laugh at you for listening to Radiohead. You see, Radiohead is on the radio. And counts platinum selling albums. No way they could be cool.

Which brings us back to Fletch. Slate‘s contention is the movie’s failure as comment on the 1980s. Well, they’ve got us. Just like Three Amigos! failed to capture the plight of Mexican settlers in the 1900s and Caddyshack trivialized at the intersection between the golfing haves and have-nots, Fletch failed to properly crystallize the role of the fourth estate in the Reagan administration. Darn it.

Slate’s other criticisms are merely broadside potshots at Chase, a star whose sheen has dimmed. However, even as abrasive and cocksure as Chase may appear, for about ten years he was a star. Hilariously understated, snarky, and the consummate smart-aleck. Even if you hated him, you were on his side. That’s his charm. Imagine Adam Sandler in that role – nobody exuded cockiness, cheekiness, and arrogance yet still with ascertainable affability and undertones of the everyman like Chase. In Fletch, he’s at his peak. At no point do you fail to root for Fletch, even as petty and snarky as he can be. And he’s us – who doesn’t want to be Fletch? Talented, successful, somewhat brave, and, most importantly, ready with an uproarious quip in even the most harried situation.

It’s a fine line that Chase‘s intrepid columnist deftly walks. Fletch is totally cool – even as he’s elitist, cheeky, and snarky, he’s also the people’s champ. It’s nearly impossible for a character, a story, a movie – or a magazine – to pull off snarky and arrogant without coming across as totally unlikable. Which, come to think of it, is almost certainly the reason the flick inspires Slate’s petty jealousy. Not so farFletched.