Pops Saw a Movie: JOHN CANDY: I LIKE ME

 Colin Hanks’ new documentary, JOHN CANDY: I LIKE ME is a true rarity in Hollywood biographies in that… there’s no dirt. Nobody’s telling secret, behind the scenes stories of what a jerk Candy was. There aren’t tales of rampant drug use and racist, misogynistic rants in the makeup chair. Nobody’s talking about how he was a raging egomaniac who abused his co-stars and took advantage of his fame to trample the little people. The worst they can come up with is that he was kind of a perfectionist who didn’t take care of himself and that one time, he got mad that he wasn’t making as much money as his SCTV co-stars. But that’s it. 

Nope, it seems as if this is one of those rare instances where a beloved celebrity was, well, just like you’d hoped he’d be: a super sweet guy. Sure, there’s drama surrounding how people’s reactions (both positive and negative) to his weight affected him (and his career), an ongoing undercurrent of sadness related to early loss in his life, and a bit about how his inability to say no to friends resulted in some poor movie choices, but mostly, this is a heartfelt celebration of John Candy… and if you’re old enough to have been affected by his untimely death in 1994 at the age of 43, make sure you’ve got something handy to wipe away a river of tears. 

Haven and I watched this Sunday night, and within the first few minutes, we were both sobbing. The film opens at Candy’s funeral, and a montage of images of the actor play under Dan Aykroyd’s emotional eulogy, which—I’m not being hyperbolic—is one of the most beautiful arrangements of words I’ve ever heard. An A-List of talking heads (Including Tom Hanks, Bill Murray, Mel Brooks, and Steve Martin) share memories of working with Candy, but it was stories from his SCTV compatriots that moved me the most, as that is the context in which I’ll always think of John. 

I remain of the mind that SCTV, while certainly hit-or-miss, was the greatest sketch comedy television show of all time, and when I was in high school, it was as important to my sense of snark and rebellion as Bugs Bunny and the Clash (way moreso than SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, which rather quickly became a victim of its own success and lost much of its anarchic spark). SCTV was smarter, took more chances, and somehow managed to be both intellectual and absurdist. Its pop culture references were often obscure (teaching me about things like OCEAN’S 11, Rusty Warren, and William B. Williams), and its recurring characters felt real (none moreso than Candy’s Johnny LaRue, whose drunken wish for a crane shot in episode 94 never fails to elicit tears from myself and my kid brother). Seeing Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Martin Short, Dave Thomas, and even Robin Duke (sorry, Robin) reminiscing about those turbulent, at times taxing, but creatively enervating times got me choked up way more than discussions of PLANES, TRAINS, AND AUTOMOBILES (which is fine, but, you know… John Hughes). 

Anyway. If you dig Hollywood biographies for seedy showbiz salaciousness or to get a sense of schadenfreude out of watching the mighty take a fall, then I LIKE ME is not for you. But if you’re one of the legions who watched John Candy in STRIPES or SPLASH or UNCLE BUCK or NATIONAL LAMPOON’S VACATION or SPACEBALLS (et al) and thought, “Man, I like that guy,” then make sure to check out this heartfelt tribute.