‘John Candy: I Like Me’ is the Documentary I Didn’t Know I Needed
- Jared Huizenga
- Oct 9
- 3 min read
In hindsight, it’s incredible to look back and realize what a huge role the late John Candy played in my earliest days of movie watching. From “Spaceballs” to “Follow that Bird” to (the wildly age inappropriate for me at the time) “Stripes” and even “Who’s Harry Crumb,” the Canadian funnyman brought hours of laughter to my childhood living room. As an adult, his face and Steve Martin’s (in “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles”) would be the ones staring back at me as I got my first regrettable tattoo.
That legacy (the laughs, not the regrettable ink) is at the center of the new documentary “John Candy: I Like Me.”
The Colin Hanks-directed film walks viewers through Candy’s early years, documenting unresolved trauma that would haunt him throughout the remainder of his far-too-short life and career; his time on “Second City TV;” his move to the big screen; his foray into Canadian football ownership; his family; and, sadly, his demons.
Interspersed amongst the film/TV clips, interviews, and home movies, his wife (Rosemary), children (Jennifer and Christopher), and some of his legendary friends, costars, and admirers, including Dan Akroyd, Bill Murray, Tom Hanks, Conan O’Brien, Steve Martin, Eugene Levy, Martin Short, Catherine O'Hara, Dave Thomas and Macaulay Culkin took turns telling stories and singing his praises.
And, honestly, in a world where public images and legacies – of both the living and the dead – are tarnished daily by their indiscretions, hearing that 30+ years after his death, people still hold John Candy the man in high regards, and that he was the person he appeared to be on TV, was something I needed.
Among the most talked and written about aspects of the film since it debuted last month at the Toronto International Film Festival is how entertainment reporters of the ’80s repeatedly asked him pointed and despicable questions about his weight in promotional interviews.
“How bad could it have possibly been?” I asked myself. Well, given that I’ve been overweight most my life, I should have known the answer to that. In short: they were ruthless and relentless. They were bullies, no different than the ones I went to school with. And while the questions made my blood boil, seeing his expression change over and over as he faced the same questions broke my heart. Here was a highly successful, incredibly funny, and genuinely good man being belittled on multiple press junkets. You can look at his face and see him retreat into himself, hurt by the unnecessary and mean-spirited questions.
Candy’s weight was an issue, as was his drinking and smoking, and his friends, family, and even him through archive footage, admitted as much. Given the family history and genetics you learn about in the opening moments of the film, maybe he should’ve done more to reign those things in, but it shouldn’t have been an interview topic and, ultimately, those questions did more harm than good.
Luckily, most the film celebrates Candy’s life and career, rather than focus on his demons. His friends and family speak fondly and highly of him, but are also willing to admit his faults, which is refreshing. At times, however, it’s hard to see the lingering pain of loss on the faces of notoriously funny people like Murray, Akroyd, and Thomas, although it does humanize them for the viewer (which is probably a good reminder, given that fact seems to have been lost on Candy).
It’s hard to believe that with as big of a star he was, that it took so long for a John Candy documentary to happen. The wait was certainly worth it though – Collin Hanks knocked it out of the park in his directorial debut, and the thoughtful insights shared by friends and family combined with the video archives to paint a complete and beautiful portrait.
★★★ ★ of ★★★★★
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