John Candy is fondly remembered by friends, family, and castmates thirty-one years after his early death in Colin Hank’s tribute documentary John Candy: I Like Me.
When you sit down and push play on John Candy: I Like Me (for clarity, I’ll refer to the film as I Like Me for the review), be sure to bring your tissues. A whole box, perhaps. This loving, continually funny tribute to the late comic actor is so full of emotion: joy in how good a person he was, tearful remembrance of old friends, and sadness from his early passing in 1994, at the age of 43.
Make no bones, I Like Me is a celebration of Candy. Don’t expect a “ooh, tear down a man beloved by generations.” It’s not that sort of movie. And Candy was not that sort of guy. Bookending the film, Bill Murray jokes he struggles to come up with any dirt and hopes others dig something up for his entertainment. He only has one handful himself, a stretch at that to his own admittance. It’s telling when the normally stoic Murray breaks down crying, thinking of his friend. He’s not alone. Everyone does: his family, Tom Hanks, Dan Akroyd, Catherine O’Hara and many others. You, watching the documentary. Me, writing this review.
I was born in 1982. Like many of Generation X/Early-Millennials/whatever, I grew up on John Candy. He was ubiquitous in the ’80s, everywhere there were laughs to be had. Even as a kid watching The Great Outdoors and Spaceballs on repeat or the surprisingly-holds-up Saturday Morning Cartoon Camp Candy, one can see the man, jovial and instantly likable. He felt like a big kid, or a favorite, affable uncle (Buck). I’m glad to find more in the documentary that this is the truth. He was a likeable, funny, heartwarming, gregarious spirit.
This is the sort of documentary that isn’t about digging deep into a subject, but meeting someone you know and love in one manner and shining a light more than a mere Wikipedia reading could do, even if it follows a personal and career trajectory. (See also, as I recommend, the recent films on Gene Wilder of Liza Minelli.) It’s fitting that an early sequence is from Candy’s funeral. I Like Me serves as a wake, thirty-one years late. Just as much of following the ups and downs of a career: from children’s theater, Second City and its TV show, breaking into film when Spielberg specifically cast him in 1941, across Stripes, Vacation, Splash, and more. Let’s not forget his greatest film: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, where he bares his soul and provides the documentary’s title.
Like a wake, I Like Me is a collection of stories and influences, how he touched the lives of everyone he met, whether working together for decades, such as Eugene Levy, or Conan O’Brien’s single meeting, regaling Candy’s visit to Harvard. Every storyteller has a gleam, a glowing light in their eyes as they talk. It’s a highlight of the love they shared with and about Candy.
Yes, he did have troubles. Everyone does. He had issues with drinking, drugs, and the sheer stress and issues of being a larger-than-life public figure. While an uplifting jubilation, director Colin Hanks does cover Candy’s troubles with addictions, specifically food, and the personal troubles across his life. He lost his father young, and he carried the pain of his past. Although he wasn’t a “dark, dark, dark inside under the laughs” comedian, it’s still a new approach to him.
It’s similarly heartbreaking when Hanks slides into reporters and interviews, digging at his weight or any films that didn’t work, even with backhanded compliments. And as a parent to a small child, it’s just as heartbreaking thinking of his kids growing up without him. For all the comic retellings, the joy of a meeting, or a fine remembrance, there is an overlay of sadness; of the pain and loss, and how there’s a missing hole in their careers and lives post-1994. It’s felt with the manner Hanks structures I Like Me. He occasionally returns to 1994 before rewinding VCR-style to the current year. A heartbreaking tension is built as the years get closer and closer. We know what’s coming: his death on the set of Wagons East at a far too young age. It’s a dread. We don’t want the stories to stop. We don’t want a hole to form.
I Like Me is a beautiful spark of life about a wonderful man. It has honesty and love. Like Strange Journey earlier this month, the closeness to the documentarian allows a stronger connection. Where Strange Journey had Linus O’Brien talking to people he’s known his whole life, I Like Me is put together by Colin Hanks, son of Tom. Walls that might be up for a stranger or regular reporter come down, revealing further truths, and allowing them to dig in more emotionally. Thus, more engaging than a dry, arm’s distance run-through. I Like Me feels personal, even if I never knew the guy. He had that charm. IT’s clear why we connected to him as kids, he had a kid’s heart, never talked down to them, charmed and loved them. It’s heartbreaking hearing Macaulay Culkin (who reminds us both he and Molly Ringwald worked with John Hughes three times; Candy worked with him nine times. They were kindred spirits.) talk about Candy as a surrogate father after his own was more and more of a monster. Culkin is one year older than me. He touches on how he’s older than Candy was at his death. It’s a weird, sombering thought.
“I like me,” Del Griffith tells Steve Martin’s Neal Page. Well, John Candy, we like you. And love you. And miss you, even if we didn’t know you. I Like Me is a warm hug from a kind man. Maybe it’s what we need right now: a welcome and friendly flashback to joyous recollections of touching comedy and simplicity of our youth. Take a break from modern life, and for many readers, Halloween Horror Month, and reminisce with favorite comedians for John Candy: I Like Me. Now streaming on Amazon Prime.
PS: As a Ghostbusters superfan, I’d be remiss not to note his connection. Accountant & Vinz Clortho possessee Louis Tully was written for Candy. He ultimately passed but suggested his SCTV castmate Rick Moranis for the job instead. This story isn’t in the film, but there is a quick bit of his cameo in the Ray Parker, Jr music video.