Stream It Or Skip It?

As you fire up John Candy: I Like Me (now streaming on Amazon Prime Video), take a cue from Dan Aykroyd, who clutches a tissue during his interview segments – and it ain’t because it’s allergy season and it’s a bit dusty in here. Those of us who came of age in the 1980s and early ’90s remember the gut punch upon hearing that Candy, one of the most endearing and funny people in Hollywood, had died of a heart attack in 1994, at the way-too-young age of 43. By most every account he was a gentle giant of a man whose goofy, openhearted screen persona was a direct reflection of who he really was, whether he was playing a nutty and deranged sweetheart in Uncle Buck or a boor with a broken heart in Planes, Trains and Automobiles (I’m no different than most of you in declaring these my favorite Candy films) – so it’s no surprise that this documentary from director Colin Hanks spends nearly two hours reiterating that very point. Do we need to hear it all again? Absolutely. Because remembering the kind, good people who’ve passed through this world may inspire us to be the same.

The Gist: I Like Me opens with commentary by Bill Murray on John Candy’s character. It ends with a remembrance about how the city of Toronto shut down the 407 expressway for Candy’s funeral procession. These are not things that happen for just anyone, or even the average Hollywood star. It speaks volumes on Candy’s character, his presence, and the warmth and joy he put into the world. He was a big man with a bigger heart who made people laugh and laugh and laugh. We hear Candy’s old friend Aykroyd eulogizing him at his March 18, 1994 funeral as “a titan of a golden, gentle man.” In just a few moments of this documentary, we hear Murray being incredibly funny in a profound way, and Aykroyd’s piercing earnestness, and those of us who grew up watching Candy on TV or in the movies knew he could convey that whole melange of tones and emotions with a single wide-eyed expression and simple line reading: “I… I like me,” with his voice choking a little at the ellipsis, is perhaps the perfect on-screen moment reflecting who Candy was as a man, taken from a high point in Planes Trains and Automobiles, when Steve Martin’s uptight character berates Candy’s goofy shower curtain ring salesman. Hence, the title of this documentary.

So yes, you will cry while watching this, but you knew that already. Candy was born in Toronto in 1950. His father died of a heart attack at 35, on Candy’s birthday, a fact that would haunt the man for the rest of his days. His family moved in with his grandparents out of necessity, and he and his brother lived in the basement. He was a drummer with a massive record collection. He loved the cinema. He idolized Jackie Gleason. He loved football even more, but was forced to quit after an injury forced him to have his kneecap surgically removed (!). He was a lousy student and a devoted Catholic. He had a high-energy personality that eventually fed his improvisation skills on stage. He worked in children’s theater, then a production of Godspell before landing a spot in the Second City troupe in Toronto, where he worked with Martin Short, Catherine O’Hara, Eugene Levy and others who would go on to be beloved comic actors, but, no offense, not as beloved as Candy.

The big guy worked through initial insecurities to eventually become a standout among the Second City cast, and the leap to American movies soon followed. The first big one was Steven Spielberg’s 1941, then Stripes, then National Lampoon’s Vacation, then Splash, where, of all things, his comedic power and presence intimidated Tom Hanks. No, really. Tom Hanks is here saying exactly that. He talks about how Candy was an “inclusive” actor who wanted them to be funny together. Candy was never competitive like others in the business can be, playing a one-upsmanship game. This anecdote is as representative of Candy’s sensitive, generous character as any you’ll hear in this documentary.

I’m grateful to report that I Like Me doesn’t skip around. It works through Candy’s life in a linear fashion, roping in commentary from a murderer’s row of his aforementioned peers, as well as Mel Brooks, Conan O’Brien and Macauley Culkin (who shares how paternal Candy was to him, when Culkin’s own father was, in his words, “a monster”). It struck me that anyone who knew Candy is more than happy to go on camera and praise him, to say how much they loved the guy. Of course, Candy had a dark side. We all do. His involved food and booze, which were his coping mechanisms for the looming genetic defects of his father; he suffered from anxiety attacks, stemming from a fast-paced lifestyle as a movie star and co-owner of a Canadian football team; he’s characterized as a people-pleaser, which O’Brien says is an “unhealthy” thing to be when you’re in showbiz. Candy struggled with his weight, torn between maintaining his health and meeting the expectations of casting directors who didn’t want him to change, because apparently being skinny would’ve made him less funny? The logic is lost on me. But it affected the guy, because the only thing that was bigger than his body, and outlasted it, was his heart.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: The 2020 documentary Belushi parallels I Like Me in several ways, especially in their balance of comedy and tragedy.

Performance Worth Watching: Candy’s family is open and honest and, like him, not afraid to be vulnerable: His wife Rose Candy, and children Jennifer and Christopher Candy.

Memorable Dialogue: Typical Bill Murray: “I wish I had more bad things to say about him,” he quips. “I hope that what you’re producing here turns up some people that have some dirt on him.”

Sex and Skin: None.

Our Take: Well, we don’t get much dirt here. The worst thing we learn about Candy is that he could carry a grudge; his struggles with alcohol, cigarettes and overeating are left vague (the film whether he was an addict or had disorders), and his reported cocaine use is never mentioned. But the point of I Like Me isn’t to showcase the warts-and-all of the guy, and to hear all the interviewees say it, they pretty convincingly convey that he didn’t have many warts worth discussing anyway. Brooks, who directed Candy in Spaceballs, insists that the funny guy was “a total actor because he was a total person,” which is a way of saying that the jolly, slightly unhinged, but ultimately deeply squishy persona we saw in movies was an exact reflection of who he was as a human being. And who are we to question Mel effing Brooks?

Helming his third documentary, Colin Hanks doesn’t do anything particularly groundbreaking with this biodoc. It’s populated with talking heads, movie and TV clips and archival footage — including grainy home movies and TV interviews that are shockingly insensitive in their questions about Candy’s body image — and doesn’t get cutesy in its narrative structure. It works quite well, pushing his main subject into the foreground, and inspiring a bevy of funny and/or thoughtful anecdotes and analysis, all illuminating who Candy was both personally and professionally. It’s a well-rounded summary of his life told via highly credible voices; it also wisely prompts us to wonder the what ifs indirectly without indulging silly speculation. If there’s anyone who deserves a gently hagiographic celebrity profile, it’s Candy – and I was left with the impression that it couldn’t have been done any other way.

Our Call: I sure hope when Candy choked out the words “I like me,” it was as much a reflection of himself as it was the character he was playing. STREAM IT.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan.