“That’s the problem when you talk about John: People don’t really have a lot of negative things to say about him,” Bill Murray says in the opening scene of “John Candy: I Like Me,” the new documentary about the late actor and comedian. “And I hope what you’re producing here turns up some people who’ve got some dirt on him.”
The tongue-in-cheek remark from Murray could prime viewers to expect that the filmmakers will, indeed, dig up the seedier parts of the man who was so beloved on-screen. But the next 113 minutes instead give a heartfelt window into the life of a charismatic performer who dazzled during his too-short time here, a tender depiction that pulls at your heart more than leaves you laughing.
“I Like Me,” available on Prime Video, is a family-sanctioned documentary, with Candy’s two adult children, Chris and Jennifer, along with his widow, Rosemary, serving as co-executive producers, sitting for interviews, and providing filmmakers with intimate family home videos and a trove of photos from Candy’s younger years. Candy fan Ryan Reynolds produced the documentary, and it was capably left in the hands of director Colin Hanks, whose most recent documentary was the well-received “Eagles of Death Metal: Nos Amis” (2017). He also as a child knew Candy, and Hanks’s warmth for his subject seeps into the film. (Hanks’s father, Tom Hanks, starred in Candy’s breakout film, the Ron Howard-directed “Splash,” and also appears in the documentary.)
Candy is best known for a string of unforgettable roles he played in movies from the 1980s into the early 1990s, with “Uncle Buck,” “National Lampoon’s Vacation” and “Stripes” among them. But from the documentary’s opening scenes at his 1994 funeral — he died at age 43 of a heart attack — to the end, you are never allowed to forget that Candy wasn’t just beloved by his fellow Canadians and comedy nerds worldwide. He was a husband. He was a father.
And, maybe more than that, he was a child who lost his father around his 5th birthday to a massive heart attack. No one in his family spoke of the tragic event, and it turned him into the kid who made everyone happy. He then grew into an adult who, as one friend put it in the documentary, lived knowing he was on borrowed time.
For fans of Candy, the documentary will be, excuse the pun, like candy. You’re treated to footage from his early days in Toronto’s theater and improv scene and, though it takes awhile to get there, clips from his many on-screen performances. “Home Alone” outtakes alongside his former “SCTV” colleague Catherine O’Hara are a highlight. A murderers’ row of comedic giants — Martin Short, Dan Aykroyd, Mel Brooks and more — get misty-eyed recalling how beautiful it was to see Candy in his element, as he delivered effortless, tender performances. They also explain the connective tissue between his outlandish characters from his early days and his big-screen roles.
“I Like Me” serves as a worthy primer for Candy novices as well. The documentary’s title borrows from a pivotal scene in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles,” when Steve Martin’s character rips into Candy’s Del Griffith. The camera lingers on Candy’s face as he processes the litany of insults that would devastate any feeling person. Then his resolve finds him. “I like me,” Candy replies.
Martin dissects the scene. “His facial response told a huge story,” recalls Martin, as he had to remind himself on set that this was just pretend because Candy “acted so hurt.”
The moment stunned.
“This is not a comedian,” remarks “Home Alone” director Christopher Columbus. “This is a guy who is much more complex than what a lot of people would think.”
We also learn that Candy had struggles with anxiety and doubt. He had flaws, though they’re presented as brief mentions of living above his means and a tendency to hold a grudge. And sometimes those who knew him give contradictory takes, including how seriously Candy took his personal health, given what happened to his father.
Unlike in other recent comedic documentary projects, like “Pee-wee as Himself” or even the Marc Maron film “Are We Good?,” we don’t get the benefit of hearing the subject explain himself under the care of a documentarian who wants to go deep. Instead, what we hear of Candy here is through archival television interviews, which reveal less about him than about the cultural era of the time.
He dealt, gracefully, with incessant and rude questions about his weight. His wife Rosemary concludes he was trapped by this image, even during times he actively worked to change. “The industry wanted him big,” she says.
As to the central question posed by Murray: not much dirt, no. The documentary is full of anecdotes of how Candy treated regular, working folks decently and without fanfare. He’s the guy who would stop to sign all the autographs, who was constantly saying yes and doing favors for others. In one scene, Macaulay Culkin explains how Candy treated him, as a child, with a level of care and respect he got from few other adults.
Except for a short tag with few examples, we don’t get the full picture of Candy’s enduring influence on comedy. Instead, we see how his goodness impacted those who loved him, which did include comedy’s greats. You’re astonished to see how fully actualized Candy was as a performer in his short time, but you’re also left with the heartbreak of all that was left unrealized by his untimely passing.
So, yeah, never meet your heroes? “I Like Me” will leave you feeling: Man, this was a hero worth meeting.
PG-13. Available on Prime Video. Contains smoking, some strong language, drug material and suggestive material. 113 minutes.
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