​Hanks remembers a Titan: ‘John Candy: I like me’

By Greg Carlson

gregcarlson1@gmail.com

Now available on Amazon Prime following its world premiere last month as the opening night selection of the Toronto International Film Festival’s golden anniversary, “John Candy: I Like Me” is a heartfelt and star-studded appreciation of the late actor, who died in 1994 at the age of 43. The movie’s director is actor/filmmaker Colin Hanks, and his connections prove most valuable in attracting a phenomenal gallery of household-name talent who worked with and admired Candy from the very beginning to the very end. In a savvy maneuver to confront the anticipated (and inevitable) accusations of a hagiographic anointing of Saint John, the movie starts with Sahara-dry and predictably hilarious Bill Murray, who later cites an instance of his friend “milking” a scene in a show they did together as evidence of Candy at his worst.

Along with Murray, many others testify to Candy’s decency, graciousness and largesse as much as his seemingly effortless on-camera skill. Players who shared his orbit include some of the biggest and best names in comedy: Dan Aykroyd, Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin, Steve Martin, Tom Hanks, Martin Short, Mel Brooks, Dave Thomas, Conan O’Brien and Macaulay Culkin are among those who pay respects with remembrances that Candy faithful will be thrilled to hear. “I Like Me” is not a critical biography, but each time Hanks makes space for Candy’s fellow pros to describe their favorite characters and bits, the movie takes flight.

Along with that famous fraternity, Hanks talks to Candy’s wife Rosemary and their adult children Christopher and Jennifer to fashion a behind-the-scenes thread that thematically links Candy’s premature death to the loss of his own father Sidney, who died at the age of 35 on John’s fifth birthday. The filmmaker strives for the right balance of commentary on Candy’s physical size, especially as related to the implications that eating, drinking and smoking functioned as coping mechanisms for his insecurities and fears. Rosemary points out that when John lost weight, studio executives would pressure him to stay big. O’Brien captures the essence of that downside: “This industry is very unhealthy for people-pleasers.”

Hanks covers Candy’s entrepreneurial ambitions by unpacking the actor’s ownership stake in the Canadian Football League’s Toronto Argonauts, a chapter which also dovetails with a motif regarding the close identification that fellow countrymen felt with Candy as proud Canadians. The film’s title derives from what is arguably Candy’s signature performance in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” for writer/director John Hughes, yet another close friend. Culkin argues that even though people tend to think first of Molly Ringwald, Candy — who was in more films written, produced, and/or directed by Hughes than any other performer — was that filmmaker’s ultimate representative.

In strategically selected spots, Hanks includes footage of Candy’s memorial service, highlighting Catherine O’Hara’s moving tribute and audio of Dan Aykroyd’s beautiful encomium, in which Candy’s “allied professional, creative brother and fellow Canadian” remembers a “titan of a gentle, golden man” in what is surely one of the most stirring eulogies I have ever heard. If space permitted, I wouldn’t hesitate to reprint the entire text, in which Aykroyd eloquently describes Candy as “magnificent of visage, eyes and frame,” and ultimately “the sweetest, most generous person ever known to me.” I urge you to locate and listen to the entire thing. I additionally hope that we will all be so fortunate to have someone as munificent in our own lives.