John Candy: I Like Me

JOHN CANDY: I LIKE ME
PG-13                                                  113 Minutes
Director: Colin Hanks
Steve Martin, Bill Murray, Catherine O’Hara, Macaulay Culkin, Eugene Levy, Tom Hanks

In my Mount Rushmore of favorite actors: John Candy is George Washington. Christopher Walken is Thomas Jefferson. Philip Seymour Hoffman is Teddy Roosevelt. Hmm… we’ll need a fourth one. I guess Patrick Swayze. That’s the place where Candy lives for me—etched in granite, permanently grinning, somehow still making room for everybody else.

Nepo-baby Colin Hanks plays it straight and respectful—which is exactly right. The film celebrates Candy’s generosity and timing—the way he could float a scene on kindness alone—while also acknowledging the pressures of fame, the anxiety that rides shotgun with it, and the public scrutiny over his weight. You feel the love, and you feel the cost. Both belong in the story.

The interviews are marvelous—including Steve Martin, Bill Murray, Catherine O’Hara, Macaulay Culkin, and others. These aren’t just “remember-when” anecdotes; they’re small hymns. O’Hara, who seems to have logged the most hours in Candy-world, even gave a tender eulogy—because of course she did. That friendship reads on- and off-camera.

After watching this documentary, it’s become quite evident that I’m still grieving, all these years later. I found myself blubbering like a little child. Almost as if he were a family member. One cutaway to that smile and I’m done.

And here’s the part that really got me: Los Angeles literally shut down the 405 for his funeral procession. The 405. Closed. For John Candy. That’s the kind of civic love you can’t manufacture; it’s what happens when a whole city realizes it lost a good man.

Candy, to me, was like John Wayne—he pretty much always played himself. But that “himself” contained universes: decent, awkward, earnest, wounded, generous. He didn’t need tricks. He needed eye contact and a beat. Suddenly, everyone else in the scene got better.

I remember the day after he died like a weird little home movie: I’m at the barbershop, clippings on the floor, and everyone is talking about him. Not gossip—gratitude. Stories. Chatter that feels like a celebration.

I LIKE ME is a sturdy frame built to hold a giant heart—two hours of remembering why this man felt like home, and why losing him still stings all these years later. So watch this documentary, and then watch PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES for Thanksgiving.

Final Verdict: 94 out of 100

Sidenote: I docked some points because Ryan Reynolds was so heavily involved in this production. At least he didn't put himself in the film.