On June 14, 2024, Pope Francis invited comedians from around the world to the Apostolic Palace in Vatican City. His Holiness addressed the group with stirring words extolling the beauty of humor, laughter, and comedy, not only as an art form but as a salve for the soul in dark times:
I hold you in high esteem as artists who express yourselves through the language of comedy, humour, and irony. How much wisdom there is in this kind of language! . . . In the midst of so much gloomy news, immersed as we are in many social and even personal emergencies, you have the power to spread peace and smiles. . . . Your talent is a precious gift. . . . You also succeed in bringing about another miracle: you manage to make people smile even while dealing with problems and events, large and small. You denounce abuses of power; you give voice to forgotten situations; you highlight abuses; you point out inappropriate behaviour. You do this without spreading alarm or terror, anxiety or fear, as other types of communication tend to do; you rouse people to think critically by making them laugh and smile. You do this by telling stories of real life, narrating reality from your unique viewpoint; and in this way, you speak to people about problems, large and small.
Recently, I watched the new documentary I Like Me (2025) about Canadian comedic actor John Candy, which made me reflect on Candy’s life, work, and legacy in light of the pope’s address. From his earliest on-screen performances in The Second City (SCTV) sketches to John Hughes’s films like Planes, Trains and Automobiles, John Candy has lit up the silver screen with his larger-than-life personality. He was also a Catholic and described by many who knew him as one of the gentlest and most charitable people they ever met. I would like to share with you Candy’s biography and work through the lens of Pope Francis’s profound address.
John Candy was born on October 31, 1950, and grew up in Toronto. John’s father died of heart disease when John was five years old; his death left a significant impact for the remainder of John’s life. He would later morbidly joke he was destined to die at thirty-five like his father. This dark humour suggests not only a fatalism in John’s worldview but the use of comedy as a way to cope with grief, pain, and trauma.
Candy was raised in a working-class environment with strong Catholic values and was sacramentally formed in the Church. He went to Neil McNeil Catholic High School and later commented that his success was “rooted in the values and discipline and respect for others that I was taught at Neil McNeil.” He was a classic adolescent who dreamed of becoming a professional footballer. This aspiration was brutally cut short by a knee injury that physically affected him throughout his life. The injury shifted Candy’s focus from sports to entertainment, and he began appearing in grassroots theater and television productions, culminating as a member of Toronto’s SCTV in 1972. After several television and low-budget film appearances, he finally found supporting roles in Steven Spielberg’s 1941 and the musical smash-hit Blues Brothers alongside John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd. Aykroyd and Candy became very close friends; Aykroyd later commented, “John was a titan of a gentle, golden man.” Candy followed up with Stripes and established himself as a formidable comedic force in Ron Howard’s Splash, starring Tom Hanks.
Candy had his major breakthrough in John Hughes’s 1987 film Planes, Trains and Automobiles, which grossed almost $50 million at the US box office. The archetype of the fool—descriptive of many of Candy’s characters—extends back to early Christian history. Sergey Ivanov explains this role in his book Holy Fools in Byzantium and Beyond as a person who “feigns insanity, pretends to be foolish, or who provokes shock or outrage by his deliberate unruliness . . . which is caused neither by mistake nor by feeble-mindedness, but is deliberate, irritating, even provocative.” The role of the fool also came to prominence in the works of William Shakespeare, who used it as a literary device to speak truth through allegory, metaphor, and humor to the audience and figures of authority, like the fool in King Lear. Critically acclaimed writer Isaac Asimov quipped: “That, of course, is the great secret of the successful fool—that he is no fool at all.”
Many of John Candy’s roles fit this definition, but perhaps none more so than the foolish Del Griffith. Planes, Trains and Automobiles is the story of Del Griffith (John Candy), an irritating shower curtain ring salesman, and Neal Page (Steve Martin), a rigid marketing executive, who become unlikely traveling companions. Roger Ebert included the film in his Great Movies collection, stating, “Planes, Trains and Automobiles is perfectly cast and soundly constructed, and all else flows naturally. Steve Martin and John Candy don’t play characters; they embody themselves. That’s why the comedy, which begins securely planted in the twin genres of the road movie and the buddy picture, is able to reveal so much heart and truth.” The idea of John Candy embodying himself as Del Griffith reveals something deeply profound and moving about the man, as shown in an unforgettable scene where Neal attempts to psychologically wound Del, yet Del responds with defiant humility and compassion.
Like Del Griffith, John Candy struggled with self-image and self-worth throughout his life, including incessant comments about his weight and eating and drinking habits. John always managed to brush them off with a humorous quip, but the comments left him feeling hurt, judged, and imprisoned by an industry obsessed with narrow definitions of beauty and screen appeal. Del’s simple statement “I like me” should inspire us all to greater acceptance of people no matter their physique or appearance: Beneath a disarming visual aesthetic is a unique person made in the image and likeness of God.
We also see in this scene John Candy’s extraordinary acting and deeply human nature—a modern incarnation of the fool, who through his unruly behaviour disguises profound spiritual insight, ultimately breaking through Neal’s pride, cynicism, and selfishness to inspire forgiveness, tolerance, and compassion. We see this transformation in the end sequence when Neal invites Del to Thanksgiving dinner with his family.
While John Candy will be remembered in pop culture history as one of the most iconic comedic actors of his generation, he was also a quietly practicing Catholic and a man of profound compassion. The family attended Mass and their children were baptized and formed in the faith. John referenced his early Catholic education as the foundation for his emphasis on humility and generosity throughout his short life. He donated money to various charities with the Gospel in mind (Matthew 6:3–4) and was universally acknowledged by friends, family, and colleagues as the kindest, gentlest, and most beautiful man they ever met. Co-star Tom Hanks expressed, “John Candy is a man who will look you in the eye and be so present with you that he will make you feel as though you are the most fascinating creature on planet Earth.”
John Candy starred in over fifty movies in his career, including Home Alone, JFK, Cool Runnings, and Canadian Bacon. Yet while his star shone, John struggled with his health, smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, drowned his depression and anxiety in alcohol and drug use, and battled morbid obesity, weighing more than 350 pounds at times in his life. He passed away in 1994 at the tragic age of forty-three. His funeral was held at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church in Los Angeles, a reflection of his faith and the role it continued to play in his life until the end. He was one of only a handful of people in Los Angeles history to have the San Diego Freeway blocked off for his funeral procession.
The actress Catherine O’Hara expressed perfectly John Candy’s character, nature, and beauty in her eulogy, which calls to mind Pope Francis’s address commending the joy, wisdom, and gift of comedians:
Who am I to be standing up here talking about John Candy? . . . I’m one of the millions of people whose lives were touched and enriched by the life that was John Candy. I know you all have a story. You asked him for his autograph, and he stopped to ask you about you. You auditioned for Second City, and John watched you, smiling, laughing. And though you didn’t get the job, you did walk away thinking, “What do they know? John Candy thinks I’m funny.” You worked one of the thousand Air Canada flights that John took between Toronto and LA, and you never had time fly by so fast. You worked at the butcher shop, the fish shop, the market . . . where John ordered up his feast for friends, and you took your time not only to do it just right for him but to keep John there for a moment longer. He closed your bar, and it was packed because of course no one would leave until John Candy had gone home. Party monster? Maybe. Or maybe he just knew you could use the business. I spent nearly every working hour, hundreds of evenings and weekends, with John for nearly ten years. So where are the details of those days? I realize when I think of John, it’s not in terms of details. I think of John in terms of the big picture.