Ryan Reynolds takes on media shade about John Candy in a bold, candid TIFF reveal

Sage Matthews here, and yes, we’re starting this late-night read with the kind of sigh that means the universe has nothing left to surprise us with but still somehow managed to conjure a fresh bite of disbelief. In the glow of the Toronto International Film Festival’s opening night, Ryan Reynolds and Colin Hanks rolled out their new documentary John Candy: I Like Me, a love letter to a Canadian comic who died too young and whose legacy still stings with fond and painful truth. And yes, the latest behind the curtain moment confirms what we already suspect: the past was messy, the present is hungry for headlines, and some people still think it’s fine to weigh a dead performer like an offhand punchline.

When Reynolds and Hanks delved into the project, they found archival footage of journalists tossing barbs at John Candy during his life. The kind of remarks that land with a thud years after the fact, especially when the subject is beloved and tragically departed. Reynolds, never shy about a moment that feels morally thorny, decided to make a quiet stand that didn’t scream censorship but did demand accountability. He did something anyone with a functioning moral compass would admire on paper and fear in practice: he picked up the phone.

The revelation came as part of a broader conversation about the film, its editing choices, and the conversation around Candy’s body and image in old interviews. Reynolds confessed that some of the most pointed, cruel comments were left out of the finished documentary, not because they wouldn’t spice up a screening or vapidly titillate a click-hungry crowd, but because they didn’t serve the film’s purpose. Still, Reynolds picked up the receiver and called one particularly sharp-angled journalist to discuss the footage. The goal, he said, was not to shame but to offer a chance at dialogue about the path from careless commentary to responsible storytelling.

This is not just a gut punch of a behind-the-scenes anecdote; it’s a lens into the fragile line between criticism and cruelty. John Candy, a Canadian icon who died at 43 after a heart attack, is remembered here not simply for the laughs but for the human being behind the stage persona—the “people pleaser” who reportedly wrestled with mental health in a way that many of us would rather pretend isn’t happening. Reynolds, who’s spent years weaving his own public image through family-friendly films and a ruthless business acumen, lend his voice to a larger conversation about how journalists, critics, and media personalities handle legacy.

The documentary invites several familiar names into the frame. Steve Martin, who co-starred with Candy in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and Macaulay Culkin, who played Candy’s nephew in a film that marked a softer, more tender side of Candy’s range, weigh in on the man behind the jokes. Culkin’s reflections emphasize Candy’s warmth and respectfulness on set, a reminder that even the funniest people carry vulnerabilities that feed the art and the humanity.

As the premiere lands with emotional weight, Reynolds makes sure to honor Candy’s memory and his family. Candy’s children, Chris and Jennifer, who serve as co-executive producers, appear with his widow Rosemary at the Toronto event. It’s a moment of ceremonial balance—celebration of a career while acknowledging the cost of fame, the invasive echo of critical chatter, and the responsibility of storytellers to treat their subjects with care.

What to watch next? The film seems to be a study not just of a comedian but of how public memory is curated, contested, and sometimes corrected by those who wield cameras and microphones. The conversation around mental health, celebrity, and the ethics of old footage feels like a blueprint for future documentaries—where the goal isn’t to scorch the earth, but to tell the truth with restraint and compassion. And yes, in this twisted 2 AM reality, that almost feels like progress. What happens when journalists open up about their own blind spots? The answer might be found in the next reel, or the next heated interview, or the next post-credits moment that reminds us how little has changed since Candy’s era of big laughs and bigger judgments. So we wait, coffee cooling, for the next chapter to spill the tea we think we already know but somehow didn’t admit to ourselves.

Sources: Celebrity Storm and New York Post
Attribution: Creative Commons Licensed (GO)