The Chris Farley Show: A Biography in Three Acts
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
INTRODUCTION
ACT I
CHAPTER 1 - A Motivated Speaker
CHAPTER 2 - Madison, Wisconsin
CHAPTER 3 - An Epiphany
CHAPTER 4 - Attacking the Stage
CHAPTER 5 - Whale Boy
CHAPTER 6 - Super Fan
CHAPTER 7 - The Place in Alabama
ACT II
CHAPTER 8 - A Friendly Visitor
CHAPTER 9 - The Magic Sixty-six
CHAPTER 10 - The Lost Boys
CHAPTER 11 - The Polar Bear Pit
ACT III
CHAPTER 12 - Raising the White Flag
CHAPTER 13 - The Devil in the Closet
CHAPTER 14 - Fatty Falls Down
CHAPTER 15 - The Parting Glass
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
NOTE ON SOURCES AND METHOD
THE - OGRAPHIES
Index
VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in 2008 by Viking Penguin,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © Tom Farley, Junior, and Tanner Colby, 2008
All rights reserved
Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint excerpts from the following copyrighted works:
“All You Need Is Love” by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. © 1967 Sony/ATV Tunes LLC. All rights administered by Sony/ATV Music Publishing, 8 Music Square West, Nashville, TN 37203. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
“Working for the Weekend” words and music by Paul Dean, Matthew Frenette and Michael Reno. © 1981 EMI April Music (Canada) Ltd., Dean of Music, EMI Blackwood Music Inc. and Duke Reno Music. All rights in the U.S.A. controlled and administered by EMI April Music Inc. and EMI Blackwood Music Inc. All rights reserved. International copyright secured. Used by permission.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Farley, Tom, 1961-
The Chris Farley show : a biography in three acts / Tom Farley, Jr. & Tanner Colby.
p. cm.
Includes index.
eISBN : 978-1-4406-3603-5
1. Farley, Chris, 1964-1997. 2. Comedians—United States—Biography. 3. Actors—United States—
Biography. I. Colby, Tanner. II. Title.
PN2287.F33F37 2008
792.02’8092—dc22 2007040481
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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For my brother, whom I love and miss;
my dad, who gave us all he had to give;
my kids, Mary Kate, Emma, and Tommy,
the most inspiring, funny, caring, and wonderful kids anyone could have;
and most important,
my wife and deepest friend, Laura, whom I love with all my heart
For Gus, a great writer of stories and chapter books
Nothing you can make that can’t be made,
No one you can save that can’t be saved,
Nothing you can do, but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy.
All you need is love.
—JOHN LENNON/PAUL MCCARTNEY
INTRODUCTION
Irish brothers share one of the strangest relationships on earth. We fight like hell among ourselves on a daily basis, but one word or action against one brother brings the wrath of God down upon you from the others. That was Chris and me. We were always competing, whether it was driveway basketball, touch football, or Monopoly. Most of the time, those games would end in a brawl. Nothing bloody, mind you. Drawing blood would bring the fury of Mom or Dad down on all of us. No, most of the time we’d strike a few blows and then run like hell. And let me tell you, nothing was more terrifying than being chased through the neighborhood by a crazy, mad Irish sibling who outweighed you by twenty-five pounds and had a brick in his hand!
But rare was the time that I wouldn’t come running if Chris was in trouble. I was the older brother; that was my job. And, Chris being Chris, it was a job that put me in harm’s way more times than I would have liked. One such time, when I was in eighth grade and Chris was in sixth, he got into a fight with a classmate. He tackled the kid and threw him to the ground, landing on top of him and breaking his collarbone. Word got around school that the kid’s seventh-grade brother was gunning for Chris. Naturally, I had to step in. I put the word out that the brother would have to get through me first. I found out later that day that the kid’s brother was named Rocky. No shit: Rocky! The guy was massive (a future all-city lineman in high school, no less). No fight ensued, but I did learn that I possessed a real gift of what the Irish call “the gab.” I talked my way out of it. It was my only defense, without which Chris would have certainly gotten me killed several times over. Life with Chris was exciting; he brought drama and danger into our lives. But no matter what he put you through, he could always just give you a look and make you laugh. Boy, did he make us laugh.
We always loved to tell “Chris stories.” I’ve heard them from friends, relatives, teachers, coaches—even priests and nuns. You could be the funniest guy in the room just by describing some of the stuff Chris did. For every hilarious thing he did on camera, there were twenty things he did offscreen that just blew it away. He lived to make others laugh, and he was fearless about it. In the years since Chris passed away, there have been countless times when Chris’s buddies would find themselves huddled together, sharing these crazy stories. At one time, I even thought that a collection of those stories would make a fantastic book. I still do. But I now believe that those funny stories alone would not paint the right picture of who this kid was. Chris had far too much depth and way too much pain. We all enjoyed Chris so much, and it’s hard to put those things into words.
I began this project by listing all the people who either knew Chris the best or were there at the important moments in his life. I spoke to most of them and gave them assurances that this was a project that our family was behind all the way.
I wanted them to be open and honest about their memories, opinions, and feelings about being part of what, for most, was an unforgettable relationship. I’m not sure I was totally prepared for the story that Tanner and I ended up with. The funny stories and outrageous moments are definitely in there, but what emerged was this amazing picture of the multifaceted character traits that Chris possessed. He was hilarious, yes, but he was also a very religious, very caring—and very troubled and addicted person. It’s a sad story, no question about it. But it’s Chris.
Soon after Chris died, I told my wife that my greatest fear was being sixty years old and trying hard to remember this kid who was my brother. I guess anyone who’s lost someone close can say that. Being able to watch the fun movies and video clips only gets you so far; it’s not the full picture. I’m pleased that this book will be something I can pick up when I’m older, remember Chris and his wild life, and be once more amazed that I had such an unbelievable person in my life.
ACT I
CHAPTER 1
A Motivated Speaker
MIKE CLEARY, friend, Edgewood High School:
Freshman year of college we’re heading out on a road trip to Milwaukee to see a big game. We’re in the car. We’ve got the fifth of vodka, the gallon of orange juice. We’re ready to get loaded and party. Just as we start to drive, Chris says, “Stop!”
We stop the car, and he pulls out a rosary. We have to sit there in the car and say one decade of the rosary—ten Hail Marys and an Our Father—before we can leave. Then he balls the rosary up in his hand, tosses it in the glove compartment, slams it shut, looks at all of us, and says, “Well, it’s in God’s hands now." And we hit the road.
On June 24, 1994, life for Chris Farley was good. He had just finished his fourth season on NBC’s Saturday Night Live and was coming into his own as one of the most promising stars in American comedy. As the earnest, sad-sack Chippendales dancer and the swaggering, van-dwelling Motivational Speaker, Chris was bringing a kind of energy and anarchy to the show not seen since its seventies heyday. Dana Carvey, Mike Myers, and Phil Hartman were stepping down as the show’s reliable go-to players, and Chris was leading the charge—alongside Adam Sandler, Tim Meadows, David Spade, and Rob Schneider—in the next cycle of revitalizing and redefining the late-night institution for a new generation. Chris was also about to take on his first starring role in a feature film, Tommy Boy. The following year, Tommy Boy would open at the top of the North American box office and solidify Chris’s status as a bankable movie star.
From his very first days onstage—starting in plays at summer camp and eventually at Chicago’s Second City—Chris had possessed a singular talent for capturing and relating to an audience. In the words of SNL creator Lorne Michaels, “People liked Chris Farley, they trusted Chris Farley, and they thought they knew Chris Farley.” In his lifetime, that likability translated to a huge following on television and three straight number one box-office hits. And since his death at the age of thirty-three, Chris’s appeal persists. In the past ten years, Saturday Night Live’s Best of Chris Farley DVD has sold over a million copies, making it the second-best -selling title in the show’s entire history. Tommy Boy, for its part, has gone on to become one of Paramount Studios’ top-selling DVDs of all time.
But Chris’s success had not come easily. His rise at SNL had been marred by a constant struggle with alcohol and drug addiction. High school and college drinking had given way, eventually, to cocaine and heroin use. Through the intervention of friends and family, Chris had attempted several different recovery programs, all of them eventually ineffective.
But on June 24, 1994, Chris was clean and sober and standing onstage in a large auditorium at Hazelden, a nationally renowned drug rehabilitation facility in Center City, Minnesota. Chris had visited Hazelden twice before, both times as a rather unwilling and uncooperative resident. This time he walked through its doors of his own free will, as a guest, invited to share his recovery experience with other addicts struggling in their own battles with the disease.
Chris’s presence filled the auditorium; he knew how to work a room. Only this time, abandoning his popular, manic persona, he held the audience captive by simply standing at center stage and speaking in calm, measured tones. It was a Chris Farley that only a handful of close friends and family members ever knew. Dressed in a blue button-down shirt and stone-colored khakis, he paced a small circle, nervously fidgeting with his hands and running them through his slicked-back hair. At no point did he fall down or remove his pants. And there, alone on the stage that day with no crazy characters to hide behind, no wild-man stunts to impress, Chris gave a “motivational speech” quite unlike any he’d ever delivered on television.
CHRIS FARLEY:
Good to be here. Um, pretty nervous. I was here a couple times, so I know what it’s like to be sitting where you are, full of fear and anxiety. Kinda how I’m feeling tonight! Heh heh heh!
Anyhoo.
I’m supposed to share my experience, strength, and hope with you, and so I’ll start. I remember my first drink. I was seventeen years old, almost eighteen. My friend Patrick was a year above me and I admired him quite a bit, looked up to him. He was a great football player, all-state and everything like that. I went to a party with him one night. We went down in the basement. The guys started drinkin’, and they went, "C’mon and take a drink, Chris.”
So I took a shot, and I remember going, “Man, this sucks. I can’t believe you do this.”
“Just take it down like medicine,” they said.
So I wolfed down about ten of ’em, no problem. And I remember hearing stuff like, “Man, I thought he was wild before, and now he’s really gonna be a wild man!”
So that kind of planted in my cranium what I’d always wanted, and that was to fit in, or to be liked. Everyone seemed to love it. When I went upstairs, I remember the girls were like, “Great! Chris, finally!”
And I was like, “Yeah! Maybe I’ll even get a chick now!”
So that night I got blind drunk and threw up in my bed. Then I called Patrick the next day and said, “Man, this was great! When are we gonna do it again?” And I got blind drunk every weekend until I graduated high school.
Then I went on to college at Marquette University. I was away from home and that meant I could party every night. I did. Each year I got worse and worse. Freshman year I’d party Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Sophomore year it’d be Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Then it started on Tuesdays, and by the time I was a senior it was every night.
Every drug that I tried I couldn’t wait to try more. Sophomore year I tried marijuana and fell completely in love with it. I went home and watched Love Connection and was like, “Ooooohhhh man ...” You know? I couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t getting high. It was the best way to live. My God, how boring it must be for you poor sober people. So I got high every day from that day on. I’d try psychedelics and I’d have a really bad trip and still couldn’t wait to do it again. “Maybe this one’ll be different.” And that was the way it was. I just wanted to escape.
And so I remember reading about John Belushi in the book Wired. A lot of people read Wired and thought, “Man, that poor guy! I never wanna do drugs again!” But I was like, “Yeah! If that’s what it takes, I wanna do it!” ’Cause I wanted to be like him in every way, like all those guys from that show. I thought that’s what you had to do.
When I got outta school, I didn’t know what I was gonna do with my life. I knew I didn’t have much in the grades department, and so I was very fearful. A whole lot of fear. I remember drinking was the only time I felt, you know, good. I went and worked for my dad after school. I’d show up late and stuff like that. He was the boss, and so I was his screw-up son. I didn’t get in too much trouble. He’d let it slide.
The one thing I knew was that I wanted to go into acting. I went down to Chicago to try to go into a place called Second City. I auditioned for that and got in pretty quickly, but I couldn’t
stop partying. They gave me a warning: “If you do it again, we’re gonna kick you off the main stage.”
I wanted to continue performing, so I only got high for the performance, on marijuana. Then afterward I couldn’t wait to get ripped. I remember one time my director was giving me notes, and I drank a pint of Bacardi in about ten minutes, before he was done talking. He asked me a question, and I was slurring my words. He said, “Oh, you’re no good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” But it was kind of tolerated. My lifestyle cradled it, because I didn’t have to wake up in the morning. I could get blind drunk every night, and that’s what I did.
Then I went to New York and started working on Saturday Night Live. That was, I thought, a dream come true. I’d read all about my idols and how they partied back then. I thought, man, this is gonna be great! I am gonna get ripped!
Well, that just wasn’t the case. It wasn’t hip anymore. I stuck out like a sore thumb, taking my clothes off at parties and making a fool of myself, which I had learned to do pretty good because I thought people would like me. Nobody’s afraid of the fool. “Hi! C’mon, idiot! C’mon aboard!” I was totally full of fear. I’d do anything for you to like me, including doing things that I didn’t want to do. As long as I had my substance, I was okay.
I went back to Second City after my first year on Saturday Night Live and took a bunch of acid and cocaine and a ton of liquor and went onstage and made a complete ass of myself. They booed. I remember during a blackout between scenes someone yelled, “Get the drunk off the stage!” That kinda rang true.
I had to cover my ass so they’d hire me back at SNL again next year. So I came here to the Shoemaker Unit at Hazelden. I hated every minute of it. I complied and kissed ass until the counselors went home and then screwed around and tried to make everybody on the unit laugh, and didn’t take it serious one bit. Got outta there and thought I was cured. “All right, I did twenty-eight days sober, no problem.”