Doug Moe: 10 years later, a riveting bio of Farley
I WAS thinking of trying to write something about the 10th anniversary of Chris Farley's death, which is a week from today, when Chris' brother Tom Farley stopped by the newspaper with an uncorrected proof of "The Chris Farley Show: A Biography in Three Acts," which Tom co-wrote with Tanner Colby.
The book's publication date is May 6, and Tom said there are events planned already for New York, Chicago, Los Angeles and Madison. I spent much of Monday riveted to the proof.
I'm not sure exactly what I expected, but Tom's name on the jacket led me to think the book might be somewhat sanitized -- a fond remembrance of Chris' show business success. And, really, why not? Chris made his mark, he made us laugh, he conquered a business to which many are called but few are chosen. Give him his due.
He gets it here, and it will make you laugh all over again, but the book is much more than that. "The Chris Farley Show" turns out to be a searing, unblinking look at the life and death of one of the more famous people ever to come out of Madison. Fame haunts the last half of this brave book. Family -- with its overwhelming mix of love, expectation and fear of real communication -- haunts it too.
Has he really been gone 10 years? All I have to do is close my eyes and it is December 1993, and Scott Klug and I are on an airplane flying to New York City to spend a weekend with Chris.
He saw to it that we had a great time. On Friday, Chris showed us around the "Saturday Night Live" set and introduced us to the cast. Klug was in Congress at the time, and I remember Phil Hartman saying, "I've heard about Klug. Klug's trouble."
We had tickets to the show, hosted that week by Sally Field. The football Badgers were in the middle of a dream season under new coach Barry Alvarez, and Klug gave Chris a UW sweatshirt that he wore during the "SNL" curtain call. We went to the after-show party held at, of all places, the Museum of Modern Art. Chris drank bottled water.
The following morning, Chris had us to his apartment for brunch. He made cappuccino. I mentioned that Steve Hurley, the Madison attorney, had young kids who were huge fans. Chris invited me to call Hurley, and then did a great five minutes with the kids on the phone.
We had an excellent interview -- I was there in the first place for a magazine interview -- but there was one street that he did not care to go down. I felt I had to mention that there had been rumors in the press of a problem with drugs and alcohol. Did he want to comment?
I know now, from the proof of the new book, that "SNL" producer Lorne Michaels had actually suspended Farley from the show for one episode. It was an attempt to shock Chris into getting help, and it worked.
To me, Chris said: "I had a lot of fear when I first moved to New York. I was away from home. I was on live national television at 26. I was very scared. Maybe I was a little wild. But I've calmed down. People who get out of control fall by the wayside. I didn't want that to happen to me."
He stayed sober, for the most part, for three years. Chris made "Tommy Boy" with David Spade, which was a much bigger hit later on DVD than in theaters when it came out. In true Hollywood fashion, the studio that had missed turning "Tommy Boy" into the hit it should have been began trying to make it again, casting Chris in movies where he was asked to be fat and stupid, and little more. He started drinking again.
For me, one of the saddest revelations in "The Chris Farley Show" is that, near the end, Chris and
David Mamet had met in a restaurant in Greenwich Village and agreed to collaborate on a movie about Fatty Arbuckle, the rotund silent film comedian whose life and career came apart when he was falsely accused of a notorious crime. Mamet, the Pulitzer Prize winner, would write, and Chris would star. They would mine the insecurity lurking behind the star facade.
Of course, it never happened. On Dec. 18, 1997, in Chicago, the demons won. What I remember most of the aftermath is a phone message I got from Chris' dad. Their complicated relationship is explored in depth in the new book, but I had written something when Chris died, and his dad called and left a message thanking me. Never, before or since, have I heard grief like that. I hear it still.
Heard something Moe should know? Call 252-6446, write PO Box 8060, Madison, WI 53708, or e-mail dmoe@madison.com.
