The Chris Farley Show: A Biography in Three Acts

Table of Contents

VIKING

Published by the Penguin Group

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80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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

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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.

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.