He was a very smart guy who played dumb to the bitter end. He repeatedly claimed he’d dropped out of high school (he graduated at 14) and that he’d never been to college (he went to two).
Norm Macdonald would butcher grammar and haltingly launch into jokes about World War II with “I just found out/figured out” obvious lessons from history. He’d seen his idol, David Letterman, get laughs out of stating the stupidly obvious, or asking “What time do they tape ‘Saturday Night Live?” That became Norm’s shtick
He’d tell jokes, often-off-color ones he wrote, or recycled oldies — the hoarier with age, the better. He did pages and pages from an ancient joke book his dad had long ago owned when he was supposed to be roasting his longtime friend, Bob Saget for a TV special.
Macdonald bombed. And not just that night. He seemed to relish it, beating a bad joke to death or stretching a comic thread well past its breaking point, grinning and daring you or this or that talk show host or hostess not to laugh. Because you would and they did. Eventually.
He’s the only reason anybody remembers Don Ohlmeyer, one guy who was pretty sure Macdonald “wasn’t funny.” Ohlmeyer fired Macdonald for years of relentless OJ the murderer jokes on “SNL.”
And Macdonald lied. A lot. Almost always comically. In one of his last sets, he groaned to the club crowd he was playing to about being 68 (he died just shy of 62).
So Macdonald the joker, wit, provocateur and poseur remains an inscrutable figure even in death — unknowable. Even as the late stand-up comic, actor, writer and “Saturday Night Live” “fake news” anchor earns an affectionate biographical tribute in Judd Apatow’s new documentary, “Norm: The Tale of Norm Macdonald,” we don’t “know” him.
The doc is culled from Macdonald’s decades of stand-up (he was in college in the first grainy clip), appearances on chat shows from Letterman to Larry King, “Saturday Night Live,” podcasts by the bushel basketful and radio appearances.
Friends weighed in on his talent, with everybody from Adam Sandler and David Spade to Letterman, Conan and Stern voicing platitudes whenever Norm turned up on their shows/podcasts, etc., which Apatow uses rather than actually interviewing anybody.
And Macdonald reads from his book, “Based on a True Story: A Memoir,” which he referred to as a “novel.” Because, you know, he lied about everything. Well, in a “just a joke” sense. Sort of.
“Death is a funny thing. Not funny haha, like a Woody Allen movie, but funny strange, like a Woody Allen marriage.”
Unknown to the world, he fought cancer in his youth, and then, decades later, at the end of his life. And he saw Richard Farnsworth, star of “The Straight Story,” as a role model for how to treat that struggle — privately. “That’s brave,” Macdonald thought. Farnsworth killed himself at the end.
Macdonald gambled. A lot. And he philosophized about it.
“As long as the red dice are in the air, the gambler has hope. And hope is a wonderful thing to be addicted to.”
But for all his work, his rare film appearances, his TV efforts, his controversies, his years of punchy, pithy tweets — “A fellow told me he used the word “incorrect” as his password. That way if he forgot it, it would say, “your password is incorrect”. Haha.” — it’s hard to say that even those who knew him best “knew” him, or ever gave away who he really was to interviewers.
As the film samples insights from Nick Swardson and the interviewers are radio DJs, Tom Green or David Spade or Harland Williams,, that’s not necessarily shocking. Which is why maybe Apatow should have knuckled down and committed to doing some interviews himself to get hard answers instead of serving up “a clip show.”
Four years gone, Macdonald is still doing his act, an archival Youtube kingpin — memorable chat show appearances, podcast outtakes, interviews and “SNL” “OJ” jokes and Burt Reynolds and Bob Dole impersonations abound.
That’s how I first got a handle on his brilliance, as I was very slow to warm up to a comic who came off distant and patronizing if you weren’t necessarily on his wavelength. Montages of OJ jabs passed off as jokes were the highlights of his “Weekend Update” years. He followed Kevin Nealon (also appearing here) in that anchor’s chair and never clicked the way Dennis Miller had before him or Che and Jost have since.
I watched some of his posthumously released “Nothing Special,” which has sentimental value, if nothing else.
Maybe it’s that Macdonald, as “SNL” producer Lorne Michaels says of his TV show in the doc “Lorne,” “clips well.” He’s better in short, punchy doses, where the unease he tried to create had a clock running on it. That discomfort you feel in MacDonald’s full appearances, in his “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” installments, wasn’t just in the funereal final car ride.
Anything might happen. But would it be funny?
The worship that Letterman pours on the guy who worshipped him reminds you that Letterman wasn’t to every taste, either. Letterman also played “dumb,” and worked hard at inventing someone unknowable off camera.
“Greatest” comic ever?
So this father of one, private life rarely discussed comedian remains funny — archived as long as Youtube exists — and is still a mystery, despite a whole lot of talking heads, including his own, dancing around the subject of who he really was, what he really thought and where his comedy was centered and where comical inspirations truly came from.
Rating: R, profanity and lots of it
Cast: Norm Macdonald, Larry King, David Letterman, Sarah Silverman, David Spade, Harland Williams, Tom Green, Jeffrey Ross, Howard Stern, Adam Eget, James Downey, Gilbert Gottfried, Dave Chapelle, Conan O’Brien and many others.
Credits: Directed by Judd Apatow A Netfix release.
Running time:
