Chris Farley: Size of Comic’s Talent Measured in Humility

Fat comedians have an edge. Laughing at someone who’s less perfect than ourselves is one of the most basic forms of humor, so plump guys--John Belushi, Jackie Gleason, John Candy, Homer Simpson--seem naturally funny to begin with.

Chris Farley knew this, and made a career out of his flab. His willingness to make fun of himself--and his ability to earn our sympathy--made him a success in film and television, even if he never earned the respect of critics.

Farley, who died of unknown causes Thursday in Chicago at 33, was derided for being a one-joke wonder, with the joke being his 290-pound body. But Farley also had a manic energy and an ability to play sweet-hearted losers that made him a favorite with college-age and younger audiences, and with his peers in the industry.

“He was one of my best friends and one of the funniest guys I’ve ever known,” said Chris Rock last week of his former “Saturday Night Live” co-star. “I love him and am going to miss him.”

He even had his fans in Congress, after he brought down the House in 1995 by performing his fast-talking Newt Gingrich impersonation in front of the speaker himself.

Farley first came to our attention during the dark years of “SNL”--the early 1990s--when the show was universally scorned. Still, he made us laugh by using his rotund physical presence for a series of pathetic characters with low self-esteem.

He scored as a commentator on “Weekend Update” who felt unfairly judged because he didn’t (and here he gestured with his fingers to indicate quotation marks) “smell good,” or because he didn’t have “good hygiene.”

He bared all as a sweaty, jiggly Chippendales dancer auditioning against buff guest host Patrick Swayze. He played a Chicago Bears fan with a fondness for beer and sausage who suffered heart attacks on a regular basis.

His most popular recurring character, though, was Matt Foley, the motivational speaker who tries to encourage others by detailing his own failures, namely the fact that he lives “in a van down by the river.” It was a triumph of physical comedy. Adjusting his pants beneath an enormous gut, frothing at the mouth and destroying coffee tables, Farley seemed about to burst out of his leisure suit.

Actor-writer Bob Odenkirk, who performed with Farley in the Second City comedy troupe in Chicago, created the Matt Foley character in 1990. Odenkirk originally saw the role as a possibility for himself--until he saw how Farley performed it.

“It was the most amazing thing,” Odenkirk recalled in a recent interview. “I sat in my apartment and wrote that scene out, thinking either I would do it or Chris would. Then I brought it in and gave it to him and said, ‘I think you could do this.’ It was amazing.

Every night onstage . . . he would make me laugh. He would crack me up. I mean, as funny as it is [on TV], try standing two feet away from him and having him doing it. It’s just performance energy gone crazy, and yet really controlled, too.”

No one could accuse Farley of being a sophisticated comedian, but he never intended to be. He was a playful buffoon, a prankster, known for joking around backstage with his pals Adam Sandler and David Spade, with whom he and Rock shared an office.

His movies were unabashedly lowbrow--”Black Sheep” and “Beverly Hills Ninja” will not be remembered as comedy classics--but Farley managed to be clever and occasionally brilliant, as in the cult hit “Tommy Boy,” in which he proved adept at both sharp one-liners and pratfalls. A generation of fans will never forget the image of Farley awkwardly donning the petite jacket of his co-star Spade and crooning, “Fat guy in a little coat.” Then, of course, he jerks his arms together and splits it apart.

Farley’s death was not completely surprising. There was a buzz around Hollywood and Manhattan that Farley wouldn’t last, that he would burn out like his idol Belushi, who also died at age 33.

An US magazine story last year detailed Farley’s problems with his appetites--namely for food, drugs, alcohol and women. He knew his most precious asset--the one that made him a star--was his massive body. So he continued to feed it. (An autopsy has been performed but results won’t be released for a couple of weeks.)

When Farley returned this fall to host “SNL,” his problems were joked about in the opening sketch, in which “SNL” creator Lorne Michaels expressed his concerns that Farley was unfit to appear on the program. Farley assured him that he was fine, and even brought out his “sponsor” who was helping him through rehab: Chevy Chase, another former “SNL” cast member whose past problems with addiction are well known.

Farley may have been planning to broaden his comedic range in future roles that will never be. He told Playboy magazine in September that his part in an upcoming film with Matthew Perry, the period piece “Edwards and Hunt,” was edgier and more of a stretch. Still, he knew what people wanted to see.

“I’ll always do the clown,” he told Playboy. “I’m secure with it. People work their [butts] off, and they need a time to laugh. It’s up to us to bonk ourselves on the head and slip on a banana peel so the average guy can say, ‘Good God. I may be bad, honey, but I’m not as much of an idiot as that guy on the screen.’ ”