52 Films by Women Vol 9. 47a. I’m Chevy Chase and You’re Not (Director: Marina Zenovich)

 

Pictured: 'You're not bright enough. How's that?' Comedian Chevy Chase questions director Marina Zenovich's ability to explain his contrariness in the documentary, 'I'm Chevy Chase and You're Not'. Still courtesy of CNN Films (US).

American comedian Chevy Chase has some explaining to do. Fired in 2021 from the television comedy show, Community, for uttering a racial slur, he was pointedly omitted in 2025 from appearing the 50^th Anniversary Special of Saturday Night Live, the television show on which he made his name, and for which he picked up an Emmy, naturally falling over on his way to the podium. Chase is a snarky Marmite comedian – you hate him, you hate him a lot – who draws crowds every holiday season at screenings of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, the third in a series in which he appears as Clark Griswold, a hapless family man. It is regarded by some viewers as a classic, in a similar way that The Greasy Strangler is held in esteem. You wouldn’t watch The Greasy Strangler at Christmas though, nor in my case, Christmas Vacation.

The documentary, I’m Chevy Chase and You’re Not, partially rehabilitates him which is as good a result as could be expected. Chase doesn’t apologise for his worst behaviour – the director Marina Zenovich doesn’t appear to ask him about his alcoholism and drug taking. Some of his former colleagues speak appreciatively of him. You sympathise with his family – wife, Jayni and three daughters – for having to endure his moods. There is a poignant moment when Chase’s youngest daughter, Emily, concluded that if she wanted to get him out of bed while he was depressed, she would play piano. Chase would come downstairs and join her. You conclude that he is addicted to performing, even in the home.

Chase first achieved cinematic fame in the 1978 comedy caper, Foul Play, in which he appeared opposite Goldie Hawn. Interviewed for the documentary, Hawn compliments his comic timing. They had chemistry. Moreover, she speaks of his heart. After the pair had dinner, Chase helped Hawn put her youngest child to bed, remarking ‘I don’t know how you can raise your children on your own’. He was capable of displaying emotional intelligence.

Not that his other co-stars were so effusive. Dan Aykroyd, who appeared with Chase on the first two seasons of Saturday Night, enjoyed his wit and his routine of running his fingers down a table – ‘I liked it when he did that’ – but he doesn’t make a great character witness. Chase was more of a disruptive presence, wanting to be perceived as the star of the show. His list of commercial flops – Under The Rainbow, Modern Problems, Deal of the Century, Funny Farm – was longer than his list of hits (Caddyshack, National Lampoon’s Vacation, Fletch). His lack of comic range – not addressed in the documentary – is a factor. His reflex for confrontation alienated collaborators.

There is a cringeworthy scene in which the octogenarian Chase buys a bouquet of flowers for Jayni and offers his ID rather than a credit card to the florist. ‘Don’t I have to sign something?’ he asks after paying. When told the flowers cost $400, he objects. ‘I could get a smaller bunch,’ he notes. ‘These are nice though.’ His performance – and objections – are disingenuous. The florist equally so. ‘I’m a big fan,’ he tells Chase. You doubt it.

Drug taking contributed to Chase’s erratic behaviour. Moreover, he didn’t share. The anecdote about him having a mountain of cocaine on a table during a script re-write session and not offering it to his co-writers explains a lot. During his spell as a regular on Saturday Night Live, he gave the other comedians notes, pulling one performer up on their Scottish accent. This was as nothing to his behaviour when returning to the show as host in 1985. When first meeting the openly gay comedian Terry Sweeney, Chase suggested that Sweeney should play an AIDS victim who is weighed at the beginning of each show. This is as offensive and insensitive a comment he could ever make to belittle a colleague. Sweeney declined to be interviewed for the documentary. Chase’s instincts were so awry that director John Carpenter describing making Memoirs of an Invisible Man (another flop) with Chase as a dispiriting experience. ‘I almost quit directing,’ his voiceover explains.  When the Sweeney story is related to Chase on camera, the comedian denies it. ‘I wouldn’t have done that. He’s lying.’

You wouldn’t want to invite Chase to a party. Offered a dessert by a waiter on one occasion, Chase is reported to have stuck his finger in it, tasted it, then refused. Martin Short, his co-star in Three Amigos, recalls Chase throwing a bread roll at a woman in the circle of a theatre, hitting her. Community director Jay Chandrasekhar recalls how Chase inserted a pause in one line, robbing it of its humorous impact. ‘Are you telling me how to be funny?’ Chase is reported to have asked. Eventually he performed the line without the pause and acknowledged his error.

The film charts Chase’s biggest folly, a short-lived talk show, launched and canned in 1993, in which the comedian was out of his element. Chase’s comedy depends on him not listening or responding in a snarky way. His monologue punchlines are accompanied by cymbal clashes, like a 1960s comedian. Chase doesn’t so much land a joke as park it two miles from the target. His interviewing skills are questionable. We see him explain the plot of A Boy’s Life to its star Robert de Niro, who says nothing. We wait for the question. Chase’s agent, Mike Ovitz, interviewed for the documentary, explains how he was given the job of telling Chase that the show had been cancelled after a few weeks. ‘It might have worked with a different producer,’ one interviewee reflects charitably.

The 1990s saw Chase check into the Betty Ford Clinic to seek help for his drug addiction. ‘I thought they just treated alcohol addiction,’ he notes. As part of his rehabilitation, Jayni moved the family out of Hollywood to Bedford, New York, where Chase grew up. The move worked, though Chase returned to Los Angeles accompanied by one of his daughters, to work on Community. There he failed to endear himself to his co-stars. So much so that his scenes were shot at the beginning of the day to minimise the cast’s contact with him.

How he managed to appear in 85 episodes (according to imdb) is a mystery. A comment to one of the cast ended his gig. Chase insists his use of the ‘N’ word was meant humorously, but there is no humorous use by a comedian with white privilege.

How then does Chase come across as partially sympathetic? We are told that his mother regularly slapped him across the face as a child. His stepfather was also violent towards him. Chase’s older brother stood up for him against his stepfather, but Chase’s default response was to perform. He learnt to play the piano by ear – he cannot read music – and joined a band that in turn led to comedy. Physical comedy – falling over – was his stock in trade.

Performance as a defence mechanism, a form of escape, and a means to insulate himself from pain. This is understandable. It doesn’t excuse Chase telling Zenovich that she won’t understand him because she’s not ‘bright enough’. The documentary is conceived as a means by which he can explain himself. He suffered from heart failure in 2021, resulting in being placed in a coma. This in turn affected his memory. In my experience, cardiac arrest wipes out short term memory – what one did the previous week – not necessarily one’s most shameful moments. Chase spends his days with an assistant, Patrick, playing chess and cards for the purpose of exercising cognition, as well as autographing Christmas Vacation posters. Are they friends? Chase is too disingenuous for us to tell, even when he explains that former President Bill Clinton, who sends him a Christmas card, has no sense of humour.

Reviewed on Now TV, Sunday 25 January 2025