I was definitely a 90s kid when it came to Saturday Night Live. It was this thing I discovered that felt like the adult version of All That, and once I found it and its particular brand of humor, I made an effort to stay up late and catch as many episodes as possible. I absorbed as much of that 90s cast as I could, and while there are plenty of newer cast members I couldn’t pick out of a hat, I remember the years of Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, David Spade, Darrell Hammond, Colin Quinn, Ana Gasteyer, Will Ferrell, Chris Kattan, Cheri Oteri, Rob Schneider, and yes, of course, Norm Macdonald. Those were formative years for my appreciation of comedy, and Macdonald was certainly one of the more unique personalities to emerge from that era. A few years removed from his passing, director Judd Apatow has decided to create something of a love letter to the comedian, using Macdonald’s own words, pulled from the audiobook version of his memoir, to help tell his story. Netflix has given this documentary a platform, and Norm: The Tale of Norm Macdonald is a fairly straightforward examination of a comedian who never quite fit the Hollywood mold, despite being regarded by many of his peers as one of the funniest people who ever lived.

This isn’t necessarily the most comprehensive documentary, nor does it seem particularly interested in tackling every one of Macdonald’s personal problems or determining whether he ultimately triumphed over adversity. Instead, it follows a fairly standard trajectory of a rising comedian who gets his start, makes it big, doesn’t quite meet the expectations Hollywood has for him, and subsequently struggles to find consistent work. Yet, through all of this, he maintains the respect of his peers, who continually regard him as one of the funniest comedians in the business. Norm Macdonald was a very specific type of comedian, someone whose deadpan delivery and unexpected zingers could catch an audience completely off guard. Not every joke landed, and I don’t think every joke was necessarily supposed to. Sometimes, the point was simply to make you think, to leave you wondering whether you had just heard something incredibly stupid or remarkably clever. There was something fascinating about a comedian who could make an audience uncomfortable with the possibility that they weren’t entirely in on the joke.

The documentary takes us back to Macdonald’s early ambitions, including his desire to make his big television breakthrough on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Ultimately, it was David Letterman who helped give him that exposure, and his growing reputation eventually led to an interview with Lorne Michaels and a position on Saturday Night Live. Macdonald had also been writing for Roseanne, which helped establish him in television before he became one of the defining faces of Weekend Update. His approach to that segment was decidedly different from what audiences had previously experienced, and he brought a level of irreverence that made it difficult to predict where the next punchline might land. Of course, one of his favorite targets was O.J. Simpson, whom he relentlessly mocked during and after the murder trial. Those jokes reportedly drew the ire of NBC executive Don Ohlmeyer, who was friendly with Simpson, and Macdonald was eventually removed from Weekend Update before departing the show altogether. It was a controversial decision, particularly among his fellow comedians, who recognized that Macdonald was doing precisely what he had been hired to do. The 90s were also a different era for Saturday Night Live, with Lorne Michaels cycling through performers at a much quicker pace, sometimes because they wanted to pursue film careers. Nowadays, the cast is so large that performers can disappear for an episode or two while pursuing other opportunities. Back then, there seemed to be a greater expectation of devotion to the program, and leaving the show could be a much more definitive turning point in someone’s career.

After Saturday Night Live, Macdonald continued popping up in projects involving former cast members and other comedians, eventually landing his own starring vehicle with Dirty Work. Unfortunately, the film failed to make much of an impression at the box office, and Hollywood seemingly lost faith in his ability to carry a comedy. It reminded me a little of what happened to Chris Kattan after Corky Romano, another Saturday Night Live performer who was given an opportunity to headline a theatrical comedy, only to discover that Hollywood wasn’t particularly interested in giving him a second chance. The difference is that Macdonald never really seemed interested in changing himself to satisfy the expectations of the industry. He continued making appearances, doing stand-up, and delivering the same peculiar brand of comedy that had made him famous in the first place. Even when it seemed like the deck was stacked against him, he persevered. He might not have been the biggest star in the room, but he was frequently the person the biggest stars in the room thought was the funniest.

One of the more interesting aspects of the documentary comes when Macdonald finds himself navigating the changing cultural landscape surrounding controversial comedians and what we now commonly refer to as cancel culture. Two of his friends, Louis C.K. and Roseanne Barr, found themselves at the center of significant public controversies, and Macdonald ended up receiving criticism for expressing sympathy toward them. Rather than joining the chorus of people condemning them, he remembered the friends who had supported him throughout his career, particularly when he was struggling to find work. Roseanne, after all, had given him his first major television writing opportunity, and he wasn’t particularly interested in abandoning someone who had once helped him. As Macdonald explains it, his concern was not necessarily about excusing the behavior or statements that had caused the controversies, but about making sure that the people involved were doing okay mentally. I can understand that distinction, even if the public wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it. There is a difference between supporting someone’s actions and caring about someone you’ve known for decades, although that distinction can become rather difficult to communicate when everyone is demanding that you choose a side.

Of course, these things have a tendency to snowball, and suddenly Macdonald found himself on something of an apology tour, attempting to explain comments that had only created additional controversy. He admits that he wasn’t particularly interested in politics, at least not in the traditional sense, but he found political subjects humorous enough to incorporate them into his comedy. Sometimes, he seemed more interested in provoking a reaction than in making any kind of meaningful political statement. Unfortunately, when your particular brand of humor depends on people understanding that you’re being deliberately provocative, there are inevitably going to be people who take those statements at face value. Macdonald was certainly capable of making jokes that upset people, but he was also someone who seemed genuinely confused by the idea that every joke needed to represent a deeply held personal belief. The documentary doesn’t necessarily absolve him of every questionable comment, nor should it, but it does provide some context for understanding how his sense of humor occasionally collided with a culture that was becoming less tolerant of ambiguity.

Watching Norm: The Tale of Norm Macdonald reminded me quite a bit of another Netflix documentary from earlier this year, Marty: Life Is Short, the Martin Short documentary directed by Lawrence Kasdan. That film practically rolled out the welcome mat for an endless parade of celebrities to explain how much they adored Martin Short and what a tremendous influence he had been on their lives and careers. Apatow takes a somewhat different approach here. While there are certainly appearances from people who knew Macdonald, and archival footage allows some of his contemporaries to contribute their thoughts, this is predominantly Norm telling his own story. The use of his audiobook narration gives the documentary a rather personal quality, almost as though he’s sitting there recounting his experiences directly to the audience. At the same time, I couldn’t help noticing that Apatow didn’t seem particularly interested in gathering an extensive collection of new interviews with Macdonald’s friends and colleagues. There are moments when I would have appreciated additional perspectives, particularly from people who worked alongside him during the more contentious periods of his career. Perhaps that would have made the documentary more comprehensive, but it also might have undermined the intimacy of allowing Macdonald to narrate so much of his own life.

There is also something bittersweet about listening to Macdonald recount his experiences knowing that he is no longer with us. His death in 2021 came after a lengthy and largely private battle with cancer, something that surprised many of his fans and colleagues because he had chosen not to make his illness a public part of his identity. That decision seems entirely consistent with the personality presented throughout the documentary. Here was someone who spent much of his career making people laugh while keeping certain aspects of his personal life deliberately out of reach. He didn’t necessarily want an audience to understand everything about him, and perhaps that was part of his appeal. He was an entertainer who could be extraordinarily revealing through his comedy while remaining remarkably private about the things that actually mattered to him. Apatow’s documentary doesn’t completely dismantle that mystery, and I don’t think it needs to. Sometimes, appreciating an artist doesn’t require knowing every detail of their private existence.

There is an audio description track available on Netflix, provided by Post House VSI, with Jonathan Bradley narrating. Unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly in love with the writing here. Bradley is perfectly fine as the narrator, but there were several moments when the description failed to identify someone speaking, instead referring to them simply as a man. A man speaks. A man says something. That’s not particularly helpful in a documentary about a famous comedian, directed by another famous comedian, featuring appearances from people who are presumably famous comedians themselves. I don’t think Judd Apatow ran out into the street, grabbed some random guy, and asked whether he wanted to say a few words about Norm Macdonald. These people have identities, and those identities are relevant to understanding their relationship with the subject. One of the unidentified voices sounded very much like comedian Harland Williams, although I can’t say that with certainty because the audio description never bothered to tell me. This is precisely the sort of research that should be done when writing audio description for a documentary. If someone is important enough to appear on camera discussing the subject, they’re probably important enough to identify for the blind audience. It’s a frustrating oversight in an otherwise serviceable track, and I would certainly hope that future projects make a greater effort to identify the people participating in these films.

Ultimately, Norm: The Tale of Norm Macdonald is a solid documentary that largely accomplishes what it sets out to do. It isn’t a particularly groundbreaking examination of the comedian, nor does it necessarily uncover some extraordinary revelation that completely changes our understanding of his life. Instead, it offers a reasonably entertaining journey through his career, highlighting his successes, acknowledging some of his struggles, and reminding audiences why so many comedians held him in such high regard. For those of us who grew up watching Saturday Night Live in the 90s, there’s an added layer of nostalgia in revisiting that era and remembering the personalities who helped define it. For younger audiences who may not be particularly familiar with Macdonald, this serves as a perfectly accessible introduction to his peculiar sense of humor and the impact he had on the comedy world. I came away with a greater appreciation for someone I already remembered fondly, which I suspect was Apatow’s primary objective all along. It’s definitely worth watching, especially if you already have Netflix. So, why don’t you do the Dirty Work and check it out?

Fresh: 8.5/10