By Peter Keough

The documentary tries, perhaps a bit too hard, to turn the Grim Reaper into the Grin Reaper.

André Is an Idiot, directed by Tony Benna. At the Coolidge Corner Theatre, March 20.

A scene from André Is an Idiot. Photo: Joint Venture

A newcomer in the growing subgenre of “waiting-for-death” documentaries, Tony Benna’s antic and provocative André Is an Idiot approaches its topic in a more light-hearted manner than, say, the recent Come See Me in the Good Light (2025). A zesty combination of witty interviews, zippy montages, gruesome Pythonesque animation, and a cameo by a bong-puffing, bizarrely paternal Tommy Chong, the film tries, perhaps a bit too hard, to turn the Grim Reaper into the Grin Reaper.

For example, the film opens with the subject, a wild-haired and hyper André Ricciardi, relating a TMI anecdote about how, at the age of 13, he got splinters in his penis while masturbating under a Formica table. That, he explains, was the dumbest thing he ever did in his life—until he neglected to get a colonoscopy when he turned 50. The joke was on him — two years later he finally had the procedure done, and they discovered he had stage-four colon cancer. It had metastasized, and the prognosis was poor. If only he had followed sensible medical advice…

Yes, André is an idiot, but a gleeful, irrepressible, and courageous one. Perhaps not an idiot in the Dostoevskian mode, but I don’t think Prince Myshkin ever would have considered placing an “I Voted” sticker on his asshole before a radiation treatment.

Meanwhile, as André waits for death, he needs something to fill his time between chemo treatments (he notes that 30 years of hangovers have prepared him for this misery) and doctor’s visits. Plus, he really wants to do this death thing his own way, taking Sinatra’s theme song to the bitter end—and, above all, to die—literally—for laughs. As part of this quest, he arranges with his pal Tony Benna to make a ruefully comic, original, and perhaps illuminating documentary about his encroaching demise. They begin by going through his crammed closet, which is filled with odd memorabilia, such as a pair of Kim Kardashian’s pants (won in an auction). Then they segue into a story about how André, on a lark, married his local bartender Janice, a Canadian immigrant, so she could get a green card. While cramming for the interview with the immigration officer who would evaluate the legitimacy of their marriage—an intensive regimen that included winning The Newlywed Game—they discovered that, in fact, they made a good team.

To their surprise, the coupling proved not pro forma and temporary, but “till death do you part.” If delaying the colonoscopy was the dumbest thing André ever did, then marrying Janice — who looks like and has the same ebullience as Teri Garr — was the smartest. For her too, it would seem, though, given his heavy drinking, drug use, and doggedly erratic behavior, he was probably high-maintenance. And, having gotten hitched, why not kids? Could fatherhood be any more difficult, André muses, than being on The Newlywed Game? In that regard, they also seem to be winners. Their two laid-back daughters accept André as a pretty cool dad who taught them how to give the finger and, in the words of one, “tells crazy jokes, swears a lot, and looks like he lives on the street.” Who could not love a father who reads Helter Skelter to you when you’re in the hospital?

All in all, a pretty wonderful life. So, on to death. As his body shrivels into a Giacometti version of itself, André regrets his choice of profession: advertising. What more worthless pursuit? He was one of the more innovative members of a San Francisco agency that appears to be a Hunter Thompson version of Mad Men, so André’s being a little harsh. Moreover, he has inspired his colleagues to put together a public service campaign that includes posters with big blow-up photos of sphincter-like fruits, vegetables, and other objects as a reminder to others not to be like André and to schedule a colonoscopy before it’s too late. André Is an Idiot might not offer much insight into the nature of death and dying, but if it saves lives, André might just have found a way to cheat death.

Peter Keough writes about film and other topics and has contributed to numerous publications. He was the film editor of the Boston Phoenix from 1989 to its demise in 2013 and has edited three books on film, including Kathryn Bigelow: Interviews (University Press of Mississippi, 2013) and For Kids of All Ages: The National Society of Film Critics on Children’s Movies (Rowman & Littlefield, 2019).