Naomi Weisman is a Canadian-Australian and mother of three who loves to Ramble with her dog, cook for family and friends, and laugh whenever possible.
I love documentaries, especially those about pop culture icons, musicians, and famous activists.
Lately, there seems to be no shortage of documentaries about people who have contributed to my life in big and small ways. They often transport me back to another time and remind me of laughter in our house with my parents and siblings. Recent examples have included John Candy, Mel Brooks, and now Martin Short's Marty, Life Is Short.
I can still remember Martin Short from his days on SCTV and Saturday Night Live. He created so many memorable characters that were uniquely his: Ed Grimley, Jiminy Glick, Nathan Thurm, Jackie Rogers Jr., and, of course, Franck Eggelhoffer from Father of the Bride.
One of my clearest memories is watching Saturday Night Live with my mom and laughing hysterically as Ed Grimley danced around his modest apartment in a plaid shirt and greasy hair, declaring, "Well, I must say!"
Like most documentaries, this one reveals things you never knew about someone who has occupied a small corner of your life for decades. But what surprised me most wasn't Martin's career. It was how deeply loved he is.
I knew he was close friends with fellow SCTV alumni Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, and Andrea Martin, and that his friendship with Steve Martin had produced collaborations such as Three Amigos!, Father of the Bride, and, more recently, Only Murders in the Building with Selena Gomez.
What I didn't know was that he is also close friends with Tom Hanks, Rita Wilson, Steven Spielberg, Kurt Russell, Goldie Hawn, and Lawrence Kasdan, who produced the documentary. One after another, people show up to tell stories about Martin. Not because they have to, but because they genuinely adore him.
As I watched, I found myself thinking that Martin Short learned one of life's hardest lessons far earlier than most of us: life can be short.
His eldest brother died in a tragic accident when Martin was twelve. His mother died of breast cancer when he was eighteen, and his father died two years later. Most people would struggle to recover from that much loss so early in life.
Yet somehow, those experiences seem to have given him a deep appreciation for the people around him and for the time he gets to spend with them.
Nowhere is that more evident than in his relationship with his wife, Nancy Dolman.
In the early days of his career, Nancy was a performer herself—beautiful, funny, and blessed with a wonderful singing voice. What transfixed me was not simply learning about her but watching the way Martin still speaks about her. 16 years after her death, his love remains palpable. You can see it in his eyes when he tells stories about her, and you can hear it in the voices of the friends and family who knew them both.
Nancy died of ovarian cancer at just fifty-eight years old. By then, Martin had already experienced more loss than most people encounter in a lifetime. Yet what struck me was that he never seems to speak about those losses with bitterness. Instead, he talks about Nancy with affection, gratitude, and often humour.
Perhaps that is why the documentary affected me as much as it did. Martin Short seems to understand that grief and joy are not opposites. They simply travel together. The people we lose never really leave us; they become part of the stories we tell, the memories we revisit, and the lives we continue to build.
Throughout the documentary, there is an undercurrent of fun. It runs through his friendships, his family, and the stories people tell about him. Joy seems to be the glue that holds everything together.
I found myself feeling envious of the parties Martin hosts at his cottage in Snug Harbour and at his home in Los Angeles. Not because of the celebrity guest list, but because of the sheer fun everyone seems to be having. The laughter feels genuine. The affection feels real. These are friendships that have lasted for decades. Wouldn't it feel like you just won the lottery just to attend one of his epic parties?
As I watched, I was also aware that the documentary captures a particular moment in time. Life did not stop when filming ended.
Knowing what has happened since (his daughter died this year) made some of those joyful scenes feel even more precious. I found myself looking at the laughter, the friendships, and the family gatherings differently—not with sadness, but with an appreciation for how quickly life moves and how important it is to enjoy the people around us while we can.
Perhaps that is why the documentary stayed with me. Beneath all the humour and celebrity cameos, it felt like a reminder not to save joy for later.
Life can be short. Martin Short learned that lesson earlier than most.
Maybe that's why he seems so determined to enjoy every bit of it.
Nomi's Verdict: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Marty, Life Is Short is far more than a celebrity documentary. It's a warm, funny, and surprisingly moving portrait of a man who has experienced profound loss yet continues to choose joy, friendship, and connection. While the star-studded interviews are entertaining, it's Martin's humanity—and the deep love that surrounds him—that makes this documentary so memorable. I laughed, I teared up, and I found myself reflecting on what truly matters. A heartfelt reminder that life is short, and that laughter, love, and friendship may be the best ways to spend it.
READ MORE > Nomi's Pics, Rambler Cafe Blog
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