It’s the kind of documentary that, to be done well, would need plenty of those human moments. This one is done very well.
The first episode barely begins before we see Henwood’s tears flowing as he pens a letter to himself at Japan’s Daizen-ji Temple. As he writes, the words appear on the screen. As he scribes that he doesn’t deserve what is happening to him, those tears flow harder.
It’s uncomfortable because it’s vulnerable. It’s raw. And it’s very, very real. Plus, it’s coming from the guy who forged a successful career by making New Zealand laugh.
Best known for his stand-up comedy and work on shows like 7 Days, Lego Masters and Dancing With the Stars, we later see Henwood – black hoodie over his head – broken by one of many first days of chemotherapy.
“Time moves so slowly. And it hurts.” His voice breaks, the tears come, and he drops himself out of frame and walks away.
“I feel sad, I feel broken, I feel so sick,” he’d told the hand-held camera moments earlier, eyes closed, breaking over wanting to be there for his family.
Dai Henwood in the first episode of Live and Let Dai.
In a way that written prose or social media posts often can’t, the first hour of the three-part series documents the reality of facing a life-threatening disease and trying to “keep the classic car on the road”.
Henwood may be a professional comedian, but there’s no clever punchline here.
Not that there’s no laughter. Henwood’s emotional moments alone with a camera are broken up with footage of crowd-pleasing one-liners or quips from a live stand-up gig. Comedy is, after all, the best thing for his mental health.
There’s laughter over timing penis reduction jokes while going under for surgeries, or a gag about cancer resulting in plenty of free weed. But what resonates when the hour is up are the family moments, the honesty.
And the inescapable truth that regardless of whether you’re recognised mid-colonoscopy as “the guy from Family Feud”, chemo is the time he’s at his darkest; it’s when he realises he may not be here as long as he wants.
The cameras follow Henwood everywhere from treatment appointments to a university talk. We’re taken to a live comedy gig and his family home in Wellington. They capture those human moments in real time, without the composure and dulling of emotions the luxury of time and preparation allows.
It’s that access which makes this first of three parts stand out. And what makes viewing both difficult and essential.
New Zealand is small enough that we often feel like we know our favourite celebrities. And cancer so pervasive that more than enough of us have been affected in one way or another.
It’s partly why the intimacy shown in the first hour of Live and Let Dai – from the comedian interacting with his mum Carolyn and daughter Lucy, to those in-the-moment, punch-in-the-gut emotions – is so relatable.
Dai Henwood in the first episode of Live and Let Dai.
In episode one, we’re given a brief rundown of Henwood’s diagnosis in 2020, after realising – while in Japan in 2019 – something was really wrong. The initial “intent to cure” changed when spots were found on Henwood’s lungs.
“It was that moment I realised I was living with cancer.”
While the very private life of treatment rooms, MRIs and tests is intertwined with the public Dai performing a stand-up comedy gig days before chemo, ultimately the first episode focuses on two things: the brutality of treatment and his love for his family. It’s equal parts heartache and beauty.
Much like cancer itself, Live and Let Dai is personal. It’s heartbreaking. But it’s scattered with optimism and hope and moments of normalcy among the tears.
The audience is given a glimpse into the comedian’s family life as he shares hugs and conversations with his daughter and watches football with his mum. There’s the uncomfortable everyday action of his friend Brendhan Lovegrove lighting a cigarette in front of him days before his next chemo treatment. There’s laughter over the faux pas of his mate telling him to “have a goodie” as he drops him off for treatment.
There’s that unfiltered emotion while writing that letter in Japan.
And there’s honesty with his oncologist, Ben Lawrence, chatting to medical students, where he speaks of the deeply personal aspects of cancer. For Henwood, rather than a battle, he’s sending love to his cancer.
“It’s me. It’s my genes. It’s my body that’s taken a turn and had a mutation.”
There’s the very real scenes of Henwood’s chemo treatment – something many of us are familiar with, but rarely share with such honesty. He describes it as a multi-day hangover without the “small period of good times” to go with it. It’s when the “brutal reality” of having cancer hits.
But the darkness can’t be avoided, he later says from that spiritual home of Piha.
Dai Henwood in the first episode of Live and Let Dai.
“The reason why you have the light moments is because the dark moments are there.”
It’s at Henwood’s family home in Wellington, when we meet Lucy and his mum, as Carolyn prepares to sell the home to allow her to be in Auckland more.
Old books, photos, memories and stories are shared. Both Henwood and his mum get emotional reading a Mother’s Day card he wrote when he was 21. Memories of his late dad Ray are discussed.
With the house on the market, there’s a deep sadness, admits Henwood, thinking about the past.
The first instalment of Live and Let Dai features pieces of the public comedian and the private family man, and brings home the fact living with cancer takes up constant headspace in both.
It’s a story of love and sadness that gives us an insight into the journey of someone we know and appreciate from being funny on TV, but also – likely – a glimpse into many of the behind-the-brave-face journeys of others we know who’ve travelled similar ones.
