John Hughes marked a shift away from the teen comedy genre that had been his bread and butter with films like Sixteen Candles and Pretty in Pink when he sat in the director’s chair on 1984’s Planes, Trains and Automobiles. The great thing about Hughes’ pictures is that he always insists on casting human characters. There are no stereotypes, no bland “good-looking” role players to chew the scenery, and no character that remains out of reach. With Planes, Trains and Automobiles, the audience can relate to every single irritating and heart-warming moment.
The match-up looks fantastic in terms of comic excellence: John Candy and Steve Martin. Martin was just coming off of Roxanne, a charming but average romantic comedy that the comedian actually wrote. Candy, meanwhile, was in Mel Brooks’ Spaceballs and was developing a reputation as a bumbling but lovable film idiot. The pairing was genius, with Martin’s wry and witty humour going toe-to-toe against Candy’s softer nature.
Martin is Neal, a sharp and sophisticated Chicago ad man with everything together. He has a lovely home, a great family, and a well-paying job. He wears suits and probably plays golf on weekends, sharply applying the greater interests of his bosses while tossing a chuckle and a wink here and there. Neal is self-confident, too, and knows how he wants to live. One gets the sense that he doesn’t like surprises.
Candy is Del, a travelling salesperson. To say he is a polar opposite of Neal wouldn’t be giving him enough credit. Del is talkative and large. He gleefully imposes his presence on others, saddling up with a laugh or a smile. Del is a treat, but he can be an annoying treat with no awareness of other people’s limits. He is the chatty, portly gentleman that you find saying “Hi!” in the men’s room or talking your ear off on the plane. He is genuine.
Del and Neal happen to be in Manhattan for a few days on business prior to Thanksgiving and both want to get home for the holidays. The trouble begins they find their destinies joined over an innocent mistake involving a taxi in the city (watch for a young Kevin Bacon racing Martin’s character for the cab). Del and Neal wind up in the same airport and miss the same flight, so Del decides that he must make it his personal mission to help Neal get home.
This mission leads down a windy road, to say the least, as Del’s efforts to help Neal wind up hurting him and Thanksgiving at home in Chicago with the family begins to look like it’s not going to happen. Flights are cancelled, cars don’t quite work out as viable transportation, and the train doesn’t do the trick either. Every mode of transportation the title suggests winds up failing these two men, but not as much as they fail one another.
Hughes’ movie could’ve easily taken the lethargic slapstick route and formulated a production about odd couple shenanigans. He could have developed a deep disdain for the two characters, pitting one against the other in the ultimate Thanksgiving battle royal. The beauty is that Hughes didn’t take that path, instead choosing to tell a story about compassion. Neal and Del never give up on one another and they learn what it is like to be in another man’s shoes. Their efforts come from the best of intentions and the film becomes more about what can go wrong, even with those intentions, and less about what these two can do to one another. It is not an antagonistic picture in the least.
Built on this lovable core of empathy is a riotous comedy picture. Planes, Trains and Automobiles features countless moments of pure comedic bliss, including Neal’s symphonic use of the “f-word” and Edie McClurg’s classic response, and a stirring moment of heading the wrong way on the highway in the middle of the night. As a comedy, it still eclipses most modern comedies. But when one considers the core of compassion and character within, too, Planes, Trains and Automobiles becomes a true classic.
9.1/10
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