Planes, Trains and Automobiles follows a familiar formula. An uptight guy and an annoying free spirit get stuck together on the road. Comic hijinks ensue, and lessons are learned. Think Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle, Midnight Run, Due Date, or the most recent iteration A Real Pain. Planes, Trains and Automobiles, released in 1987, came first, however, and while its central dynamic owes something to classic comedies of its past, namely Abbott and Costello, this rare foray into adult filmmaking from teen-movie maven John Hughes was so influential that its blueprint is still being followed today.
It’s a classic two-hander, with co-leads Steve Martin and John Candy offering the finest performances of their careers. Neal Page (Martin) is a marketing executive trying to get from New York to Chicago so he can spend Thanksgiving with his family. Del Griffith (Candy) is a shower-curtain salesman with no discernible direction. They’re thrown together through a series of random coincidences—Neal’s first-class ticket isn’t honored so he gets stuck with Del in coach—but it’s ultimately our shared humanity that binds them. Despite wearing the coat of a callous yuppie, Neal can’t turn his back on his vulnerable companion, despite Del’s best efforts to convince him otherwise.
The film’s first third is a slow burn as Neal grows more aggravated by Del’s quirks: He accidentally steals Neal’s cab in Manhattan. He takes his shoes and socks off on the plane. When sharing a hotel room, he leaves a beer on the vibrating bed, and it explodes. Eventually, so does Neal, tearing into Del with a sadist’s precision. “And by the way, you know, when you’re telling these little stories?” he rants, “Here’s a good idea: have a point.” It’s a brilliantly acted scene—Martin goes for the jugular, resisting the urge to turn his screed into laughs; Candy’s eyes well up with a life’s worth of tears. There are many laughs in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, but what separates it from the films it inspired—perhaps with the exception of A Real Pain—are the moments when it refuses to go for the joke.
It’s strange that this didn’t lead to more dramatic roles for Candy, although with 1991’s JFK and Only the Lonely, he began to veer in that direction toward the end of his life. (Candy died in ’94 at the age of 43.) He makes the most in Planes, Trains and Automobiles of a deceptively tricky character. “I’m the genuine article,” he tells Neal, defending himself in the aforementioned scene. “What you see is what you get.”
Actors love to play characters with hidden motives or a complex psychology they can dig into. Del does have a secret that’s revealed in the film’s heavy-handed climax, but outside of a few complex moments, Candy must play him as a man who wears his heart on the outside of his body. The role gives him nowhere to hide, and it showcases his natural gifts as an actor. He’s a man who, if we met him in real life, would annoy the shit out of us, but he plays Del so earnestly that it forces us to confront our own cynicism and cruelty.
Hughes doesn’t quite have the tonal command to match Candy’s performance. There are several moments where he lays on both the comedy and the drama a little too thick. A near car crash devolves into visual absurdity, with Neal hallucinating that Del is the devil. It feels wildly out of place amid the more thoughtful character work. The film also features a saccharine ending typical in ’80s comedies; in this case, the script backs away from its critique of the American yuppie, atoning for its skepticism with an ending that upholds a traditional, domestic, and well-off existence. Martin was a few years away from Father of the Bride and had not yet mastered the dopey smile of the loving father, and the film never properly sets up its syrupy resolution.
What does ring true is the captivating acting, the zippy pace, and the big laughs that Martin and Candy earn through their gentle rapport. In a recent documentary on Martin’s career, there was a much-discussed moment in which the great comedian leafs through the original script from Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and comes across a speech of Candy’s that was cut from the final film. Martin tears up reading it, an unexpected reaction from an artist known for his cool approach to life and comedy. In that moment, he becomes Del Griffith, a genuine article. In the film, he plays a tight-ass who only shares himself in small doses, but stepping back, we can see how the final product is buoyed by the love and trust the two actors shared. They each ventured into unexplored territory, safe in the knowledge that their partner would catch them if they fall.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Planes, Trains and Automobiles screens at Alamo Drafthouse on Nov. 25 at 7:15 p.m. at the Bryant Street location and at 7:30 p.m. at Crystal City location. drafthouse.com. $11.
It screens again at 7 p.m. on Nov. 27 at Arlington Drafthouse. arlingtondrafthouse.com. $8.