Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987)
Forgive the obviousness, there’s probably a thousand other blogs singing the praises of Planes, Trains & Automobiles this very moment. While I can’t comment on the status of John Hughes’ film across the country, I can say that it was a stable in my house around this time of the year growing up, much like the barely watchable A Christmas Story on Christmas. Yes, I said barely watchable, and maybe we’ll get into that next month and further afford you the opportunity to further accuse me of casual critic heartlessness.
I was always tempted to be a bit of a critical Scrooge with Planes, Trains & Automobiles too. Maybe it’s the natural urge to reject something that your parents like so much, but something about the movie has always seemed so square, and, as an adult, I think I can pinpoint the problem with a little more accuracy. The film is, like most John Hughes movies before he realized it was more profitable to devise never ending methods to kick bad guys in the crotch, trying to teach you a VERY SPECIAL LESSON.
Planes, Trains and Automobiles is a buddy movie, but points are always scored in one direction, and that’s on Steve Martin. The film continually feels the need to remind us what a closed off prick he is. John Candy, while more open and feeling, is just as self-absorbed and unaware in other areas (such as the bathroom, or the bed.) But, like many films that want to teach us a VERY SPECIAL LESSON, the back and forth is never really acknowledged. Steve Martin needs to get his head out of his ass, so it’s his actions that are held under continued scrutiny. Candy is our messenger, and his mistakes (which are considerable in places, think of the car) are ok. Martin is the jerk for not understanding that Candy screws up because he’s lovable and misunderstood.
This is my vague resistence to Planes, Trains & Automobiles, and the reason I swallow just a little when a friend or family member insists to me that it’s a great movie. I nod “sure” and move on, don’t want to be impolite. The film is pleasant enough, and funny in places, and utilizes the F word admirably well for a Holiday movie, but Planes remains too tethered to it’s message to get into anything too messy or recognizably human. By Holiday movie standards, Planes, Trains & Automobiles rates a solid “pretty good”, but by movie movie standards, merely “ok”.
Or would, except that Planes, Trains & Automobiles happens to feature John Candy in his best performance. Why did this man never find a film that truly “gets” him? That captures the grace, the charm, the self-loathing disguised as modesty (complete with distinctive chuckle employed to distract anyone who comes too close), the bravery? John Candy is a Chaplin hero who never found his Chaplin. Why does a blunt intstrument like Adam Sandler get a Paul Thomas Anderson while Candy could only hope for a John Hughes or a Chris Columbus?
Because of John Candy, and his chemistry with an also very effective Steve Martin, there are two moments in Planes, Trains & Automobiles that are so poignant that I nearly change the channel. You probably know at least one of them, and that’s the ending (very reminiscent of Chaplin) where we discover that the John Candy character isn’t a constant traveler by choice, it’s by necessity, his ridiculously oversized trunk his only home. The plot point is, typical to Hughes, delivered with a sledge hammer, but you don’t care. The sight of Candy by himself, a look of stubborn optimism regardless of the circumstances, of chivalry, of resignation, is enough. The movie is worth everything for this one image, and this movie happens to have two of them.
The other, which you probably also remember, is about half way through the film, and it verbalizes everything we instinctively love about John Candy to begin with. Martin and Candy are in a motel room, and Candy has just spilled beer all over the bed they are to share. This is after a bathroom incident that would disgust anyone much less Mr. Executive. Martin finally loses it, let’s Candy have it, and Candy responds with a simple, blunt speech that temporarily elevates the movie into the realm of classic. Candy isn’t just good here, he’s great, but it’s not that Oscar or badass great, it’s great because it so aggressively, openly sentimental, exposed. This is a scene about a man, without the slightest hint of posturing or ulterior motives, asking for help, and fighting for the last bit of self-worth he has.
In these two scenes, Planes, Trains & Automobiles touches on the very thing that a Holiday movie should be about to begin with: our common struggle not to lose ourselves. It is also, by far, the best thing John Hughes has ever been associated with, and don’t dare bring up the dreadful The Breakfast Club, we’ll deal with that after A Christmas Story.
★★★
