PLANES, TRAINS AND AUTOMOBILES (John Hughes, 1987)

Reviewed: April 20th, 2002

Watching Planes, Trains and Automobiles again I was struck by the depth to John Candy's remarkable performance, his range as an ostensibly comedic actor, that unique talent of his to make lines simultaneously funny and heartbreaking. In real life Candy would get upset at himself for feeling he tried too hard to make people laugh (not unlike the overly eager to please Del, Candy's character here), but Candy's self-criticism is baseless. Candy's performance as the desperate Del is smoothly effortless; there's a warm-glove comfort (perhaps because it's his most autobiographical role) that's glorious to behold. Every line is delivered with unmistakable precision, every reaction shot priceless. It's a perfect performance by an actor working at the top of his game. John Candy's irreplaceable and it's horrible to think he's already gone.

Comedies don't get much better than John Hughes's Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Like Candy's performance, here is a film that is not only very funny, but also very moving. As I've mentioned elsewhere, often it is an underlying sadness that can elevate a comedy to greatness, a bittersweet tang that can give it that extra edge needed to hoist itself to the top of the genre heap. The sadness gives the laughs that much more power, makes them that much more meaningful and deserved and true. A perfect balance of comedy and sadness adds a realism to a film that provides the support structure for everything else. It makes the audience realize that the filmmakers have not taken the easy way out, that they are interested in more than gag after gag, instead concerned with something that lasts. The comedies we return to again and again make us feel something more than a smile.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is about sympathy and compassion and understanding and friendship. By enveloping such big topics in Comedy, the emotion and thoughtfulness manage to sneak up on us. This emotion first climaxes during a remarkable scene: Steve Martin's Neal, a slick, uptight executive, explodes in anger at Candy. Martin -- like Candy, so good in this film -- delivers his exasperation monologue with a wonderful comic thrust. But then, just as you're mid-laughter, Hughes will cut back to Candy, that mournful, dejected expression on his face telling us he's soaking in all of Martin's ferocity like a weak sponge. Telling us that Del doesn't have a filter, that Del genuinely cares about Neal. You feel filthy and cruel for finding humor in Del's hurt, yet you can't say Martin's rant is unjustified. It's a painful, hilarious scene, indicative of the rest of Planes, Trains and Automobiles' evenhandedness. This is a subtle film with nothing ever going over-the-top. Hughes maintains his tight control right up through the film's ultra-touching close.

Return home.