Rating: R | Runtime: 93 minutes
Release Date: November 25th, 1987 (USA)
Studio: Paramount Pictures
Director(s): John Hughes
Writer(s): John Hughes

Like your job. Love your wife.

Being the first John Hughes film I have seen since the writer/director’s passing, I feel that I need to speak about the man’s oeuvre along with the movie itself. I think many could make the argument that Planes, Trains and Automobiles is his best work. He wrote a lot of scripts—even into the years before his death—but, of those he also directed, you won’t find one that resonates on an adult level quite like this.

While The Breakfast Club will always hold a nostalgic place in my heart, this one not dealing with teenage angst makes it an intriguing outlier. Profanity or not—we are talking hard-R for the rental car rant alone—the subject matter here is more buddy comedy dealing with serious heartache at the holidays. Is it the consummate Thanksgiving film? I’d say so. One of the best comedies ever made? I think that might be true too.

It’s weird how many comedies deal with a marketing/creative executive (the underrated Nothing to Lose comes to mind), but we open with Steve Martin’s Neal Page watching his boss hem and haw about an ad despite desperately needing to catch a plane home to his family in Chicago. The film quickly becomes a race against time to make it to the airport before 6:00pm and soon finds one man proving to be an adversary to this goal: John Candy’s great Del Griffith.

This character epitomizes what made Candy such a great talent. His jolly appeal sucks you in, making you empathize with him despite his obnoxious talent to talk unceasingly. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, smiling wide when happy and pouting darkly when chastised for being himself. Anyone wondering whether they must change who they are to maintain relationships should take a good look at most of Candy’s roles—but especially this one—to see that self-confidence and self-love matter most. If someone doesn’t like you for who you are, they don’t deserve to know you.

These two men find their lives intertwined as they both try every possible way to get home. Between flight delays, inclement weather, an immobile train, a combustible rental car, awkward motel room evenings, and just having polar opposite personalities in close quarters, the laughs are constant. There are so many one-liners to be remembered and repeated—just ask my cousin who quoted the film the entire day before watching it.

Hughes’ ability to write how people actually speak was unequaled. His characters were real and very much based on people we all know in our lives. Everyone has (or is) a stoic, serious, and cold Neal Page or an overbearing, kindhearted, loudmouth Del Griffith. And yet, no matter which one, there’s always something that makes them irreplaceable in your life. Shortcomings aside, they are trustworthy, compassionate, and willing to risk their own lives for yours.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is full of memorable set pieces and physical comedy, but you cannot deny how the writing weaves everythig together into a cohesive whole. This odd couple could make any situation gold, so pitting them against each other in heightened circumstances guarantees them the space to excel. And while so many tragedies in succession can seem like contrived plot devices solely utilized to advance the story artificially, Hughes figures out how to make it work.

The transitions are seamless. Instead of dreading the “I wonder what will happen next?” question, we begin to anticipate the next unfortunate mishap and revel in the comedic genius that inevitably follows. Both Martin and Candy are at the top of their games, honing the elastic zaniness that made them so effective earlier in their stand-up and sketch comedy careers to complement their more seasoned professionalism. Martin has continued to evolve and succeed over two decades later, so we can only imagine the unforgettable roles we’ve missed out on since Candy passed away in 1994.

No matter how important these actors are to the film, Hughes is the wizard behind the curtain. Everything he’s known for—the final freeze frame, schmaltzy music cues (which somehow work effectively every time), and the reality that heartache can be funny—are included. These trademarks prove Hughes’ auteurism and make you wonder how different some of his scripts might have turn out if he was behind the camera on them too.

There’s also something to be said about his supporting characters. Each is well written and integral despite paltry screen time. Kevin Bacon makes his dialogue-free villain three-dimensional from body language alone. Dylan Baker embodies backwoods hick like no other. And Hughes regular Edie McClurg takes the f-bomb laced rant from Martin like a champ before adding the perfect footnote.

I think it’s why his films are so cherished and unforgettable. They do all the little things right to make masterpieces regardless of whether you feel their subject matter deserves the praise. They stand the test of time and will continue to do so for perpetuity, extending his legacy to secure his place in cinematic history.

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Steve Martin and John Candy in PLANES, TRAINS & AUTOMOBILES.