A Comedy About Travel That Becomes Something Deeper
Planes, Trains and Automobiles, released in 1987 and directed by John Hughes, is often remembered for its laughs and holiday chaos, but it is much more than a comedy of errors. Starring Steve Martin as the uptight Neal Page and John Candy as the well-meaning but overbearing Del Griffith, the film begins as a familiar travel mishap story. Neal is a high-strung marketing executive trying to get home to Chicago for Thanksgiving, but a series of transportation disasters throws him together with Del, a talkative shower curtain ring salesman. What follows is a string of misadventures involving grounded planes, derailed trains, and sketchy rental cars. Yet beneath the surface of the mishaps lies a story about loneliness, kindness, and the surprising ways strangers can affect each other.
At its core, the film is a journey—not just across snow-covered states, but across emotional terrain. Hughes weaves together physical comedy with human vulnerability, and in doing so, he creates one of the most heartfelt road trip movies in cinema. As much as the audience laughs at the absurdity of Neal’s escalating frustrations and Del’s relentless optimism, what sticks is the slow transformation of both men. The humor opens the door, but the emotional truth is what makes the film unforgettable.
Neal Page: A Man Stuck in His Own Head
Neal Page, played with perfect restraint by Steve Martin, begins the film as the personification of efficiency and control. He has a good job, a nice suit, and a schedule he refuses to break. His irritation with delays and discomfort is not just about inconvenience—it’s about the deeper fear of losing control. Neal is the kind of man who prides himself on being reliable. So when his business trip ends with missed flights, broken-down trains, and an unexpected travel partner, his anxiety rises like a pressure cooker.
What makes Neal compelling is that he’s not a bad person—just guarded and frustrated. The more time he spends with Del, the more his emotional armor begins to crack. Del challenges everything Neal thinks he knows about how to move through the world. At first, Neal tries to distance himself, but eventually, he begins to see the value in patience, warmth, and human connection. His growth isn’t forced or exaggerated. It happens in small, meaningful ways that mirror real life. That’s the genius of the character. Neal doesn’t become someone else by the end. He simply becomes more of himself.
Del Griffith: Clown and Tragic Hero
John Candy’s performance as Del Griffith is a masterclass in comedy layered with sadness. Del is gregarious, unfiltered, and filled with good intentions. He talks too much, invades personal space, and carries a suitcase that never seems to close. But beneath the surface is a man deeply familiar with loss and loneliness. He keeps up a cheerful front because he knows what silence feels like. Candy gives Del a kind of tragic dignity. You laugh at him, but you never laugh at him. You laugh with him, and then you ache for him.
As the film progresses, the signs of Del’s true situation begin to show. The scenes in the motel room, where Del quietly reveals his grief, are powerful in their subtlety. He talks about his wife Marie as if she’s still alive, but his eyes betray the truth. This slow reveal makes Del unforgettable. He is not just a comic foil; he is the emotional anchor of the movie. Hughes gives him space to be silly, but also the depth to be profoundly human. It’s Del’s vulnerability that ultimately changes Neal, and by extension, the audience.
The Road Trip as a Mirror of Human Frustration
The title Planes, Trains and Automobiles may sound whimsical, but it encapsulates a string of travel disasters that would test anyone’s sanity. Neal and Del face delayed flights, snowstorms, train breakdowns, rental car mix-ups, highway scares, and more. The misadventures are funny because they’re real. Anyone who has traveled during the holidays knows the helplessness of being stuck in an airport or having plans go awry. Hughes doesn’t need to exaggerate. The humor comes from the truth of how fragile even the most carefully laid plans can be.
Each leg of the journey serves as a trial for the characters. With every mishap, Neal’s patience thins, while Del’s optimism is challenged. The external journey mirrors the internal one. Traveling exposes who we really are when we’re stripped of routine and comfort. For Neal, it means realizing how emotionally closed off he’s become. For Del, it’s about acknowledging his grief. By forcing these two opposites into close quarters, Hughes creates a pressure chamber where growth becomes inevitable.
Comedy Rooted in Character, Not Just Gags
What sets Planes, Trains and Automobiles apart from other road trip comedies is that its humor never feels cheap. Yes, there are physical gags, awkward situations, and verbal tirades—especially Neal’s infamous rant at the car rental counter. But these moments work because they are grounded in character. Neal doesn’t explode because the scene demands it; he explodes because his control has finally snapped. Del doesn’t fumble a hotel booking for a laugh; he does it because he lives in a state of organized chaos.
The comedy arises from who these people are and how they react to each other. That’s why it holds up. Jokes based on character behavior tend to age better than topical humor or slapstick. They reflect real human interaction, even in exaggerated form. Hughes was a master at writing characters who felt lived-in. He understood that the best comedy doesn’t punch down—it reveals. In this film, it reveals fear, ego, hope, and compassion, often in the same scene.
The Subtle Craft of John Hughes
John Hughes is often associated with teen comedies like The Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles, but Planes, Trains and Automobiles showcases his full range. Here, he directs adults, deals with grief, and plays with the complex emotions beneath adult friendship. He knew when to go big and when to be quiet. One of the film’s most memorable scenes involves no dialogue at all. Neal, sitting alone on a commuter train, starts piecing together the truth about Del’s life. Through quick flashes and facial expressions, Hughes conveys realization, guilt, and empathy—all without a word.
That kind of subtlety is rare in comedy. Hughes had a gift for knowing when to slow down. He didn’t just want to make people laugh. He wanted to leave them feeling something. In that sense, Planes, Trains and Automobiles may be his most mature film. It’s still hilarious, but it doesn’t hide behind jokes. It faces the discomfort of human emotion with sincerity and warmth.
Thanksgiving as the Perfect Backdrop
Setting the film during Thanksgiving is no coincidence. It’s a holiday about coming home, about gratitude and connection. That context elevates the urgency of the journey. Neal isn’t just trying to return from a business trip—he’s trying to reunite with his family. The stakes feel higher because they’re personal. The holiday amplifies his stress, but also gives the film its emotional payoff.
When Neal finally makes it home, carrying Del’s suitcase behind him, the arrival feels earned. It’s not just a physical return. It’s a return to emotional openness. The Thanksgiving setting adds meaning to every setback and makes the ending feel even more poignant. It reminds the audience of what really matters—not schedules or comfort, but people. And sometimes, the stranger beside you becomes the person who reminds you of that.
The Iconic Performances and Their Lasting Impact
Steve Martin and John Candy were already beloved comedians by the time this film was released, but Planes, Trains and Automobiles showcased the depth of their talent. Martin proves he can play straight-man frustration with emotional complexity. His performance is filled with small, telling expressions—tight smiles, clenched jaws, eyes that dart away when emotions rise. He shows the inner turmoil of someone used to control, slowly learning to let go.
Candy, on the other hand, delivers what is arguably the best performance of his career. He brings a balance of physical comedy and soulful vulnerability that few actors could achieve. Del is funny, yes, but also deeply moving. Candy doesn’t overplay him. He lets Del’s sadness emerge naturally, in glimpses that make the character feel real. Together, Martin and Candy create a chemistry that’s not just funny but sincere. They don’t just act in the same film—they share a journey that feels genuine.
The Ending That Redefines the Whole Story
For most of the film, the audience sees Del as a nuisance. He’s a lovable goof, but also a source of chaos. It’s only in the final minutes that the full picture comes into focus. When Neal realizes that Del has no home to return to and invites him in for Thanksgiving, the film’s emotional power hits its peak. That moment recontextualizes everything we’ve seen. Del wasn’t just tagging along—he was hiding his pain, trying to stay connected to someone, anyone.
This twist doesn’t feel manipulative. It feels true. And it reminds the viewer that everyone has a story. The people we dismiss or misunderstand may be carrying burdens we can’t see. That’s what gives Planes, Trains and Automobiles its staying power. It’s a comedy, yes—but it’s also a film about kindness. About choosing to care when it’s easier not to. The ending doesn’t offer a grand resolution. It simply offers a meal shared, a chair pulled up, and the warmth of being seen.
A Comedy for the Ages
More than three decades after its release, Planes, Trains and Automobiles remains a staple of holiday viewing, but it deserves to be seen as more than seasonal fare. It’s a story about patience, empathy, and the strange beauty of inconvenience. In a world that moves faster every year, this film asks us to slow down. To see the humanity in the person beside us. To laugh when things go wrong, and to forgive more freely.
John Hughes created many great films, but this one feels different. It speaks not just to teens or adults, but to anyone who’s ever been lost, tired, or unexpectedly touched by the kindness of a stranger. That’s why it still resonates. Because in the chaos of travel, and life, it reminds us that the best destination is connection. And sometimes, the longest road leads to the most meaningful arrival.
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