Trains, Planes and Automobiles (1987)

Directed, written, and produced by John Hughes, Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987) is more than just a holiday road-trip comedy—it’s a poignant character study, a razor-sharp social satire, and one of the most beloved films of the 1980s. Starring Steve Martin and John Candy in career-defining roles, the film blends uproarious humour with emotional resonance, creating a timeless story of two mismatched men trying to get home for Thanksgiving.

Running at 92 minutes, the film was a departure for Hughes, best known at the time for teen-oriented hits like The Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Here, he pivoted to adult characters and themes while retaining his knack for sharp dialogue, heartfelt moments, and observational wit. Over the years, Planes, Trains and Automobiles has transcended its modest premise to become an enduring holiday staple.

Plot Summary

The story follows Neal Page (Steve Martin), a high-strung marketing executive desperate to get from New York to Chicago in time for Thanksgiving with his family. Everything goes wrong from the moment he leaves his Madison Avenue office. He misses his cab, his flight is delayed, and the journey descends into a series of logistical nightmares.

Along the way, Neal is reluctantly paired with Del Griffith (John Candy), a well-meaning but bumbling shower curtain ring salesman with a knack for bad luck and long-winded stories. The two men—complete opposites in temperament and lifestyle—are forced to travel together through a parade of misfortunes involving broken trains, burned cars, icy roads, and soul-testing hotel rooms.

What begins as a comedy of irritation gradually transforms into something deeper: a story about loneliness, friendship, and the universal desire to belong.

Performance and Chemistry

Steve Martin as Neal Page

Martin plays against his usual absurdist persona here, delivering a more controlled, restrained performance. As Neal, he’s uptight, sarcastic, and increasingly desperate—but also deeply human. Martin’s ability to let the cracks show in Neal’s polished façade adds a relatable dimension to the character. His comedic timing is impeccable, especially in his famous profanity-laced car rental tirade, but it’s his subtle emotional shifts that truly elevate the performance.

John Candy as Del Griffith

Candy delivers what is widely regarded as the best performance of his career. Del could have easily become a caricature—the annoying oaf who gets in the way—but Candy imbues him with warmth, depth, and heartbreak. His line, “I like me. My wife likes me,” still resonates decades later as a moment of raw vulnerability. Candy plays Del as someone whose optimism masks profound sadness, making the character unforgettable and deeply sympathetic.

Their Dynamic

The contrast between Martin’s tight-lipped control and Candy’s shambling exuberance creates not only comic gold but emotional alchemy. Their chemistry is the film’s lifeblood. Even as they clash, there’s an underlying respect and, eventually, compassion between them that culminates in one of the most touching finales in any comedy.

Direction and Writing

John Hughes showcases his versatility here. Known for teen angst and suburban satire, Hughes proves himself equally adept at adult storytelling. The screenplay deftly balances physical comedy (burned-out cars, wrong-way highway scenes, cramped beds) with sharply written dialogue and dramatic tension. What sets the film apart is its gradual emotional layering—what starts as a slapstick farce becomes a quiet meditation on loneliness, family, and human connection.

Hughes’ direction is straightforward, allowing the performances to take centre stage. Yet his eye for detail—be it the sterile monotony of airport lounges or the cramped intimacy of a shared motel room—adds texture. His musical choices, including the melancholy "Every time You Go Away" in the final scene, enhance the film’s emotional arc.

Cinematography and Production Design

The cinematography by Donald Peterman complements the film’s tone. Grey skies, snowy highways, flickering motels, and crowded airport terminals all contribute to the feeling of frustration and weariness. Despite its modest production scale, the film effectively captures the geography and stress of American holiday travel.

The production design reinforces the contrast between Neal’s corporate sterility and Del’s chaotic, makeshift life. Del's battered trunk becomes a visual symbol of his burdens—both literal and emotional.

Comedy and Pathos

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is funny—very funny. The misadventures pile up in hilarious and escalating fashion. From the famous “those aren’t pillows” motel bed scene to the car rental confrontation, the film is peppered with unforgettable comic set pieces.

But Hughes smartly uses these laughs as a vehicle for something more. The film’s final act, in which Neal slowly pieces together Del’s personal tragedy, brings everything full circle. The humour makes the heartbreak more powerful, and the heartbreak, in turn, makes the humour more meaningful. This blend of tones is what elevates the film from amusing to great.

Themes

Loneliness and Human Connection: Both men are lonely in their own ways—Neal in his isolationist self-sufficiency, Del in his unacknowledged grief. Their journey is as much emotional as geographical.

Class and Personality Clashes: The film explores the tension between the urban elite and the working-class everyman. Neal initially sees Del as an embarrassment, but eventually sees the depth of his humanity.

Holiday Chaos and Gratitude: The film captures the chaos of travel and the yearning for home, but also reminds us of the things that really matter—empathy, companionship, and compassion.

Cultural Impact and Legacy

While not a massive box office hit upon release, Planes, Trains and Automobiles has become a holiday classic, often cited as one of the best Thanksgiving films ever made. It’s beloved for its humour, but revered for its emotional truth.

It helped solidify John Hughes’ reputation as a filmmaker with heart, proved Steve Martin’s versatility, and immortalized John Candy as one of the most empathetic performers of his generation.

The film's influence can be seen in countless buddy comedies and road-trip films that followed, though few have managed to replicate its balance of absurdity and tenderness.

Conclusion

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is a masterclass in comedic storytelling that never sacrifices heart for laughs. With standout performances, memorable dialogue, and a surprising emotional punch, it remains one of the most enduring and affecting comedies of the 1980s.

As both a holiday tradition and a universal tale of human frustration and kindness, it reminds us that sometimes the hardest journeys lead us to the most meaningful destinations.