How Steve Martin and John Candy taught me to love my neighbor

Celebrating 35 years of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles."

Hi all! This year, Planes, Trains and Automobiles celebrates its 35th anniversary. The film is one of my favorites and I was honored to have the following essay published in the book Movies from the Mountaintop: 100+ Films that Express God, Explore Faith and Enlighten Church earlier this year. If you enjoy the essay, consider purchasing the book on Amazon; there are some really fantastic essays by great film critics about the intersection of faith and art.

I hope you enjoy the essay!

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Few subgenres more accurately capture the challenge of loving our neighbor than the road trip. Keeping characters in cramped quarters with people who confound, frustrate and irritate them — whether it’s family (Vacation), a co-worker (Tommy Boy) or a close friend (Sideways) — allows for an effective metaphor about the hassles of doing life with others. These films exploit a truth we know but don’t like to publicly acknowledge: other people drive us nuts. 

Perhaps no movie better exemplifies this than Planes, Trains and Automobiles. John Hughes’ 1987 film is the definitive American road comedy, and has become a perennial Thanksgiving watch. It’s a career high not only for Hughes, but also for stars Steve Martin and John Candy. And while it’s a comedy classic, the film’s staying power is due not only to the laughs, but to the surprising way it delivers a lesson on learning to be kinder to life’s fellow travelers. 

Life among sandpaper saints

Martin plays Neal Page, an ad writer trying to get from New York to Chicago for Thanksgiving. Snowstorms, breakdowns and other obstacles make this a harrowing odyssey, but Neal’s greatest challenge is when fate handcuffs him to lovable but obnoxious shower curtain ring salesman Del Griffith (Candy). For three days, the two travel via every mode of transit and endure a hotel robbery, a car fire and more, while Neal’s patience and sanity are pushed to the breaking point. 

Neal isn’t a jerk; he’s polite, polished and reserved. It’s just that other people keep getting in his way. Within the first 15 minutes, a client nearly makes him late for his flight, a smarmy pedestrian beats him to a cab and a greedy lawyer charges him for another. By the time he’s reached the airport, he’s been the victim of several indignities, and we understand why his nerves are fraying.  

Things don’t get easier when he finds himself saddled with Del, who he first encounters in the airport terminal and later is stuck with on the flight. Del is Neal’s exact opposite. He’s large and slovenly, where Neal is thin and neat. He’s loud and gregarious; Neal just wants to keep to himself. Del is a walking hug who assumes that everyone is his best friend; Neal seems to view people as either assets or obstacles. Each of Del’s attempts to help Neal home result in disaster; every time Neal thinks he’s shaken off his travel partner, Del and his giant suitcase lumber back. 

Every so often, we find ourselves alongside people who seem designed to drive us crazy; a pastor friend called these people “sandpaper saints.” Maybe it’s the coworker who constantly shirks responsibility or reminds you of your own failings. Perhaps it’s the neighbor constantly failing to return your tools, the fellow parishioner on the other side of the political aisle or the family member who brings drama to every gathering. Like Paul’s thorn in the flesh (2 Cor 12: 6-7), these people have a knack for making our lives harder and we cannot seem to escape them. 

Del is Neal’s sandpaper saint, and he makes his three days on the road a living hell. But it’s hilarious for all of us. 

Truth through laughter 

When we think of the movies that impact us, particularly spiritually, we often gravitate to dramas. I won’t deny that The Tree of Life, The Shawshank Redemption, The Truman Show and others have played a profound role in shaping my view of reality and impacting my relationship with God. But I automatically put up my defenses when I sense a movie is preaching, and I’m allergic to most films that broadcast their messages. 

Instead, God often uses stories that divert my attention and sneak in their moments of transcendence, bringing down my defenses with a well-timed joke. Groundhog Day is clever and funny, but it’s also an effective telling of the book of Ecclesiastes through the filter of a romantic comedy. Life of Brian is a ribald, raucous satire, but it’s also helped me understand some of the worst tendencies of organized religion and the petty things that we let divide us. I’ve learned more life lessons from The Simpsons than I have from sermons. 

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is very funny, and decades after my first viewing there are moments that still make me laugh. When Del and Neal spend the evening in a small bed and wake up with their hands in uncomfortable places, I cackle. It’s still a riot to watch John Candy drive while goofing off to Ray Charles’ “Mess Around.” And as someone who’s been at the mercy of bad customer service, I feel the catharsis when Martin rips into a profanity-laden tirade at a rental car clerk. The humor is disarming; it cuts down my defenses and draws me into the characters’ plight. 

It helps that two very funny men, and capable actors in their own rights, are at the center of this, grounding the humor in recognizable, three-dimensional human beings. Candy is fantastic at making Del a huggable lug but also a clumsy and overbearing jabber-jaw, and the movie gives glimpses of his own loneliness. Likewise, Neal might be stuck up and high strung, but we sympathize with him because we view this hellish journey through his eyes. Martin plays Neal as someone so wrapped up in his plans that he can’t see how isolated he’s become. The tears in his wife’s eyes and comments from the kids hint that this isn’t the first time his work has kept him from family. And when Neal suggests “Three Coins in a Fountain” during a sing-a-long and all the riders stare blankly at him, we get a glimpse at just how hard it is for Neal to connect with others. 

Hughes uses these human moments to bolster the movie’s comedy and deliver some surprisingly powerful emotional moments. 

The first happens early on, after Del and Neal stop at a hotel. Del’s made a mess of the place, and the two are forced to share a beer-soaked bed. After Del repeatedly interrupts Neal’s sleep, Neal jumps out of bed and delivers a blistering tirade, taking aim at one of the most important parts of Del’s identity: his penchant for engaging others with his stories.  

“You know, everything is not an anecdote. You have to discriminate. You choose things that are funny or mildly amusing or interesting. You're a miracle! Your stories have none of that. They're not even amusing accidentally … And by the way, when you're telling these little stories? Here's a good idea: have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener!”

It’s sometimes funny — Neal’s comparison of Del to a Chatty Cathy doll is one of the high points of Martin’s career — but it’s also mean. Del’s a people-lover; stories are how he connects with others, and Neal is tearing down a crucial part of his identity. Throughout, the camera often stays focused on Candy, who absorbs all the vitriol and subtly reveals the hurt welling up inside Del. His response reveals how deeply he’s been wounded.  

“You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead if it makes you feel any better. I'm an easy target. Yeah, you're right, I talk too much. I also listen too much. I could be a cold-hearted cynic like you. But I don't like to hurt people's feelings. Well, you think what you want about me; I'm not changing. I like me. My wife likes me. My customers like me. 'Cause I'm the real article. What you see is what you get.”

It’s an emotionally naked moment for a film that has, until then, been a straight comedy. The camera lingers. Neal has crossed a line, and he knows it. He’s torn another person down. Because he’s stuck with this stranger, he can see the damage he’s caused. 

When I focus only on the ways a person inconveniences or aggravates me, or view them merely as impediments to my plans, I lose sight of the image of God inside of them. I don’t think twice about tearing them down; they’re in my way, after all. I don’t stop to consider that they have their own life, feelings and histories. I have no right to hurt them just because I’m inconvenienced. I forget that Jesus said that when I call someone a fool, it reveals a sickness in my heart that’s just as bad as taking their life (Matthew 5:22). 

A drama making that point might be too saccharine; a comedy makes me laugh at the albatross around Neal’s neck and then surprises me by revealing the human on the other side. 

Fellowship with fellow travelers 

It’s not the end of their squabbles; they bicker throughout the car ride and at one point, after Del’s carelessness has torched their ride home, Neal socks him in the stomach. But something has changed; Neal is more aware of his fellow traveler’s humanity. When he attempts to break up their partnership and Del shows how hurt he is, we can see that Neal feels bad. Late in the film, when Del sleeps in his burned-out car and Neal is cozied up in a hotel room, he invites him in for a night of drinking and laughter. Del’s comments about success at home and work prompt Neal to confess that he’s not spending enough time with his wife and kids. The two continue to chafe at each other and their relationship is abrasive, but their decision to see and respect each other’s humanity allows them to change for the better. Maybe it’s the sandpaper saint bringing down the other’s rough edges, another way of iron sharpening iron (Proverbs 27:17). 

We see how much Neal has changed at the end. He finally makes it back to Chicago and says a heartfelt goodbye to Del. It should be the end of the story. The two have become friends, they hug, and Neal is on his way home. On the train, he reminisces about their journey, and winces as he recalls indulging his own worst tendencies. And then, Neal begins to put something together. Something about Del’s stories don’t make sense. He gets off the train and finds Del alone in a train station, where he reveals his story: his wife has been dead for years and he lives on the road. He was in no rush to get home for Thanksgiving because he has no home. 

It used to bother me that Del never previously revealed this information to Neal. The two were stuck together for three days, and it would be easy to assume this information would have come up. But it’s important that Del kept this information hidden. Not only because it reveals his gregariousness to be a defense mechanism, but because Neal being the one to figure out it is key to the movie’s theme. 

Planes, Trains and Automobiles is about empathy. It’s notable that Neal is the one who begins to understand Del’s plight and loneliness. The time with his sandpaper saint has worn down his defenses and abrasiveness to the point where he can begin to think about another person, imagine their stories, and feel compassion and concern. It’s important that at this point, it’s Neal who chooses to interrupt his own journey in order to consider the needs of another above the needs of his own (Philippians 2:3-4) and willingly accept an inconvenience in order to help them. 

Likewise, once I stop viewing people as impediments and remember that they are fellow image bearers, I’m able to truly love them. When I consider them as people with their own stories, hurts and needs, and realize my role is to comfort and serve them, I can experience true fellowship and joy, even if the conflicts don’t magically disappear.  

The final moments of Planes, Trains and Automobiles find Del and Neal both carrying Del’s baggage (a nice little metaphor) and enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner. Neal returns home with a new appreciation for the blessings in his life. Del is welcomed into a new family and enjoys a holiday with a new friend. While the movie is rewatchable because of its comedy, it’s this sweet and tender ending that makes it stick to the ribs. 

God has used Planes, Trains and Automobiles to reveal my worst tendencies and habits when it comes to loving others. But he’s also used it as a reminder of the true joy we have when we consider the needs of our neighbors and learn to fellowship together. It’s a journey I’m thankful to take each year.