The reason Planes, Trains and Automobiles remains the premier Thanksgiving movie (sorry Eli Roth) is not without merit. In fact, apart from Home for the Holidays, there is no other Thanksgiving movie in existence that speaks so eloquently to the fraught, extremely stressful nature of this specific day. A day that has a weeklong buildup of not only preparing the food (or preparing to eat it if one isn’t actually involved in the cooking aspect), but also preparing to travel to the place in question where the feast will be held. For some, that means going back to their parents’ house, for others it means showing up to a Friendsgiving. But for advertising exec Neal Page (Steve Martin), it means catching a six p.m. flight from New York City to Chicago three days before Thanksgiving.
Having been in New York solely to accommodate Mr. Bryant (William Windom), a client who can’t make up his mind about which advertising direction to go in based on the mock-ups given to him, Neal is already anxiety-ridden about getting to the airport on time due to Bryant’s drawn-out indecision. His fellow ad man on the account, John (Lyman Ward, fresh off playing Ferris Bueller’s dad in another John Hughes movie from the previous year), mockingly warns Neal as he makes a mad dash for the elevator, “You’re never gonna make the six o’clock.” After all, it’s rush hour in Midtown Manhattan. Only someone “green” when it comes to the city would be naïve enough to think they could get a cab. And so it is that John Hughes commences the first in a series of examples that will highlight the nature of just how fucked American infrastructure is. Of course, it wasn’t always set up that way. Long before the car, its crude roads were dominated by horse carriages, pedestrians and early versions of the bicycle.
Alas, after World War II, creating a dependency on cars vis-à-vis U.S. infrastructure was the name of the capitalist game. And by the time the 1980s rolled around (with ’87 being the year that Planes, Trains and Automobiles was released), the dependence was seemingly irreversible. Sure, trains might have been the grand marvel/height of travel in their 1800s heyday (particularly in California), but they were considered all but relics for “people travel” by the time of Hughes’ Thanksgiving masterpiece. Hence, the indication of how desperate Neal is to get back home in time by deigning to ride on one (even though, in Europe, train and bus travel is the way to get around). One that soon breaks down and leads him and his unwanted traveling companion, Del Griffith (John Candy), to take the “consolation” bus suggested by the railroad instead (one supposes the title Planes, Trains, Buses and Automobiles would have been too long). Before this act of increasing desperation, however, Neal started out in, as mentioned, a taxi. Just not the one that he had initially bribed another cab hailer to let him take (even though Neal was the rightful hailer in the first place). That was taken, instead, by oblivious Del, who later claims he didn’t notice the squabble Neal was having with a rival potential passenger.
Despite being late to the airport due to this taxi/traffic nightmare (and yes, it’s telling that even in New York, America’s so-called beacon of “effortless” public transportation, Neal still needs a car to get to where he’s going), it doesn’t affect Neal catching his flight on time because, quelle surprise, it’s delayed. The first sign that the aviation infrastructure cannot accommodate such a surge in travel, what with tens of millions of Americans trying to get from one part of the country to another during this overstretched holiday week. And this is a phenomenon that has only gotten worse in the decades since Planes, Trains and Automobiles first came out, especially as the rise of “budget” airlines has usurped all previous semblance of “reliability” when it comes to air travel (gone are the glamorous and luxurious days of Pan Am). Which is also, now more than ever, vulnerable to the vagaries of climate change (the irony being that air travel has been a key contributor to causing climate change).
But, of course, with Americans being indoctrinated to believe in both instant gratification and that their country is the most “functional” and “convenience/customer-oriented” in the world, it still somehow comes as a shock to witness the breakdown of all functionality when the proverbial system is overstretched. It’s only someone like Del, who has no place to be within a certain timeframe (his sad reality unveiled in the final act of the film), that can maintain an aura of “zen” in such “hell is other people” scenarios. An aura that becomes naturally annoying to someone as high-strung as Neal. For there’s nothing worse than being saddled with a person who not only doesn’t match your energy, but also seems to do everything in their power to aggravate you with theirs.
Then again, part of the reason Neal is so aggravated is because of his cold, desensitized single-mindedness, unwilling to focus on anything or anyone except his own end game—which is to get home to be with his family. In his “American dream” of a house. Possession being at the root of these entities, therefore this “me first” attitude. The individualistic essence of most American people is further underscored by Neal’s surly, generally “anti” vibes toward Del, a stranger just trying to make conversation/the best of a bad situation. That Del has the “audacity” to suggest they share a hotel room after being unexpectedly rerouted to Wichita (again, the infrastructure is too overburdened) would be more repugnant than it is to Neal were he not so desperate. Because, of course, all the other many stranded passengers have already booked every hotel room in the city, leaving Neal out of luck were it not for Del—however “undesirable” he may be.
And Neal’s unending disappointment/vexation throughout Planes, Trains and Automobiles signals how there is this ongoing misguided notion that presents America as “the land of plenty.” An environment that can continuously provide for as many people as possible. But when the various systems of infrastructure in the country are tested/even remotely pushed to the brink, it’s easy to see that, no, the country wasn’t made to be sustainable in this way—look only to the recent chaos wrought the pandemic in 2020 through 2022. In fact, as that very pandemic proved, American infrastructure works best when only a small sect of the population is allowed out of their house. This is additionally emphasized when, by the time that Neal and Del do make it to Chicago, the final step in their transportation journey, the “L” train, is totally deserted. Devoid of the faceless people formerly crowding every nook and cranny of every vehicle iteration. And it is in that empty transportation that Neal, not so coincidentally, at last finds his own sense of calm. It isn’t merely to do with the fact that he knows he’ll still make it on time for the meal, but because the chaos and fraught energy surrounding him at every turn the past three days has at last dissipated now that the holiday itself has arrived.
The looming anxiety over every public space and service has now reached a moment of stillness, a moment of serenity. The calm before the next storm: Black Friday. An American tradition as inexplicably revered as Thanksgiving itself. Another one that will have resources stretched well past “capacity.” Sort of like the absence of a rental car that Neal pays to drive, only to find that, when he’s dropped off in the remote airport parking lot to get to it, no such vehicle is there. And when Neal has to traipse all the way back to the rental car counter in the airport, it accents another infrastructure problem/lack of logicality. One that leads to arguably the most famous scene in the movie: Neal yelling at the desk agent (Edie McClurg, another Hughes staple who frequently appears in minor but memorable roles in his movies). His famous sarcasm-drenched lines being: “And I really don’t care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn’t fucking there. And I really didn’t care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile in my fucking face. I want a fucking car…right…fucking…now.”
Lo and behold, it isn’t just American infrastructure that fucks a person over, but also any signed contract with a corporation. Especially one that gets thrown away, as Neal opted to do with his rental agreement. Foolishly assuming that he would get in the car and drive away, and that would be that. But, oh no, the gods of overextended resources and infrastructure have other diabolical plans for him.
As for the movie’s tagline that quips, “What he really wanted was to spend Thanksgiving with his family. What he got was three days with the turkey,” well, who’s fault is that, really? American infrastructure’s? Or the nefarious forces behind making it what it is today and those in power choosing to keep it the same? Besides, after Planes, Trains and Automobiles, it’s not as though another comparable movie will come along—one that makes an undercutting comment about the unreliability of U.S. infrastructure when pushed to its limits. So if there’s not even any creative inspiration or artistic value to keeping the status quo, then there’s really no excuse not to do a major overhaul on the country’s fledgling infrastructure.
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