The traveling comedy is nothing new. The genre has won Oscars and has been critically panned. Actors have had their careers defined by appearing in the right one while others have seen their careers implode for being in the wrong one. Tackling this genre is a tightrope walk and it’s perfectly reasonable to suspect that director John Hughes (known mostly for his coming-of-age, high school-centric films) might stumble in making a comedy about grown-ups. Hughes is on his game here, though, and hit this one out of the park.
All Neal Page (Steve Martin) wants to do is get home to Chicago for Thanksgiving. Getting there from New York City, however, proves to be a difficult task. Neal is thwarted two-fold every step of the way. Not only is he beset by just about every type of travel delay possible, but he continually crosses paths with Del Griffith, an obnoxious traveling salesman played by John Candy. Neither one a fan of the other, Neal and Del become reluctant travel companions on a cross-country trip neither one will soon forget.
It’s a good thing this film is a comedy, otherwise it would be the worst possible publicity for all segments of the travel industry except for boats. But the best humor always contains a kernel of truth. While I myself have the fortune of never being caught up in airplane or train traffic delays (a by-product of limited travel in my lifetime), millions of people know what these hold-ups are like. Similarly, everyone knows what it’s like to be in close proximity to someone who annoys them.
Neither one of these situations is likely to be consistently funny, but Hughes knows his comedy pretty well and seamlessly blends the two together. This shouldn’t come as a surprise though, because Hughes also wrote the family road trip comedy National Lampoon’s Vacation. He just gets the writing and directing credit this time around. You can feel Hughes’s presence behind the camera, especially when it comes to the heartwarming moments where everyone sees eye to eye and begrudgingly puts aside their differences. That’s a Hughesian staple that cannot be avoided when he is at the helm.
Unlike other films of his, Planes, Trains and Automobiles does not suffer because of these ‘aw shucks’ moments. This is entirely due to the performances of Martin and Candy. Who among you doesn’t think Steve Martin is the quintessential comedy straight man? He’s a little bit timid but assertive when he needs to be- just like the average American. John Candy is the exact opposite. He’s best when playing characters on the fringe of normal. His bubbly personality makes him almost automatically funny and his sense of comedic timing is one of the all-time best.
My only quibble with this film is a scene where Martin’s character finally takes his frustration out on a rental car clerk, dropping a deluge of F-bombs. While there is some other coarse language here and there, the F-word is absent from the rest of the film and feels completely out of place and unnecessary. What starts out as a shocking but slightly amusing rant degrades into a mean-spirited tirade that creates a vacuum of positive comedic energy. It takes a few minutes for the film to rebound from this, which is detrimental to the cause of any comedy.
That one scene aside, Planes, Trains and Automobiles nails it. Hughes takes very real travel scenarios and ratchets up the absurdity with Candy’s stellar work. Martin’s reactions never seek to out-do his co-star and fall into the realm of the believably outlandish. That’s what comedy is all about- not so much the craziness of the situation but the reactions to that craziness. The precise execution of this comedic law is why this film is a resounding success.
This is one of those films that adopts the credo ‘go big or go home,’ and go big it does. Ornate period details collide with brilliant acting and a crisp, albeit sensational, story to create a truly captivating tale of jealousy, talent and corruption. Let’s face it- if you’re making a movie about one of the greatest composers that ever lived, you have to aim for nothing short of the heavens if you even hope to do the subject justice.
In 1823, Antonio Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) unsuccessfully attempts to commit suicide, landing him in a mental asylum. There he confesses to a priest his most magnificent of sins- a decade of torment and subterfuge cast upon the young and brilliant Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Tom Hulce). In 1781, Salieri’s comfortable position in the heights of Viennese society is shaken by the foppish Mozart. Mesmerized by the young man’s talent but revolted by his impetuous and childlike manner, Salieri feels personally tormented by God.
Threatened by the newcomer’s vision, Salieri uses the power of his position as court composer for Holy Roman Emperor Joseph II to make Mozart’s life a living hell. Whispering in the ears of the Viennese elite, he forces Mozart to restrain his creativity in order to fit the norm expected from the upper class. This drives Mozart to the brink of sanity and health in his feverish attempt to appease the aristocracy while also trying to open them up to the universe of music that swirls within his mind.
Many kudos go out to director Miloš Forman and the producers of this film. They fully understand that, despite Hollywood’s expert craftsmen, there is just no substitute for the real thing when it comes to period pieces. The use of historic buildings where Mozart actually visited and worked adds to the glamour and pomp of an already enchanting atmosphere.
The costume work is another extreme plus. I cannot tell you how many times period films are ruined for me by an overabundance of garish costumes that look far too modern and barely lived-in at all. Amadeus gets it right- while the rulers and aristocrats may have perfect-looking clothes every day of the week, everyone below their station in life is attired in clothes with creases and worn fabric. This is not some ideal fantasy world where everyone looks perfect. This is a recreation of the real world, tatters and all.
If you come away from this film thinking it to be truth, then you have been fooled. Amadeus is based off a Broadway production that takes great liberties with history. While some of Mozart’s letters make mention of very real tension with and obstruction by Salieri, the playwright sensationalizes these issues into a grand cat-and-mouse game of power and talent. It’s dark, twisted and appeals to any conspiratorial and vengeful tendencies the viewer may possess. Most of us know what it’s like to be jealous to the point of desiring to metaphorically crush someone under their heel. At the same time, probably just as many of us have been on the receiving end of such jealousy (or imagined we were).
The interplay between these two emotions is splendid due to the brilliant performances of Abraham and Hulce. Abraham is delicious as an antagonistic. His cold, calculating demeanor contains subtle undertones of sarcasm and dark humor. Hulce is just as adept, though I found some of his most flamboyant moments to be a little over the top. Still, he manages to capture a wide swath of emotions: lust, anguish, determination, exhilaration and fear.
The music, naturally, is a hodge-podge of some of Mozart’s best work. I cannot even fathom how difficult a task it was to sift through Mozart’s compositions to find just the right snippets to fit the mood of one scene or another. The soundtrack supervisor does a splendid job and throws in pieces not often known by casual classical music listeners.
Melodramatic as it may be at times, Amadeus is an engrossing film that hooks you from the beginning. A morally ambiguous roller coaster, it will leave you switching sides throughout. One can clearly understand Salieri’s objections to Mozart’s childish behavior but there are also no doubts as to when lines of decency and humanity are crossed. This is a piece of historical fiction that doesn’t dress its subject up as a saint or vilify it to meet the demands of cynics. Instead, Amadeus effortlessly jazzes up what many consider a stuffy time period with mystery, intrigue and plenty of charm.
