Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (Spoilers)

In the 80s, there was a great movie starring Steve Martin and John Candy called Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. It takes place in the few days leading up to Thanksgiving. Both men, who don’t know each other initially, are trying to get home to see their families. But after their flights are cancelled, they decide to team up and drive together as they live somewhat close to each other.

It’s a comedy, so as you can imagine, things go poorly. Their rental car catches fire, they miss trains, they argue incessantly, and in one, very famous scene, they wake up after an exhausting night and they’re snuggling in the same bed. When Steve Martin asks John Candy where his hands are, he replies, “Between two pillows.” To which Martin responds, “Those aren’t pillows!” as Candy has his hands between Martin’s thighs.

Martin begins growing more and more tired of Candy. He talks constantly about everything, including his wife, Marie. And, his character is a bumbling, buffoon who is the cause, unintentionally, of so many of their challenges.

When they finally arrive at the train station in their town, filthy and disheveled, Martin leaves Candy (after a somewhat cordial goodbye) and heads home to his family, relieved to be done with Candy forever.

When Martin gets home, and after lots of hugs from his wife and kids, something hits him.

He goes back to the train station to find Candy still sitting there.

When Martin asks him why, he says, “I don’t have a home. Marie died fifteen years ago.”

Of course, Martin invites him to his house and they spend Thanksgiving together.

Recently, I saw a video of Steve Martin talking about that ending scene. In the screenplay, Candy’s character is supposed to give a ton of background about his life. And Martin shared that he did when they filmed. But it was all cut.

Here’s a sample.

She was sick when we got married. Her bones. She just never got better. Once she was gone, I sold the place. I didn't much feel like being there. My life was empty enough as it was. The thought of rambling around the place without Marie there. I just closed it up, took a few things and I've been on the road since.

I didn't have much family. A brother in Montana, some cousins, Marie's folks died back-to-back the year after we married. They were pretty old. She was a late child. We didn't have kids. We had plans.

It goes on like this.

The writing is fine, but the filmmakers knew what so many of the greats know: simple wins the day.

All that exposition is nothing compared to the lines, “I don’t have a home. Marie’s been dead for fifteen years.”

What are you overcomplicating? What needs to be simpler? Remember, more isn’t better. Better is better. And simpler is almost always better.