Sullivan's Travels

Preston Sturges is the comedy god of Hollywood's Golden Age. His work meshes the slapstick and social commentary of Charlie Chaplin with the snappy wit of Howard Hawks, resulting in a remarkable body of work. His finest achievement is the near-perfect satire Sullivan's Travels (1941).

Movie director John L. Sullivan (Joel McCrea) determines to adapt the muckraking book O Brother Where Art Thou? into a pretentious art film. Sullivan's producers (Robert Warwick and Porter Hall) prod him towards a comedy, insisting he knows nothing of how the other half lives. Sullivan strikes out out as a hobo, accompanied by a failed actress credited only as "The Girl" (Veronica Lake). Sullivan and The Girl strike a bond toughing out a transient camp, but can't escape the press or Sullivan's studio buddies. Sullivan gets into real trouble after being mugged, then winds up in prison for assaulting a railway guard.

Sullivan's Travels works on several levels. Sturges takes shots at limousine liberalism, Hollywood's secondary raison d'etre; Sullivan oozes sympathy with the lower classes when he's never worked an honest day in his life. Both his producers and servants (Robert Greig and Eric Blore) convince him there's no glory in poverty. The film's best gag has Sullivan constantly returning to Hollywood, whether by car or train: his exploits are followed by press photographers and with patronizing gestures, like giving $100 to a friendly restauranteur. Eventually Sullivan learns the hard way that poverty's too grim to sentimentalize on film.

Sturges gets the most mileage examining the interplay of high and low art. Sullivan's hysterically pretentious film concludes with "labor" and "capital" fighting atop a moving train - a grand metaphor lost on audiences relishing the violent action. Sturges seamlessly blends comedy styles, barbed wit existing alongside Looney Tunes sight gags. Its central question is whether high art, with its intellectual appeal, or low, which moves mass viewers, has more value. This argument continues apace in critics' circles and chat rooms, ignoring that there's room for both. For this shrewd meta analysis, Sullivan's Travels rivals Sunset Blvd. as the best movie about Hollywood.

Finally, Sturges provides impeccable direction. His handling of snappy dialogue rivals Hawks, driving the story at a zippy pace. He's equally adept at brilliant set pieces like the wild chase scene, while his silent sequence of John and The Girl's time in a work camp is a master class in montage. When the story starts to sag, Sturges wraps things up with an ingenious solution: Sullivan the hobo claims he killed Sullivan the director!

Joel McCrea gets big laughs as a misguided artist and pathos as a fallen man. McCrea plays brilliantly off his screen image, his granite integrity bleeding into a caddish character. Veronica Lake makes a brilliant counterpart, smarter and snappier than most blonde bombshells. Inexplicably, Lake never gained the stature of contemporaries like Barbara Stanwyck and Rosalind Russell. Sturges complements his leads with a dozen character turns: Robert Warwick, William Demearst, Robert Gleig, Eric Blore, Bryon Fulger.

Sullivan's Travels ends on a warmly populist note. Artistic ideals are fine, but society's better served by a good laugh. The cynic in me scoffs at such idealistic hooey; the humanist embraces it wholeheartedly.