What amazed me most about Preston Sturges‘ Sullivan’s Travels (1941), watching it for the first time on this newly released Criterion Blu-ray, is just how utterly unpredictable it is. Sure, we know where it may end once we are introduced to John L. Sullivan (Joel McCrea), a big Hollywood director, who’s decided to hit the road as a hobo to attain a greater understanding of human suffering before embarking on a serious adaptation of the fictional novel “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” (Yes, it is this fictional book Joel and Ethan Coen were name-checking with the title of their 2000 comedy.) But as much as we know what the end will offer, it’s the path to that ending we don’t see coming, even when it arrives.
Set during the Great Depression, Sullivan, known for his comedies, isn’t seeing anything funny in the world. When his producers suggest making a “nice musical” rather than a film loaded with social commentary Sullivan responds, “How can you talk about musicals at a time like this? With the world committing suicide. With corpses piling up in the street. With grim death gargling at you from every corner. With people slaughtered like sheep!” The response: “Maybe they’d like to forget that.” Sullivan sets out on his journey of discovery anyhow, convinced he’s right, convinced wearing tattered clothing and carrying a knapsack will somehow tune him in to what it means to truly suffer, nevermind within the film’s first act he meets up with a beautiful actress (Veronica Lake) whom he eventually sees reason enough to invite to his Hollywood mansion before restarting his journey, still clueless to how fruitless his efforts truly are.
[amz asin=”B00SC8KV4M” size=”small”]I’m sure after watching the special features on this new Criterion release a lot of what has already been said is scored into my brain, yet for as much as I can find admiration for this film, I can’t say I’m enamored with it as much as othters. But first to the details.
The set includes an audio commentary from 2001 by filmmakers Noah Baumbach, Kenneth Bowser, Christopher Guest and Michael McKean as well as Bowser’s 1990 Sturges documentary from PBS, a 2001 interview with Sturges’ widow Sandy Sturges, archival audio recordings including one with gossip columnist Hedda Hopper and, finally, the only new feature of the lot is a 17-minute video essay by film critic David Carins. The restored image is near flawless.
So, with that out of the way, what is the takeaway and why is Sullivan’s Travels considered a classic? As I said, I’m not as immensely overwhelmed by the film as much as it seems others are, and yet I’m still drawn and fascinated by its storytelling, structure and filmmaking. It’s a film firmly aware of its characters’ follies. “The poor know all about poverty and only the morbid rich would find the topic glamorous,” Sullivan’s butler (Robert Greig) says before Sullivan heads out in his hobo attire. From there the insincerity of Hollywood is on display as Sullivan is trailed by a team of publicists before his eventual meeting Veronika Lake (lovely and immediately conjuring a comparison to Rosamund Pike) known only as “The Girl”, closing out the first act.
From here Sullivan resumes his experiment, this time with Lake in tow. The journey goes as planned and ends with Sullivan and Lake back home in Hollywood, comfortable in their satin sheets having slummed it for a time. It’s here the story takes a turn I didn’t see coming one bit. All I’ll say is a case of mistaken identity lands Sullivan in a chain gang, an experience that eventually leads to the quote the film is most remembered for. “There’s a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that’s all some people have? It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.” What follows is a rather ridiculous montage of laughing faces I had a really hard time taking seriously (the ending, for that matter, is a little hard to swallow), and there’s also something about that quote that doesn’t quite stick its landing.
That full quote is, at the same time, both on point and also rather condescending. Sullivan’s Travels is a satire, but in this instance it almost seems to be satirizing itself. In the included essay, written by critic Stuart Klawans, he quotes Sturges’ memoir, “After I saw a couple of pictures put out by my fellow comedy-directors, which seemed to have abandoned the fun in favor of the message, I wrote Sullivan’s Travels to satisfy an urge to tell them that they were getting a little too deep-dish, to leave the preaching to the preachers.” Am I wrong in seeing a certain level of hypocrisy in that statement?
Sullivan’s Travels is a message movie. Not only is it a message on Hollywood excess, it delivers that message in parallel with some rather moving scenes bringing the struggle of the Great Depression front and center, primarily in a sequence where Sturges essentially turns Sullivan’s Travels into a silent film. Perhaps this is part of Sturges’ genius, an ability to both be hypocritical and still deliver by recognizing that hypocrisy and making it part of the story.
All that said, for as smartly crafted as it is, it’s rather shameful Jess Lee Brooks is not included in the film’s credits. Brooks plays a reverend, leading an all black congregation, and it’s easily the most powerful scene in the whole film and yet his name is sadly left out. I won’t presume to assume any reason for the omission other than to simply point it out.
Overall, Sullivan’s Travels is interesting. It’s certainly not as raucously hilarious as I expected it to be (many of the jokes land incredibly flat), but from the perspective of its narrative I was wholly infatuated. Looking at it on paper the structure is no different than other stories of this sort, but Sturges simply makes turns in the story far more sharply. It’s these sharp turns that keep the audience on their toes and unsuspecting of what’s to come. There’s something to be said for that level of filmmaking and storytelling, even if I must admit to not falling head over heels for the overall final product.
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