Privilege is a very funny burden in "Sullivan’s Travels"

It’s an incredible gift to come from a place of privilege. Such is the way for many artistic types. When considering the cost of an instrument or a set of paints, the barrier to entry for many creative outlets is often too high, and it only rises from there. True, masterpieces of all mediums have been conceived in impoverished conditions, but practically speaking it’s much easier for inspiration to strike when you know where your next meal is coming from. Nowhere else is this more apparent than in Hollywood.

All of these ideas spearhead Preston Sturges’ 1941 screwball classic "Sullivan’s Travels". In it, the titular character (played by Joel McCrea) is a director of comedies and musicals, but yearns for a more realistic story, one that encapsulates the struggle of the common man (“Something like Capra,” his producer deduces). The problem: Sullivan is no common man. He went straight from college to success in the pictures. His sheltered upbringing has left him on easy street, and he hasn’t a clue about what it means to face trouble. At least the character recognizes the dissonance between his desires and shortcomings. I couldn’t help but think of the endless list of producers and filmmakers who manufacture prestige pictures in an attempt to win some nebulous award.

In the Golden Age of Hollywood, when Sturges made his very funny film, they called these types of movies “message pictures.” No one could do it quite like Frank Capra, whose filmography already established him as the king of message pictures before It’s a Wonderful Life made its way to the masses. However, Capra’s family immigrated to America from Italy when he was just a baby. His entire upbringing was cloaked in poverty. Through labor and luck he was able to establish himself as one of the great directors of his time. Sullivan went to boarding school; a message picture from him, even if as perfect as Capra, would surely come off as pandering.

None of this is lost on Sturges, who himself enjoyed a life of privilege (His mother was the head of a cosmetics company, his adoptive father a stockbroker). It’s obvious how much he identifies with his lead character, and perhaps that’s why he was able to create such earnest satire. Identifying both himself and his peers in the material, Sturges creates an entire cast of goofy characters who all occupy the same zany plane. They’re given an endless supply of zingers that highlights either their wit or ignorance. Hardly a single line is wasted; the scriptwriting process must’ve been some sort of therapy for Sturges.

Thankfully for us, Sturges had the brains to stick to what he knows. Sullivan, not so much. He devises a plan to disguise himself as a tramp and learn firsthand what it means to struggle (his first call is to the studio’s wardrobe department). McCrea lends a charismatic sincerity to the role, creating a character that knows of his shortcomings, but not well enough to stay out of trouble entirely. Neither his valet nor butler can discourage his eager self, whose entire perception of the lower class is probably based on what he’s seen in the movies. With poetic justice, the entire universe seems to know that Sullivan is only asking for trouble, and one of the film’s great running gags is the numerous ways it manages to dump him back into his rich safety net. The picture is filled with broad strokes like this, only adding to the cleverness.

Among the cast of characters is, of course, “the Girl.” That’s how Veronica Lake is credited as the secondary lead, and one has to imagine Sturges wrote her character as just another gag (“There’s always a girl in the picture. Haven’t you ever been to the movies?” Sullivan says at one point in the film). Lake more or less occupies the role as best she can, as there’s not much depth to be discovered outside of the lead character. The inverse of Sullivan, she’s a struggling actress trying to get out of Hollywood, but finds herself drawn to the lead’s problems. She knows firsthand what it is to be in trouble, and partners with Sullivan first out of pity, later out of love when the truth is revealed about him. Obviously she serves the purpose of giving Sullivan a heart to open up to (hence her final credit simply being “The Girl”), which leads to some fun chemistry, even if Lake herself feels a bit unsure of the dialogue.

Sturges directs Lake’s character initially as the femme fatale, though he supplements her as an eager assistant as the facade fades around Sullivan. One gets the impression that Sturges himself found the love interest superfluous, as a producer encourages Sullivan early on: “A true canvas of the suffering of humanity!” “But with a little sex in it.” How else would such a beauty find herself tagging along to such a ludicrous goal, if not to serve the purpose of entertainment first and foremost.

This all leads to a final act that ignores all the levity before it. An ironic twist leaves Sullivan in the hands of the prison system. Tapping into that primal fear of ending up in a place with no escape, the tight screenplay deprives Sullivan of an easy way out. Here, Sturges achieves that rare feat in satire of having his cake while eating it, as the oppressive finale of the film leaves us without a doubt that Sullivan has learned true suffering. Without hope of rescue, Sturges’ lead gives himself up fully to defeat in a way most comedies avoid in favor of levity.

It all culminates in the film’s finest scenes, which pushes the picture past satire and, dare we say it, into the realm of a message picture. In the film’s best scene, the prisoners are invited to a film screening at a segregated church, where the Black preacher (played by Jess Lee Brooks) leads the congregation in reciting the hymn, “Let my People Go.” The comparison between the segregated churchgoers and the enslaved prisoners was apt enough to draw a thank you note from NAACP Secretary Walter White, who praised the level of respect Sturges granted to African American characters. In less considerate hands, the message would come across tone deaf and cheap, but through the miracle of Sturges’ script, he earns his right.

There’s still a clever and light conclusion that leaves us (and the characters) in good hands. Sturges adds on the additional message or praising those who choose to make us laugh, as that is all that some have. The world frequently is not as light as the one here, but visiting one for 90 minutes is a gift in itself. Sharp dialogue saturates the entire picture, and the conclusion’s genuineness sneaks up on us to where we welcome it. Who would've thought that satirizing good values would make for such enriching, timeless entertainment?

I recommend "Sullivan’s Travels" to everyone. Especially those who feel too cynical for escapism. It’s available for streaming on Prime Video, Apple TV, and other platforms.