#61 ‘Sullivan’s Travels’
Privilege, Poverty, and the Redemption of a Man Who Thinks Suffering is a Vibe
Sullivan’s Travels (1941) is Preston Sturges’ clever, charming, and ultimately infuriating love letter to comedy and—unintentionally—to the male ego wrapped in social conscience drag. It’s often described as a satire of Hollywood, a meditation on class, and a defense of laughter as salvation. But really, it’s about a rich man cosplaying poverty until the experience makes him feel authentic enough to go back to being rich. You know, for the people.
Joel McCrea plays John L. Sullivan, a pampered Hollywood director who’s grown weary of churning out silly comedies. He wants to make a serious film about the human condition—O Brother, Where Art Thou?—even though he doesn’t know a damn thing about hardship beyond bad coffee on studio lots. So naturally, he decides to become poor. Not help the poor. Not redistribute wealth. Just… wander the country in hobo drag like a method actor who thinks empathy is a weekend hobby.
What follows is a mix of slapstick misadventure and thudding irony, as Sullivan hitches rides, jumps freight trains, and learns Very Important Lessons about humanity. Along the way he picks up Veronica Lake, billed only as “The Girl,” because why give your only major female character a name when she can have legs instead? She’s a struggling actress, wisecracking but ultimately docile, whose entire function is to gaze at Sullivan with bemused affection while he indulges his faux-altruistic existential crisis. Her big dream is… to follow him. Great.
The film’s most lauded moment—Sullivan watching a group of Black churchgoers laugh at a Mickey Mouse cartoon—is meant to be revelatory. And yes, it’s moving. But it also reeks of projection: white liberal guilt soothed by the sight of joy in the marginalized. Sullivan’s epiphany isn’t that poverty is crushing—it’s that laughter matters more than justice. He returns to Hollywood not humbled, not transformed, but validated. The world is hard, sure—but his job making comedies? Turns out, it’s noble after all! Cut to credits before anyone asks him to donate a dime.
And let’s be clear: Sullivan’s Travels is technically excellent. Sturges directs with razor-sharp wit. The tonal shifts—from screwball to grim—are handled with rare precision. The dialogue snaps, the pacing glides. But it’s also a film that wants to critique privilege while wallowing in it. It tries to sympathize with the downtrodden while keeping them as background players in the main character’s spiritual glow-up.
Women? Decorative. Black people? Noble and silent. Poor people? Vessels for teaching the protagonist how to appreciate his own privilege. It’s a satire, yes—but only in the sense that it knows the system is broken and still wants you to root for the man who benefits from it.
3.5 out of 5 stolen shoes
(One for Sturges’ direction. One for Lake’s wit in spite of the script. One for the bold tonal gambit. Half a star for ambition. The missing stars? Last seen wandering the Depression-era landscape, wondering why they’re always there to teach lessons but never get to write the ending.)
