When you think of the legendary Steven Spielberg, easily one of the most successful, iconic and influential American film directors of all time, you think of the classics: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Schindler’s List, Jaws, the Indiana Jones series and so on. Having directed three dozen feature films, it’s incredible how many have been acclaimed, and rightfully so, and how enduring his artistic merit is. All of that to say, his track record isn’t entirely perfect, and 1941—his attempt at screwball comedy from the late ’70s—is truly a standout in his filmography for its utter ridiculousness, outright annoyingness and inability to deliver funny comedy. Even though many of the tropes that make a Spielberg film are there – high-quality production and sound design, good (and purposefully kitschy) stunt coordination and iconic actors/comedians – the problems the film runs into include a script that is not funny, characters that are all irritating and haphazard editing. The film ends up being a completely jumbled two-hour test of endurance with scenes that stretch on and on, most often with one character after another screaming. There is literally so much screaming that when the credits roll and the actors’ names and faces are displayed once again, almost every one of them is paired with a couple-second clip of them screaming or exclaiming.
Penned by Robert Zemeckis, an icon of American cinema in his own right, and his collaborator Bob Gale (the duo went on to pen all three films in the Back to the Future trilogy the following decade), 1941 takes place in Southern California in the immediate aftermath of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, bringing the United States into World War II. Tension is high within the country, particularly on the West Coast, where “for the first time since the Civil War, American citizens prepared to defend their homeland against an enemy,” as the opening titles read. Nationalism and anti-Japanese sentiment are surging, Hollywood is particularly on edge and American troops and civilians are doing what they can to defend the land, sea and skies. It’s a good thing, too, because a Japanese submarine is just off the coast looking to destroy something honorable and iconic. In fact, the Japanese are so close to the shore that when a woman casually goes skinny dipping in the first scene (the same woman who skinny dips at the beginning of Jaws—a nice tribute Spielberg plays to himself), she is lifted by the submarine’s antennas and suspended over the crew as they scour the coast, though they fail to notice her. That’s the first instance of bad slapstick.
After the threat of the Japanese is established, we’re introduced to the wide array of Americans, many played by notable comedians and actors. There’s Captain Wild Bill Kelso (John Belushi), who cruises the coast bumbling along and compulsively looking for Japanese forces; Motor Sergeant Frank Tree (Dan Aykroyd), who tries to keep the men underneath him in check by breaking up fights and stoking solidarity by saying things like “I can’t believe it! Americans fighting Americans!” after a riot breaks out at a club for the Armed Forces; and Ward Douglas (Ned Beatty) and his wife Joan (Lorraine Gary, who played Ellen Brody in three Jaws films) whose Santa Monica coastal home leads the army to install an anti-aircraft battery in their yard. The film has so many characters, none of whom are particularly funny, that it’d be hard and simultaneously not all that important to recount them all. But to name a few more actors, there’s the pairing of Murray Hamilton and Eddie Deezen, alongside a ventriloquist doll who keep watch from a Ferris wheel and whose appearances were inspired by The Honeymooners; Nancy Allen, who occupies a big chunk of the first portion of the film due to being sexually aroused by airplanes; and Christopher Lee who plays a German Kriegsmarine officer working alongside the Japanese.
Not only does the film have too many characters, but many of the scenes are also excruciatingly long. When the fight breaks out during a dance at the nightclub, person after person is punched, and stunt after stunt is performed until Sergeant Tree finally drives a tank through the crowd, fires a massive gun and starts his monologue about Americans fighting Americans. After the nearly 10-minute fight, he calms everyone down with lines like “You think the Japanese believe in Santy Claus?” and “Instead of turkey for Christmas dinner, how would ya like to have raw fish heads and rice?” It’s not that the jokes aged badly or feel off-color now; they don’t sound like they were ever funny to begin with. Another instance of bad comedy is when Belushi’s character is shown flying aimlessly along the coast and begins scratching his crotch, only to hear a squeaking noise that confuses him. It turns out he’s sitting on a squeaky toy shaped like a small girl, and he puts it in his jacket; it’s the end of the joke. There are more examples of the “humor” the film tries to employ, but the overall tone perhaps best summarized in the 1.5/4-star review Roger Ebert gave the film when it first premiered: “The movie finally reduces itself to an assault on our eyes and ears, a nonstop series of climaxes, screams, explosions, double-takes, sight gags, and ethnic jokes that’s finally just not very funny.”
There are movies by great directors that might earn some type of distinction over time, particularly if the director goes on to create better things, refining their auteurist style and making a name for themselves. This, however, is not the case with 1941. Coming just two years after Close Encounters of the Third Kind and two years before Raiders of the Lost Ark, there’s no real reason to pay the film much attention. There are thrilling films of Steven Spielberg’s that came before 1941 and dozens more in the following decades. Though the two-and-a-half-hour director’s cut of 1941 that aired on TV during the ’80s helped it gain some type of cult following, enduring another 28 minutes sounds more burdensome than like it will reveal any aspects the original cut lacked.
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