Director Report Card: Steven Spielberg (1979)

8. 1941

Like all Film Brats, Steven Spielberg is fascinated with the golden age of Hollywood screwball comedies. Slapstick like this hasn't been in fashion since the end of fifties but that hasn't stopped Spielberg or Lucas from attempting to revive it. Like other people his age, Spielberg is also interested in World War II. He's not a military nut, so much as he's interested in the nostalgic pop culture version of that time in American history. This dual interest would combine when Spielberg was presented with a script called “The Night the Japs Attacked.” Robert Zemeckis, Bob Gale, and John Millius' script was a true-to-life adaptation of two historical events: The Japanese submarine attack on Ellwood, California and the 1942 false alarm air raid in Los Angeles. Spielberg would transform the serious screenplay into a madcap comedy. The resulting film, “1941,” remains one of the most divisive works of Spielberg's career. 

Six days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, a Japanese submarine surfaces off the coast of California. The captain plans to attack Hollywood. The local communities, on the verge of celebrating Christmas, are gripped with paranoia. A series of events play out over the course of a evening: Civilian Wally Stephens attempts to enter a dance contest, running afoul of an ill-tempered officer. The military sets up an anti-air cannon in his girlfriend's family's backyard, overlooking the ocean and a pier-side amusement park. Captain Loomis Burkhead attempts to seduce a reporter sexually aroused by airplanes. Eccentric pilot Captain Bill Kelso becomes convinced the Japanese are about to attack. All these plot threads, and more, collide as the city descends into chaos.

One of the earliest scenes in “1941” concerns Wally and his friend, Dennis, working in a dinner. They toss sausage patties on the grill, pour pancake batter around, and trip around each other. Later, they perform more pratfalls in the dining area, dripping eggs on customers and pushing a guy's face into a cake. It's a moment of frantic zaniness, the slapstick antics sucking up all the oxygen in the room in a desperate attempt to entertain. This mood continues all throughout “1941.” The film does not follow the traditional comedic structure, in the sense that it has jokes that build up towards punchlines. Instead, it hammers the audience over the head with these huge, exaggerated physical comedy gags. As the film goes on, its humor grows louder and more explosive but never actually produces laughs. 

That scene in the dinner is “1941's” establishing moment but it's not the first scene. Instead, the movie's introduction involves Spielberg recreating the beginning of “Jaws.” Instead of skinny-dipping Susan Backlinie being eaten by a shark, she's grabbed by an emerging Japanese U-Boat. It's a self-reflective joke on Spielberg's behalf, the director patting himself on the back. That self-indulgence is the other aspect that characterizes “1941.” The film ladles on more chaotic set-pieces simply because it can. A cannon rips through a house, over and over again. A tank barrels through a paint factory. A plane crashes in the La Brea Tar Pits. A seaside Ferris wheel rolls off its hinges, into the sea. “1941” constantly seeks to top itself in terms of destructive comic mayhem. Not because it's funny but out of a self-satisfied desire to always be bigger, louder, and wackier.

Spielberg presumably had a reason for reimagining World War II as farce, instead of tragedy. “1941” is not a parody of jingoism, the attitudes of war, or war-time xenophobia. In fact, the film plays some stereotypes about the Japanese uncomfortably straight. Instead, I suspect “1941” was meant to be an anti-war statement. It portrays the escalating wartime tension as one big misunderstanding. Everyone is so terrified of the Japanese attack, that they act foolishly.  They wreak chaos on each other because they're hopelessly afraid. Meanwhile, an overly macho desire to act heroic or get laid similarly causes men to act like fools. If any coherent message emerges from “1941's” nonstop mayhem, it's that the act of war is directed by irrational impulses.

Yet attempting to find a deeper theme in “1941” feels like a fool's errand. The movie's only real objective, as far as I can tell, is to be the biggest, most excessive slapstick experience it can be. In order to facilitate this, the biggest comedy stars of the day were drafted. Each performer plays totally to type. John Belushi, as “Wild” Bill Kelso, is an overconfident lunatic who brings gleeful mayhem with him everywhere he goes. Dan Aykroyd shows up as Sergeant Tree, a straight-faced lecturer prone to long-winded digressions about various topics. Later, Aykroyd descends into utterly manic mugging. John Candy appears as a panicking man-child of a private. Even Joe Flaherty, in a small role as a hammy dance hall M.C., and Eddie Deezan, as a weirdo with a ventriloquist dummy, do exactly what you'd expect. 

Since “1941's” material is so directionless, its cast of renown comedy stars mostly feel like they are desperately trying to wring laughs out of lifeless material. Instead, it's the murderer's row of beloved character actors in the supporting roles that get most of the actual chuckles. Warren Oates' natural strength for unhinged characters is well utilized in the role of a trigger-happy Colonel. Robert Stack does a fabulous straight-man bit as a version of Major Joseph Sitwell who just wants to enjoy “Dumbo.” Slim Pickins is genuinely funny as a hayseed picked-up by the Japanese, who finds his own way to foil the invasion. Toshiro Mifune and Christopher Lee ignore any comedic instincts as the antagonists. Having a cast of well-known character actors play it straight, in view of the non-stop wackiness, proves to be the one smart decision “1941” makes. Only Ned Beatty seems miscast, due to the film punishing him with its most misguided slapstick.  

Yet such a sprawling cast is an issue of its own. “1941's” plot is such a mess of intertwining subplots that I'm not sure you can say it even has a main character. The posters and DVD covers center Belushi as the protagonist but he weaves in and out of the story. It certainly looks like Tim Matheson's Loomis is going to be the hero. Yet he's absent for long stretches and totally disappears before the end. I suppose Bobby Di Cicco's Wally, and his on-going feud with Treat Williams' prickish corporal, is the closest thing the movie has to a lead. Yet even he ends up having surprisingly little effect on the overall plot. A comedy this chaotic needs a primary figure to center the audience. “1941” stubbornly refuses to provide this.

“1941” is also disconcertingly horny. Steven Spielberg is probably the last director you'd ever expect to make a sex comedy. And yet, here we are. Matheson's subplot about seducing aero-erotic reporter, played by a game Nancy Allen, involves quite a lot of groping about in cockpits. There's plenty of crude word-play and more heavy petting then you'd expect. It is, simply put, uncomfortable to watch. Spielberg has no aptitude for eroticism, the results coming off as more hopelessly awkward than sexy or funny. Yet that doesn't stop the pursuit of sexual satisfaction from cropping up throughout the film. There's a naked lady in the first scene, after all. Williams' subplot involves far too many rape-y vibes and the unfortunate cliché of an overeager plus-sized female. 

Clearly, “1941” didn't work for me at all. Is there anything I liked about this motion picture? One or two things. The stand-out moment of the film has little to do with its all-out assault on the senses, in service of humor. Instead, it occurs when Di Cicco and Williams get into a fist-fight in a dance hall. What results is a swinging ballet through an elaborate set, the performers tumbling and leaping around one another. They roll over tables and run up walls. It's equal parts dance number and is it fisticuffs. You can tell Spielberg delighted in directing this moment as well, as the camera gleefully swoops in and out of the crowds during these moments. Supposedly, the director contemplated turning “1941” into a full-blown musical. As if the film could've gotten any more excessive! But this scene suggests, perhaps, that's what the film should've been all along.

Something else I admire about “1941” is its special effects and production design. Spielberg supposedly wanted to shoot all of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” on sound stages, after his negative experience with location shooting on “Jaws.” He didn't do that but, from the looks of it, “1941” is mostly shot on elaborate sound stage. This creates an intentionally artificial atmosphere, that suits the movie's tone of exaggerated mayhem. William A. Fraker's stylized cinematography makes sure the nighttime scenes look as interesting as possible. This old-school display of Hollywood wizardry is also noticeable in the movie's extensive use of miniature effects. The airplanes, buildings, giant Santa Claus statues, Ferris wheel, submarine, and dinosaurs – yes, there's a dinosaur – all look pretty neat.

Ultimately, all the production values in the world can't save a comedy that simply isn't funny. The handful of laughs in “1941” comes from simply letting its cast do their thing. John Belushi awkwardly leaping out of an airplane and deploying a parachute at ground level gets a bigger laugh than all the pyrotechnics piled on in the last act. Since “1941” is pitched at the level of full-bore hysterics from the very beginning, the audience is exhausted by its mayhem immediately. By the time its nearly two-hour long runtime is up, I was left totally numb from the non-stop chaos. (And Spielberg's director's cut, assembled for television, is even fucking longer.) This continues even into the credits, where each actor is introduced by them yelling and John Williams' score is paired with random explosions. 

Spielberg rightfully broke records and earned praise with “Jaws” and “Close Encounters.” Not a single soul was willing to say “no” to him after those hits. This lead to “1941” being a film of staggering excess. The result was poorly received by critics. (Though it still earned three Academy Award nominations, for Fraker's cinematography, Visual Effects, and Sound.) The film was remembered as a flop but actually managed to turn a small profit. Despite that, the perceived underperformance of the film was humbling for Spielberg. The man himself has admitted that he was “arrogant” while making the movie and that it simply “wasn't funny enough.” Its reputation as Spielberg's worst film has, of course, earned “1941” a cult following of defenders. I can sort of see where they're coming from. Something this unhinged and meticulously crafted usually would appeal to me. Yet “1941's” deafening attempts at physical humor, total lack of pacing, and undisciplined script prevents me from deriving much joy from it. [Grade: C-]