A fabulous disaster!

Rating: 8/10 (21 December 2015)

Okay all you One-Star Wallys, you Gloomy Guses, you Debbie Downers, I'm going to explain this for the umpty-umpth time in thirty-five years: "1941" is slapstick comedy. It's a big, noisy mess. It's warped fun and nothing more. "1941" is not -- I repeat NOT -- your mature sophisti-comedy with Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn with pithy nuances and lessons for the heart.
You've got Eddie Deezen on a Ferris wheel, Ned Beatty on an artillery cannon, John Belushi on a P-40 Tomahawk, and Bobby Di Cicco on the make! You've got Slim Pickens reprising Major Kong, Robert Stack as a resolute General Stillwell, and Lorraine Gary as an hysterical housewife. There are soldiers, sailor, zoot-suiters, submarines, tanks, toilet jokes, paint factories, machine guns, rockets, explosions, and wild-eyed screaming close-ups. There's John Williams' bombastic orchestral score, there's boogie-woogie, swing, and close-harmony. There are rude ethnic stereotypes and sophomoric sex jokes. There are kicks in the shins and punches in the nose.
There is no subtlety. None. If you're looking for any of that Woody Allen stuff, you might as well watch the Three Stooges for the character development and "Hamlet" for the pie fight.
If you took "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World" and siphoned off the clever plot, you might get something like "1941." "1941" retains the riotous excitement Spielberg brought us with "Sugarland Express," but burns off the sorrow of "Sugarland," leaving pure intoxicated joy!
I don't advocate substances either way, but you can still follow "1941" no matter how stoned or drunk you are. You will love it if you just want to take your mind off your troubles for a couple of hours. Just don't try to take it to film school, you'll only whine and fuss.