Review – 1941

Whenever Steven Spielberg gets too full of himself with all his millions and Oscars and such, he should be hauled in front of HBO on one of the blissfully rare occasions that the network shows this stinker. The truly strange thing about this movie is that just about everyone involved with the production – from stars to bit players to writers to producers and of course Spielberg himself – have done considerably better work both before and since. Heck, most of them have even participated in successful efforts to make this brand of no-brainer frat boy humor actually provoke a few laughs. But here the film fails on so many different levels: the script is weak, the satire muddy at best, the physical comedy as lame as the Three Stooges after they lost Curly, and the characters so stupid and ill-conceived that they barely rise to the level of sappy. Wish I’d skipped it