Airplane takes its premise and much of its content from a bland and forgettable 1957 film called Zero Hour. Each deals with an imminent disaster aboard a plane and the flight crew's attempts to avert it, and the creators of Airplane actually bought the rights to Zero Hour so they could borrow liberally from the source material. Nevertheless the two films go about things in diametric opposition. Zero Hour is a boring, campy, dimwitted waste of time. Airplane is a clever, endearing, eminently rewatchable masterpiece that embodies the spirit of comedy as well as any film ever has. Jim Abrahams and the Zucker brothers engineered such a success of parodic alchemy, transforming a mediocre stimulus into an all-time classic, that the film regularly finds itself atop “greatest ever” rankings four decades later, with critics and practitioners of comedy alike understanding that movies don’t come much funnier than this one.
Airplane has managed to enjoy its historic reign because of an unwavering commitment to the comedic sense apparent in nearly every frame that composes it. The fictional world entered by the viewer is one where the potential for humor exists everywhere at all times. Behind the surface boredom of life’s countless mundanities lies a deep well of absurdity and incongruity, ready to be mined for maximum laughter. For example, the monotone voices heard over an airport intercom which are then turned expertly into one of the best bits of the whole film. Personal tragedy, such as the heartbreak motivating Ted Striker, is equally fertile ground for farce. The danger at the center of the plot—a medical emergency aboard a commercial flight and the consequential need for a crash landing—is made into a laughing matter when seen under the twin lights of dazzling wit and unconditional irreverence.
If humor suffuses everything, why not make jokes all the time? Airplane does exactly this, opening with a gag referencing Jaws (released five years prior) and proceeding to pack as many frames with as many jokes as possible. This rapid fire approach never wears on the viewer because it is paired with a seemingly endless variety of comedic styles: surrealism, sight gags, pop culture references, wordplay, dark comedy, blue comedy, running jokes, slapstick. Many of the jokes are delivered in a delightfully deadpan style, but there is no shortage of clowning, either. This is not a narrowly imagined work of one or another brand of humor, but a wondrous exhibition of the kaleidoscopic breadth of comedy.
Airplane refuses to dance gingerly around audience sensibilities, which is to say that it is a proper comedy. Politicians are lampooned, nuns are mocked, sex (again of all kinds) is a constant punchline throughout. Identity groups are mocked for the simple reason that anything setting someone apart presents itself as an invitation for comedic musings: Gays, Whites, Blacks, Hispanics, Jews and so forth all come in for their own share of jokes. This too represents a refusal to compromise on humor. Spreading laughter is the intent, not giving offense, and to avoid a joke for fear of the latter is either to misunderstand comedy or to misrepresent it to others.
This film is an antidote to the humorless life. The philosophy animating it is one that treats our everyday existence, our struggles, and our differences with a comic outlook capable of finding humor where some see only what lies immediately before their eyes. To embrace the funny side of life is one of the best decisions we can make, as it allows us to transform the pain and suffering and boredom that is our lot into something entertaining, pleasurable, and enriching for the mind. To be a humorless person is to see life as Zero Hour rather than Airplane, a tragic choice given the relative quality of each film.