In the far future of 1980, when people no longer have names and personal airplanes have replaced cars, J-21 (John Garrick) and LN-18 (Maureen O’Sullivan) want to be married, but his application has been turned down by the marriage tribunal. Attempting to become more prestigious in order to win his appeal, he takes on the dangerous job of test pilot on a trip to Mars. He is joined by his friend, RT-42 (Frank Albertson), and Single O (El Brendel), a man who died in 1930 and has just been resurrected.
The first sound science fiction movie, and one of the few space films before the 1950s’ boom, Just Imagine is an odd work that could never be made today, and as it flopped, probably shouldn’t have been made in 1930. It is a musical dystopian tale with space flight and a vaudevillian comic. Talkies were new, and the temptation to stick stage acts into films had not been overcome (nor would it be for twenty years, and it still pops up its ugly head from time to time). I’m sure it felt very natural at the time. Audiences had been fond of variety performances where a slapstick, low-brow comic would do his shtick, then some dancing girls would appear to be followed by a tenor. So, Just Imagine became a variety show with a sci-fi setting. Much of it seems painfully outdated, but then audiences of the time were equally unimpressed. However, buried in the silliness are some remarkable elements, particularly in the art design.
The city of the future is an art deco wonder. Gleaming skyscrapers are connected by walkways while one-person, open cockpit airplanes dot the sky. The planes have inset, horizontal propellers on each wing so they can stop in midair, allowing occupants to chat. Most genre fans are well aware of the fantastic cityscape of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. However, many of those iconic images are actually from Just Imagine. For years afterwards, Fox reused footage of the skyline for serials. I don’t know why so few science fiction films in the last fifty years have taken up the art deco vision of the future past, but I’d love to see more of it.
While the sets show imagination, the filmmakers were otherwise incredibly short sighted in their view of the future. Only Caucasians exist and gender roles are unchanged from the ‘30s. I don’t expect them to be accurate, but to at least present some change. All doctors and politicians are male and LN-18 is meek around her father and unwanted suitor.
Strangely, they do better with Mars, which has a civilization based upon old African film-natives. However, the sexes are equal, with a ruler queen. The second in command is a hulking, pleasant homosexual, and while played for laughs, still suggests social advancement that we have yet to live up to. Sex is also more open for Martians, where our heroes have their choice of being bathed by either amorous bathing beauties, or the before mentioned man. You may read in what you may that both men, supposedly heterosexual, choose in the end to be undressed by the male. A few years later, all of the Martian scenes would have been chopped by censors.
The tribulations of young lovers is light fluff, and enjoyable enough, particularly with the nineteen-year-old Maureen O’Sullivan as the object of our hero’s affections. John Garrick is serviceable as the lead, and Marjorie White, as one of several comic relief characters injects needed energy into the proceedings.
Just Imagine’s weird blend of entertainment types might have worked better if the songs and comedy were any good. There is not a single hummable piece of music, and I didn’t remember a single song a minute after it was performed, which, considering what they were like, pleases me. This isn’t Cole Porter or George Gershwin, and nothing here will end up in any lounge lizard’s standards set. The accompanying dance numbers are a mixed lot. The scantily clad, Busby Berkeley-styled Martian numbers kept my attention, but the flyswatter dance, performed at our hero’s going away party, is noteworthy only in its level of ineptitude.
El Brendel, a Vaudevillian whose act consisted mainly of speaking in a bad Swedish accent, supplies most of the supposed comedy, but inspires only groans. His bit, which he runs into the ground, is to pop alcohol pills and then walk around in a drunken stupor. The film would be improved by making hard edits that remove every second of his screen time. Brendel continued his Swedish act for years, appearing in the 1956’s The She-Creature with exactly the same routine.
An uneven film, there is enough of interest to sit through Just Imagine once.