Stukas has the characteristics of a warlike operetta, with the rumble of squadrons and the explosion of bombs as a refrain. From Herbert Windt’s triumphant score that accompanies the opening credits until the great final ballet, war becomes music, and the artist is the one who knows how to kill (…). The film’s construction holds no surprises. In every other reel there is a flight that always features a spectacular crash: usually a lucky landing (with or without overturning and subsequent fire), from which the crew escapes miraculously unscathed. There are practically no casualties on the German side and when somebody does dies, the news is discreetly and furtively given. The alternate reels are set on the ground, in the field or exceptionally behind the lines. Stukas is utterly Wagnerian and concludes with a musical miracle. A wounded and sad soldier is sent to Bayreuth accompanied by a nurse. A close-up of the illuminated pilot reveals the virtues of the Tetralogy and marks his resurrection. He hears Sigfried’s call and, full of joy, immediately reaches his squad.

Pierre Cadars, Francis Courtade, Histoire du cinema nazi, Le Terrain Vague, 1977