Fly Me to the Moon

Believe it or not, this movie actually made me glad to be old. Not for the inherent qualities of being among the aged—that ferociously sucks—but for the fact that I am old enough to have had the historic events depicted herein happen (just barely) within my lifetime, and I can remember their aftermath on the psyche of the nation. It’s that world-changing impact of the events that makes the space program stuff so perpetually appealing; make a film about those days, those people, those ideas, and you can always hook me in. As for this specific movie, it has its ups and downs, positive aspects and a few downsides. The soundtrack is spectacular, with a lot of great Memphis soul tunes chased with generous doses of Sam Cooke, as well as a handful of standards (yes, including the title song). The performers high and low do excellent work all the way through; no one phoned it in here. And the visual recreations—when they weren’t using archival footage—are spot on. And that includes the wardrobe choices; the men are mostly drab, but the women in particular look absolutely gorgeous. (Maybe, just maybe, the less-is-more aesthetic of the past offers something a bit more inherently attractive than the “it’s all out on front street” look of today’s female fashions.) But it mostly comes back to the Space Race milieu—that is, as always, the true star of the show. Perhaps it’s encouraging that people still want to make movies about that time, and that at least some of us still want to see such films. We could all use the occasional reminders about what our people can do when we all pull together. This one reaches high, and it achieves orbit, at least, if not making it all the way to the stars.