Aside from a few sophisticated montages that are clearly cutting-edge-today, the bulk of this film feels like it could have been made when the action takes place, in 1969.
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| Kelly (Scarlett Johansson) and Cole (Channing Tatum) prepare for one of the many key press events designed to "bring the Apollo program to life" in the eyes of the American public. |
Although the story takes place against the exciting and suspenseful six months leading up to the launch of Apollo 11, the lengthy first act’s tone — thanks to deft writing by Keenan Flynn, Bill Kirstein and Rose Gilroy — hearkens back to the sharp banter that characterized 1950s Spencer Tracy/Katharine Hepburn comedies.
That said, the story’s core moral is the necessity of truth: a message that can’t be emphasized enough these days. It’s therefore ironic that this film’s scripters have taken cheeky liberties with established fact, in order to make that point; indeed, they’ve even borrowed a notorious conspiracy theory that some people believe to this day (and I dearly hope this film doesn’t further fan that fire.)
On top of which, we’ve been here before: 1977’s Capricorn One dramatically milked that urban legend ... but Berlanti and his writers have gone in a different direction.
Channing Tatum stars as Cole Davis, a former Air Force pilot who now serves as NASA’s launch director. He’s stiff, true-blue and rigorously by-the-book; he also believes that the 400,000 people working on this project — scattered at facilities throughout the country — are doing the most important thing America ever has embraced.
Trouble is, NASA has a serious image problem, in these turbulent days of early 1969. The Vietnam War is an unnerving, polarizing and wholly dominating news presence; the Civil Rights movement is in full swing; and people are questioning the money being spent by NASA. The initial excitement generated by President Kennedy’s September 1962 speech — “We choose to go to the Moon!” — and the earlier Gemini space program have become old news.
Worse yet, the disastrous January 1967 Apollo 1 accident that killed three astronauts — Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger B. Chaffee — has left a pall on the entire program.
NASA needs a serious dose of savvy PR, and shadowy government ops agent Moe Berkus (Woody Harrelson) knows just the right person: audacious and creatively ruthless Manhattan-based marketing guru Kelly Jones (Scarlett Johansson), who isn’t above shading the truth and breaking a few rules, in order to swim among the “Mad Men” sharks in her chosen profession.
Kelly initially isn’t the slightest bit interested in this assignment, but Moe gives her no choice; he threatens to go public with certain, ah, indelicacies in her past (which, obviously, will blossom into a significant plot point).
She’s accompanied by Ruby Martin (Anna Garcia), a perky and thoroughly accomplished assistant who has been with Kelly for quite awhile; they function as an impressively sympatico team. Even so, their arrival at Florida’s Cape Canaveral — at this point, still named “Cape Kennedy” — doesn’t elicit cheers.
Kelly insists, quite reasonably, that they must heighten public awareness of the Apollo program ... by any means necessary. But the notion that a trip to the moon needs to be “sold” to anyone offends Cole to his core; he firmly believes that the awe-inspiring power of the mission itself — truly, the pinnacle of human achievement — should be enough.
(In point of fact, NASA embraced the challenge of “sexing up” the Apollo program in-house, as detailed in David Meerman Scott and Richard Jurek’s absorbing 2014 nonfiction book, Marketing the Moon. Johansson’s character is loosely inspired by journalist-turned-PR expert Julian Scheer, who worked for NASA in the 1960s.
(And let’s be fair: The rising popularity of TV’s Star Trek didn’t hurt.)
As a result, Kelly and Cole are the proverbial oil and water: total opposites in thought, behavior and — most crucially — willingness to “shade” the truth. And that, of course, is the very template upon which to build a tart-tongued battle of the sexes.
Berlanti and his writers excel at that, during this film’s first hour. As just one hilarious example, when Cole makes NASA engineers off-limits for publicity, Kelly hires actors to fill the roles for TV spots ... which drives him up the wall. 99.9 percent of the public obviously wouldn’t know the difference, but he does.
Johansson co-produced this film under her company’s These Pictures banner, and she obviously ensured that the role of Kelly was molded to her charismatic strengths. She’s a crafty, conniving cutter of corners ... but she does it so audaciously, and so cheerfully, that it’s hard not to admire the woman’s moxie. Johansson also makes her radiantly effervescent — charm being a key element of Kelly’s playbook — and Cole finds it difficult to dislike her, despite the many ways she constantly torments and maneuvers around him.
That said, it’s amazing — given Kelly’s frantic schedule — that she finds time to slip into an endless succession of costume designer Mary Zophres’ fetching outfits, and an equally varied series of gorgeous hair styles. (Kelly must’ve brought a lot of luggage from Manhattan...)
Tatum, in turn, makes Cole a guy who views practicality, hard work and stoicism as the best possible attributes. He doesn’t quite have a stick shoved up his fundament, but it’s a close call; even so, Tatum’s flinty half-smile — always endearing — reveals that Cole probably admires Kelly, even though he wishes she could be dumped onto the next flight back to Manhattan.
Chemistry is everything, in a film of this nature. Rest assured, sparks do fly.
Harrelson deftly straddles the line between sinister and humorous, in his portrayal of Moe: a man who obviously shouldn’t be trusted. On top of which, we can’t help wondering what he’s really up to ... which becomes clear in the third act.
Ray Romano — as always — is endearing as Henry Smalls, a fastidious, fussy and perhaps too trusting “lifer” engineer who has been with NASA his entire career. Donald Elise Watkins and Noah Robbins, as younger engineers Stu and Don, represent the youth and impassioned vitality that characterized so many of NASA baby-boomer engineers. These two characters don’t do much during the first hour, but their roles become crucial in the aforementioned third act.
Actually, all of the parts are well cast, and equally well played; even Christian Clemenson, in a fleeting role as NASA tour guide Walter, is adorable.
The story also makes excellent use of a wily stray black cat that inhabits the facility: the bane of Cole’s existence, since he believes it’s bad luck.
Daniel Pemberton’s sparkling orchestral score is accompanied by a dozen period pop tunes, all carefully inserted at telling moments: among them Sam Cooke’s “These Foolish Things,” Aretha Franklin’s “Moon River” and Bobby Womack’s cover of “Fly Me to the Moon.”
All this said, the film’s pacing and energy flag during the second half, which feels overstuffed; the dialogue and interplay between Kelly and Cole also loses its edge. (At 132 minutes, this production is at least 15 minutes too long.) Jim Rash’s performance as the mincing, fussy Lane Vespertine — Kelly’s favorite TV commercial director — also doesn’t play too well these days, even if it’s accurate for the era.
Then, too, the “big reveal” of Moe’s final demand — straight from President Nixon, he insists — takes the story, less successfully, into more contrived territory.
Although, in fairness, the hilarious final payoff compensates for some of those sins.
For the most part, Fly Me to the Moon is a lot of fun; I suspect most viewers will forgive its shortcomings, given the way it so cleverly blends history with impudent artifice.
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