Captured is an astonishing fluidity of movement, grace, and humility in all the players of this epic drama, from the most brilliant of the NASA minds-but you don't know who they are among the rows and rows of attentive personnel in the control rooms- to the "least" of the spectators on the beach with their binoculars and Instamatic cameras. Fascinating styles and substance comprise this glimpse of 1969 humanity in its purest, unaffected form: Americans and tourists and their children elated, in a dignified way, to watch history in the making. It seems too crisp and perfect; it must be a re-enactment, but no: shy glances to the camera give away that they're not minimally-paid extras. No less representative of the era are the disciplined, meek, alert professionals at their desks who are watching their investment-gamble, really-pay off. Except they know, reverently, that it's within their grasp; they are relying on the laws of physics.
As in any NASA documentary-it cannot be left out- is the dance, perfectly choreographed, in the fluorescently-lit stage of the control rooms, at Houston and Kennedy, of man after man, in rapid succession, giving the thrilling order: "Go."
The rich footage has a refreshing insouciance over concerns of being over anyone's head; you are swept along and if you can catch the profound statements: Aldrin exiting the Eagle, saying lightheartedly, "I'll close the hatch and make sure I don't lock us out," or the astronauts approaching-in trajectory-the moon, seeing the rising orb of the Earth and one of them exulting, "The view is worth the price of the ticket," then so much the better.
It's been said before: man took his slide rule and figured out a way to get to the moon. The leading player in this drama is not the moon, or getting to it: it's the frail, brave human beings who desired it.
Still, the moon, the hardware, the majestic launch of the rocket, take a glorious consolation prize. It's unforgettable.
As in any NASA documentary-it cannot be left out- is the dance, perfectly choreographed, in the fluorescently-lit stage of the control rooms, at Houston and Kennedy, of man after man, in rapid succession, giving the thrilling order: "Go."
The rich footage has a refreshing insouciance over concerns of being over anyone's head; you are swept along and if you can catch the profound statements: Aldrin exiting the Eagle, saying lightheartedly, "I'll close the hatch and make sure I don't lock us out," or the astronauts approaching-in trajectory-the moon, seeing the rising orb of the Earth and one of them exulting, "The view is worth the price of the ticket," then so much the better.
It's been said before: man took his slide rule and figured out a way to get to the moon. The leading player in this drama is not the moon, or getting to it: it's the frail, brave human beings who desired it.
Still, the moon, the hardware, the majestic launch of the rocket, take a glorious consolation prize. It's unforgettable.