If ever there were an event about which Americans can be justifiably, sincerely, and perpetually proud, it was surely the Apollo 11 moon landing on July 20, 1969. You remember: Neil Armstrong, Tranquility Base, “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” — the whole bit.
Yet, in a sign of the perversity of our times, a new movie seeks to diminish, distort, and, finally, demean this monument to American resourcefulness, guts, and engineering know-how. Fly Me to the Moon, playing in theaters now, advances a completely made-up account of the moon landing in the guise of a peppy romantic comedy: The movie tells us that public excitement for lunar exploration was negligible, that mysterious figures from the Nixon administration contrived to create a “fake” moon landing in case some catastrophe prevented the real one, and that a girlboss saved the day.
