Written by Gracie Williams, Photo courtesy of SCAD
On the morning of July 16, 1969, three astronauts boarded Spacecraft Apollo 11, with only the moon in mind. With one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind, this monumental spaceflight mission produced a sense of shared American pride that carried on.
50 years later, it seems like every bit of information is out, everything has been said and all captured moments are accessible. So, how many times can this story be told? Documentary “Apollo 11” sheds new light on that day, and from NASA’s previously hidden video and audio archives came a version of the story you had no idea was missing.
The opening jumps straight into launch day, no context is given, but none is needed. Distant and striking shots of the rocket cut to NASA workers sitting side by side in long, gray rows full of monitors inside of the Kennedy Space Center. Then it enters a small white room, showing astronauts Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong and Michael Collins suiting up for the voyage.
The 65mm recording of this is rich, with the blue and red of the NASA logo popping against the whiteness of the suits. In another shot, crowds of onlookers viewing the launch from a distance, wear mod, brightly colored outfits and wave as the camera passes. The vivid quality of the film mixed with unique angles and deliberate shots feel as though this could be a fictional Kubrick film rather than something real.
To complement the stark tone of the beginning, there is a lack of narration throughout the film that allows the viewer to fully immerse themselves into the moment. Director Todd Miller thought the use of narration would be distracting. “I like being put in the moment,” Miller said in a discussion after the screening. But this silence allows for certain scenes to shimmer.
On Day 7 of the mission, the descent to Earth, Aldrin plays “Mother Country” by John Stewart on a cassette player that’s flipping through the zero gravity confines of the spacecraft. The music comes out in a soft crackle until it opens up to a symphonic-like masterpiece, which plays underneath a split-screen montage of the Earth landing preparations.
Throughout, the split-screens seemed to be a key technique in showing the engineers and spacemen simultaneously, visualizing the dependence on one another. Amid the commotion, sometimes a timer appeared on the bottom of the screen during landings and liftoffs. The audience at the screening counted down with the first launch and held their breaths during the moon-landing sequence when the fuel was dangerously low, the timer stopping with 16 seconds to spare before they ran out completely. In the end, the viewers already knew the outcome, but those moments of pure immersion made the documentary so effective.
Apollo 11 is more than a documentary— it’s an experience. You feel as though you’re a part of the crowd watching the rocket shoot up in a cloud of smoke and flames, or that you’re joking around with the NASA men or looking at Earth from the window of the spacecraft. The story of Apollo 11 is one we all know, but most importantly, it’s one we all share. During the final TV broadcast from space, Michael Collins encapsulated this idea best. “All you see is the three of us, but beneath the surface are thousands and thousands of others.”
