Film and television have thoroughly exploited the 1960s space race to the moon. We've enjoyed innumerable TV documentaries, the feature films The Right Stuff and Apollo 13, and the TV miniseries From the Earth to the Moon. TV docus tend to show the same footage, often in degraded quality, analyzing the details of each moon launch so carefully that we lose sight of the larger picture of one of mankind's most impressive achievements.

The best theatrical feature documentary on the Apollo Moon Program is Al Reinert's 1989 For All Mankind. It has two crucial things in its favor. Journalist Reinert's special relationship with the NASA brass won him access to film never before seen in 1989. At that time the space administration archivists had compiled a "best of" resource of most-requested film clips for TV and docu use, many of them duped several generations from the source material. Director Reinert was allowed to pull from NASA's entire vault of original space footage, making precise 35mm blow-ups of 16mm film shot both in the Apollo Command Module and on the surface of the moon.

For All Mankind also takes a different direction than previous fact-based shows. Aware that detailed docus with names, dates, and statistics were readily available, Reinert instead formulated a visually oriented piece that concentrates on the film itself -- the amazing images that need no narrator to hold our attention. Instead of jamming twelve missions into a chronological account of the Apollo program, Reinert depicts a single composite moon voyage, drawing from the best film from all of the missions. As he explains, it looks as if a dozen different spacemen are flying to the moon all at once. Since they are all repeating the same mission, there's little need to differentiate between them. For All Mankind is about Man's reaching into space, not individuals.

The film likewise has no talking-head interview material. The voices we hear belong to the astronauts, but they by and large do not explain particulars of the missions. Reinert instead collects the astronauts' personal memories of the experience of space flight, their subjective impressions of a voyage 240,000 miles away to the surface of a dead world. The spacemen are test pilots and military aviators, not poets. Yet they appreciate the importance of their roles as witnesses to an amazing adventure and do their best to convey the experience.

Not every mission has the same level of film coverage, as the astronauts were given high-quality 16mm cameras and told to film whatever interested them. They toss objects around the cabin and play other zero gravity games, but also point their camera out the window to view the earth getting smaller and the moon looming larger. Director Reinert creates a "generic" space flight featuring many of our astronaut heroes: Alan Shepard, Neil Armstrong, Jim Lovell. Access to the best footage gives us a terrific montage for the launch and a long, unbroken take of the first moon touchdown. We can see the shadow of the Lunar Lander far away on the moon's surface, which yields a better idea of the scale of the craters below.

As the 16mm cameras weren't taken outside the ship, most of the activity on the moon's surface is covered in less exciting grayish video, the slightly blurry images familiar from old television coverage. The astronauts drive around in their moon buggy and practice jumping to find the most efficient way to move. Reinert inserts a montage of falls and stumbles to remind us of the risk involved, should one of those space suits be accidentally torn.

For All Mankind takes every opportunity to display views of the earth as seen from deep space, and from the surface of the moon. The astronauts frequently remark on its appearance, as if newly conscious of the fact that our home planet is just a fragile and lonely island in space. The film communicates the idea that we need to take care of the earth -- should we mess it up too badly, there's no other place to go.

Free from narration dispensing facts and statistics, For All Mankind allows us to appreciate the amazing NASA film footage at length. Brian Eno's mellow score encourages concentration and meditation on the truly impressive images. The best single shot may be a very long take of the Lunar Lander as seen from moon orbit, climbing to altitude to re-dock with the Command Module. First appearing as a tiny speck, it grows swiftly, zooming toward us like a perfectly aimed bullet. Its view port windows look like eyes -- we can see the pilot inside maneuvering at the controls. It's breathtaking.

Criterion's For All Mankind looks quite good in the Blu-ray format. The higher resolution of 1080 scan lines brings out every detail in the 16mm original footage, which was filmed with such high-quality lenses that it often looks like 35mm. The sound effects and Brian Eno's spacey score sound great in Master Audio 5.1.

Director Al Reinert speaks on the commentary track with astronaut Eugene Cernan. The major making-of featurette takes us on a tour of NASA's film vaults, where the original negative filmed in space is kept in a cold environment. Reinert worked closely with a pair of NASA archivists who have been caring for the irreplaceable footage since the 1960s. Another featurette called On Camera samples news coverage and other interviews with the Apollo fliers, capturing their sense of humor and team camaraderie. Two astronauts end the piece by describing their personal spiritual development, motivated by their experiences in space.

Also included are a gallery of space-launch footage and a selection of classic audio bites: "Houston, we have a problem!" Astronaut Alan Bean's space artwork is featured. An optional subtitle track identifies individual astronauts and control room personnel back in Houston. Critic Terrence Rafferty and director Reinert contribute essays to Criterion's attractive insert booklet.

For All Mankind is available now from the Criterion Collection.

Glenn Erickson
reviews online at DVD Savant

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