Fly Me to the Moon review: Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum take on the Moon landing

There’s nothing that can’t be sold in America. If the historic Moon landing of July 1969 was a marvel of technical science and human achievement, it was also a triumph of marketing that announced the US as the winners of the space race — presumably establishing the superiority of capitalism over the red menace. And if the government hadn’t actually put men on the Moon, they’d sure as hell make it look like they did.

At least that’s according to the breezy new caper Fly Me to the Moon, a movie that plays fast and more than a little loose with the events behind that one giant leap for mankind. An unwieldy mix of romantic comedy and conspiracy thriller, it’s a nostalgic fantasy for a nation guided by the principles of truth, and — in the age of corporate IP — for a Hollywood in which the movie star reigned supreme. True, Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum may not be Doris Day and Rock Hudson, but they’re an appealing pair of stars to headline a movie that’s been consciously designed to evoke the glamour of Hollywood’s pop-art 60s — an era where the likes of Audrey Hepburn or Michael Caine would glide through comedic trifles with insouciant charisma.