REVIEW. "Fly Me To The Moon" Fails to Launch.

It probably sounded great on paper: sexy marketing director with a questionable past gets sexy assignment at NASA c1969 and falls in love with sexy wannabe astronaut haunted by past tragedy. Pair the always seductive Scarlett Johansson (she of the very sexy voice) with the "sexiest man alive" (well, in 2012, People magazine said so) Channing Tatum, and you've got the makings of a very attractive summer rom-com.

Well, maybe.

Scarlett and Channing are fine, though their onscreen chemistry never quite catches fire. And Woody Harrelson's supporting turn as a devious government agent named Moe Berkus (I can't make this stuff up), trying to make the world safe from communism by ensuring Americans see the Apollo 11 moon landing (real or not) is a mildly amusing diversion, though a little bit of Harrelson's sly, laconic delivery goes a long way.

Have you gotten the plot yet, including the meet cute set-up for Johansson's con artist Kelly Jones and Tatum's lonely launch manager Cole Davis (could the name be more banal or stoically American?). They run into each other late-night at a roadside diner near the Kennedy Space Center, she seductively sipping a martini and he running in for take-out (no alcohol, he says, he doesn't drink). When her marketing notes catch fire, she clumsily dumps her martini on the flames, exacerbating the heat and Cole's attention in the process. Of course, he comes to the rescue and the two exchange the usual suggestive banter.

In the only hopeful sign of potential passion, Cole leaves the diner then runs back in to tell Kelly she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, before taking off again in his car. When they re-connect at NASA, their initial spark is so deliberately restrained we lose interest in the opportunity for romance. Too bad. Director Greg Berlanti (he's mostly a TV director) doesn't take advantage of the Johansson/Tatum star appeal, the political machinations of the Nixon administration, or the huge accomplishment of the first moon landing.

In sum, Berkus recruits Jones, whose been posing as a Madison Avenue marketing whiz, to re-ignite American interest the 1969 moon landing with a series of crass commercial advertisements designed to make money: real-life Apollo 11 astronauts Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins are swept into ad campaigns for watches, cereal (Snap, Crackle and Pop, anyone?) and, of course, Tang.

When the commercials begin to take off, which is more than I can say for the storyline or the romance, Berkus ups the ante by telling Kelly she must fake the moon landing so as not to disappointment the American people, or make then-President Richard Nixon look bad. Government funding is at stake, and NASA's - and Cole Davis' - reputations are on the line. No screw-ups allowed, and Davis has that one big tragic error in his past: he was the launch manager on the ill-fated Apollo 1, the first of the scheduled Apollo missions that failed when the spacecraft caught fire on the launch pad, killing all three astronauts.

If you've been reading so far, you know what's coming: Kelly finds out about Cole's tragic secret. Cole finds out Kelly's going to fake the moon landing for TV. Berkus threatens to expose Kelly's past if she doesn't televise the fake landing. Cole tells Kelly he never wants to see her again. And then they join forces to show the world the real landing, complete Neil Armstrong's famous "one giant leap" first line.

The thing is, none of this is especially entertaining or romantic. The plot follows a fairly conventional rom-com structure: boy-girl meet cute, sparks fly (in this case, they barely twinkle), conflicts ensue, romance is in danger, everything works out in the end. Sort of. I still couldn't figure out what Kelly and Cole saw in each other because there was so little character development or cinematic zsa-zsa-zu to suggest an enduring, this-must-be-the-one attraction.

Consider, for instance, the obvious magnetism between Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. We knew (hoped?) they'd get together in the end, and the movie - punctuated by all their relationships starts and stops - takes us to the satisfying conclusion. When Hugh Grant first lays eyes on Andie McDowell in Four Weddings and a Funeral, we know he's smitten and the power of that first glance sustains us until the movie's somewhat unconventional happy ending. I mean, where are Woody Allen and Nora Ephron when you need them?

In one scene, Cole takes Kelly on an impromptu plane ride to cajole a resistant, conservative Louisiana senator to support funding for the Apollo space program. An excellent pilot turned down for NASA's space program because he has a heart murmur (this, too, was another missed opportunity in terms of plot/character development), I couldn't help but be reminded of another impromptu plane ride with Robert Redford and Meryl Streep in 1985's Out of Africa. Though not a rom-com, Redford's adventurer Denys Finch-Hatton takes Streep's Karen Blixen on a ride that solidifies their love, acknowledges their differences, but ultimately captures the undeniable bond they share.

It is beautifully, unashamedly, brilliantly romantic, complete with John Barry's sweeping score and David Watkin's stunning, exhilarating cinematography. Director Berlanti should have studied cinema romance more than TV love which is smaller and less grandiose. We get neither here. Johansson's reluctance to fly is momentarily broken when she finally opens her eyes, but what she sees is less than extraordinary, and her connection with Cole remains flat and uninspired.

Fly Me To The Moon tries its best to capture the nostalgia and charm of the late 1960s when Vietnam was threatening to disrupt a 1950s-era innocence that probably never existed except on TV sitcoms like Leave It To Beaver. But it never harnesses the youthful exuberance that punctuated the Kennedy Administration earlier in the decade, or the growing discontent led by the late 60s counterculture. The clothes, cars, and music are all fine, but not particularly memorable. Johansson's wigs were an annoying distraction as they were so obviously fake, and the movie isn't camp, so I kept wondering why hair and make-up couldn't have come up with something more realistic.

Anyway, as Cole and Kelly share a final kiss and the camera pans away and away to a panoramic view of the world around them, losing them in the process, I couldn't help but wonder what was missing. Johansson and Tatum were fine. Both are very good actors, Johansson for sure. Harrelson phoned in his signature cynicism. The story, at least as it was portrayed in the previews, seemed energized and fun. There was little of that here, and that always leads me to look to the director (and possibly the editor), for failing to capture the chemistry, the romance, and the emotional satisfaction that rom-com's are supposed to bring.

Fly Me To the Moon isn't bad, it just never reaches its potential. And, in an era where a summer without Marvel comics or even films as successful as last year's Barbenheimer phenomenon can send audiences back to streaming services, we can only hope that better rom-com's like Hit Man receive sufficient funding and marketing to bring them to audiences in the theater, as they are fresh and inventive takes on, what is for me, an important movie genre. Rom-com's should draw you in to the fantasy of movie love and make you yearn for something as passionate in real life. They are movies you can watch over and over, even though you know the ending.

Think about it. How many times have you watched Pretty Women, Four Weddings and a Funeral, When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, Love Actually, or Annie Hall? Even if time and social conventions have dated some of the plot points or dialogue, the stories remain timeless, the characters infectious, the romance a delightful, if improbable, diversion from reality. It's in each of these areas that Fly Me To The Moon never takes off. It just kind of sits on the launch pad waiting.

Maybe next time.

Is Hugh Grant too old for romance?