I read an interesting e-flux article called “Subjects of the American Moon: From Studio as Reality to Reality as Studio” by François Bucher. I say interesting, but I mean entertaining. Boucher speculates the death of cinema, the television as a control devise, and the idea of the 1969 moon landing as a fabricated film production rather than a historical, live broadcast. While some individuals believe the actual moon landing is a hoax, Boucher’s claim that the (supposedly) contrived landing on the moon as the “epitome of an image” is alluring.

Personally, I feel a sense of human accomplishment when I think of Neil and Buzz walking on the moon on July 20, 1969 (with Michael Collins in orbit)—I believe in NASA. But Boucher says that the moon landing is veritably a moment of hyperrealism. Since cinema ended with television and television is merely a means of control, then the moon landing is the “ultimate illusion.” I like the idea of the moon broadcast as a separate entity apart from history. On the other hand, I believe in the dream of the moon as a symbolic triumph. The history of the moon is magnificent, but it’s also a magical image. I guess you could say I’m under the moon’s spell. Then again, I’m forever nostalgic for Kennedy’s Camelot and the hopeful utopia of the 1960s.

The moon is crafty like witchcraft, and like cinema—an illusion whose founding myth in the twentieth century was the funky animated trompe-l’œil staging of Méliès’ A Trip to the Moon in 1902. Has any story been more perfect and coherent?

In 1969, the moon is the epitome of an image, whether of the cinematographic dream or of the poem that humanity has written through the centuries. Taught to differentiate a simile from a metaphor, we learned that the moon is not “like cheese,” but that it “is cheese.” Mission accomplished: we are the subjects of the American Moon. It made the people of the United States universal just before its echo was blown into the endless cave of 24-hour live.