Fly Me to the Moon

["The Best Things In Life Are Free - Live" playing]

In October 1957, the Soviet Union launched

the world's first artificial satellite, Sputnik 1, into orbit.

Their achievement fueled a space race between the United States and the Soviets.

There has been some debate about what followed,

but I was there, and this is the real story. Mostly.

Until two days ago,

that sound had never been heard on this earth.

America attempted to launch her satellite

with disastrous results.

The Soviet Union has sent a man into space

and brought him back alive.

The Soviets made the most of the flight

in their worldwide propaganda. Naturally, there was jubilation in Russia.

Recognizing the head start obtained by the Soviets,

I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal,

before this decade is out,

of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth.

We choose to go to the moon in this decade

and do the other things, not because they are easy,

but because they are hard.

Because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept,

one we are unwilling to postpone, and one we intend to win.

Command Pilot. One, two, three, four, five.

Five, four, three, two, one.

Flame!

We've got a fire in the cockpit.

Let's get out! We're burning up!

Astronauts Virgil Grissom, Edward White and Roger Chaffee have been killed.

Press officials say because of the tragedy,

the Apollo 1 flight has now been postponed indefinitely.

I-- It's, uh-- It's a groovy trip,

but there are a lot more important things to do first in the United States.

Maybe when all that's taken care of, we can afford to go to the moon.

We find ourselves rich in goods but ragged in spirit.

Reaching with magnificent precision for the moon

but falling into raucous discord on earth.

We are caught at war wanting peace.

We're torn by division wanting unity.

This giant Saturn rocket

and the rest of the equipment here began as part of a race

to beat the Russians with the national goal

of putting a man on the moon in this decade.

But their trip will cost more than anyone thought it would.

And their chances of landing on the moon in the 1960s are increasingly slim.

First week as manager, Stu. Doesn't sound like it's going great.

So either our meters are off or there's a breach in one of the tanks.

But there's no protocol for this. And we can't source the leak

- because it's liquid hyd-- - Liquid hydrogen.

It's colorless and odorless. Everybody out! Let's go!

Reed, Kyle, pencils down.

It could be burning, and we wouldn't know it. Find a door.

Come on! Run, run! No walking.

What's he doing? Is he cleaning?

No, no. It's an-- It's an old-school leak detection process.

It's a broom.

Stu, you're better than this. Come on. Straw plus liquid hydrogen equals...

All right, we're good! Don't worry about it. Come on.

We got work to do. Let's go.

Uh, the new protocol is the broom method.

We need a new broom.

I for sure thought he was dead.

Come on.

- - It's still broke

- from the last time you were in a mood. - Yeah, I can see that.

- Boeing called again. - Call Congress, Henry, not me.

I don't have their number.

Every day, every day, something is breaking around here.

Or blowing up. We're underfunded, under-- understaffed.

But yeah, we're still expected to beat the pants off the Russians.

You mind telling me how the hell we're supposed to do that?

Could start by being a little nicer to the vending machines.

Ooh! There it is!

- What? - There's a cat.

- So what? - It's a black cat, Henry. It's bad luck.

- - Okay, it's gone.

- All right. Thank God. - Okay. Let's go.

- Call security. - I won't.

- I will not. It-- - Yes, you will.

The last thing that we need around here is a black cat.

They don't deal with things like this.

Yes, they do. They do now.

- Y-You're overreacting. - No, you're not overreacting enough.

Call 'em right now. Right now.

How do I look?

You're glowing. Good luck.

- - Good afternoon, boys.

Wrong room, sweetheart. We don't need dictation.

I'm Kelly Jones. I'll be running the meeting today.

You must be Phil Hunley, Neil Brown and--

Ooh. Zack Tanner. You don't mind if I sit down, do you?

Uh, all due respect, Mrs. Jones, we're a progressive company.

We employ 16 women in our steno pool.

We're selling sports cars to men. We're selling a 300 horsepower--

355, 428 cubic inch V-8 beast is what you're selling.

You want to focus on the car's speed. Something like this.

Look familiar? Chevy Camaro. Pontiac Firebird. And Oldsmobile.

All from last month.

Thankfully, you have something that your competition doesn't have.

The Mustang Fastback. "355 horses for him. Seat belts for the family."

The seat belts? We only put them in because they might be mandatory next year.

Let's play a game.

Now I'm gonna guess what kind of car each one of you gentlemen drive.

Zack, Ford Mustang '66 convertible. It's poppy red.

Oh, no Mustangs for you husbands though. A Lincoln Continental for Neil.

A station wagon for poor Phil. Oh, Phil. You know what the best part of my day is?

When my husband Charlie comes home at night.

I can't even imagine what it would be like if-if one night he-- he didn't.

- - Now imagine the conversation

if someone told your wife that this car,

its 355 horses and 105 top speed,

this car is what brings her husband home safe to her family every night.

Now she wants you to have it.

She says the words every married man dreams of hearing...

"I'd feel so much better

if you bought yourself that Mustang, sweetheart."

How did you guess what kind of cars they drive?

What, bribe their secretaries or something?

Kelly, seriously?

Two packs of Virginia Slims and a bottle of Paco Rabanne.

- Everyone has their price. -

I'm just lucky that my water didn't break in there. Oh, God.

Hi, Ron. How's the wife?

Now, the baby bump, dry-clean only.

Yes, I have that noted. A-Also, Omega confirmed for next week,

I finished the Baskin-Robbins artwork,

and that guy from Palmex asked for your address to send roses,

but I gave him mine because I know

- how you feel about roses. - You know how I feel about roses.

Also, John called. Again. He wants to take you to dinner Tuesday.

Tell him I moved to LA. And call Bruce from Dow Chemical.

I hear they're looking for a new agency for Ziploc.

People should be boycotting Dow. They make napalm.

People say they're boycotting, but they're still buying sandwich bags.

They also sell Saran Wrap and Styrofoam.

Think people are going to stop using Styrofoam? What's your coffee in?

Now, I know you and your friends want to save the world,

and by the time you're running this place in 1984,

there's gonna be no nukes and equal rights for all.

But until then, we've got a job to do.

Kelly! Kelly! Kelly. Kelly. We've got a big problem.

I just stormed off set, and, yes, it was justified.

I cannot work with these Hoover people.

Apparently, they have issues with the way that I am shooting their commercial.

They actually said that. "Their." It's my commercial.

They make vacuums. I make art.

- Sorry, did we have a meeting set? - No. No.

I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had to set a time

to speak to one of my dearest friends.

The last time we spoke, you fired me. And I don't work for you.

You know what, Kelly, I didn't come in here to be berated.

I came in to be agreed with!

You have that Nestlé pitch in ten. Very important.

- That is a lie. Goodbye. -

Lance, getting you this directing gig

- was a Christmas miracle. -

It took me three weeks to convince them that you were stable

- after your Jell-O shoot from hell. - Jell-O was not my fault.

- Ugh. That actor wa-- - Was five. You made him cry.

Well, I did that child a favor. Hollywood is no cakewalk.

What about the Heinz commercial? You went 40,000 over budget. It was about ketchup.

It was not about ketchup. It was about the promise of ketchup.

No one sees what I'm doing for their products.

I am elevating them.

I should be in film by now.

I passed on directing Valley of the Dolls .

- That is on me, but still. - Now, what do we call you, right?

- The Kubrick of commercials. All right. - Oh, my God. Stanley is a hack.

He does one good movie, and suddenly he's a genius.

You are a legend, right? Creative genius.

You're also hotheaded, mercurial and can't stick to a budget for shit.

- Oh, thank you. - That wasn't a compliment.

- It is when you stop listening. - If you quit Hoover, you'll be unhirable.

- - Okay.

Lance, why don't you march your ass back to set,

and you apologize for whatever fit you threw, okay?

Buy your boyfriend something nice for Christmas for putting up with you.

Get something for me too, okay?

- Merry Christmas, Lance. - Merry Christmas.

Can you get me a decent job, please?

Apollo 8 launched successfully this morning.

A much needed win for NASA. In Vietnam, more men were lost today.

...and 15 million miles...

I'll have another round, please, and a look at the dinner menu.

- Yes, ma'am. - Thanks.

Two specials tonight. Chicken potpie and Oysters Rockefeller.

We'll do the chicken. She's allergic to oysters.

And I'll take a shot of Macallan, a lemon and a cutting board.

- Yes, sir. - Oh, I'm sorry. Do I know you?

Seat belts in a sports car. I mean, that's a great angle.

Unfortunately, they're about to kill the account.

Why would they do that?

Because someone told them that you don't really have a bun in the oven.

Phil. Let me explain.

That's the last time I trust a woman.

- - I actually sent you a baby gift.

Which was so sweet, by the way. Let me just--

Neil, let-let me explain. If you--

What is this? Who do you work for, Ogilvy?

Huh? You can't outsell me, so you got me fired?