Posted: 04/26/2001

The Dish

(2001)

by Joe Steiff

1969, Australia. The Lunar landing. And a warm and funny look at how the world percieved this unique moment in time.

Australian director Rob Sitch takes us back to the summer of 1969 in his film, The Dish, which culminates with man’s first steps on the moon. Not through special effects shots of floating astornauts or views of the earth from space or even a control room filled with NASA engineers. No, The Dish presents the lunar landing as most people in 1969 experienced it. Through black & white, barely recognizable images and filtered voices beamed into our living rooms. The first moonwalk as seen through our television screens. Unlike any television program before or since.

Over the years, these images have appeared numerous times in a variety of settings, not the least of which MTV’s signature logo, and they would seem to have lost their power. The Dish allows us to re-view these original images, stripped back to their original meaning and context, and to experience again the awe and pride they are able to evoke. For that alone, The Dish is a pretty impressive feat in an increasingly cynical world.

But The Dish isn’t really about the lunar landing itself. It’s about the people who made sure we got to see that first moon walk, who made sure that those of us living in 1969 could be a part of history. And see it for ourselves.

All thanks to “the dish,” a large radio telescope sitting amidst a sheep pasture near the small town of Parkes in New South Whales. Originally selected as a backup site, a series of events result in Parkes’ “dish” becoming the prime receiver of televised signals from the moon. But any cause for celebration is mitigated by a series of problems ranging from power outages that result in losing the Apollo spacecraft’s signal to high winds that potentially could destroy the dish itself just as the first television images are being beamed from the moon.

Sam Neil plays the saddened, contemplative and level-headed scientist, Cliff Buxton, who heads up the small rather eccentric group of engineers/technicians and security officer for the telescope. NASA’s observer, Al Burnett (Patrick Warburton), and a visiting US Ambassador create a certain degree of tension among the group as Australians and Americans learn more about each other and themselves while faced with the pressures of a high-profile mission.

Intermixed is a healthy collection of colorful and quirky townspeople and government officials, all somehow charming and likeable. Maybe that’s what’s so remarkable and life-affirming about this film: there is no bad guy. We follow a small group of people who band together to make something exceptional happen. Sure, there are some bruised egos and conflicts as Burnett and the Australian team learn to work together, slowly developing a trust that will soon bond them all as a larger community awaiting the historic landing. But everyone here is deserving of respect, of caring. Rather than fighting themselves, they battle the limitations of their own resources. They become a group of people who share a vision of the world and work to make it happen. Ultimately, the film is about underdogs, long an inspiring subject matter for film audiences. The Dish is about the little guy getting his chance despite the odds, and pulling it off despite the odds.

If there’s any element that feels unnecessary to the film, it’s the present-day bookend, which supposedly is based on fact — Buxton did return unrecognized to the dish many years later. Though it allows for some beautifully composed shots of the radio telescope, this framing device offers very little to the narrative itself.

The performances are strong and the humor heart-felt and good-natured. I’ll never think of our national anthem in quite the same way. The Dish is an exceptional character-driven “small” film, a film that celebrates belonging to a community. Seems an appropriate theme as humankind ventures away from its home planet.

Joe Steiff wanted to be an astronomer, before he learned that he sucked at math. Now he writes reviews of films. Very little math involved there. Unless you count rating systems. Which is why he doesnt use ‘em.

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