Nude on the Moon (1962)

Hey there, Nate here with a real treat for my readers who enjoy floppy boobs (hi James!) and crappy b-movies (hi...well, James). Actually, that's me, too.

Plot? Pssht, whatever. Budget? Ohmygod are you serious? Professional editing servic...stop, just stop before you embarrass yourself. Boobs? Yes! The need for anything else? Meh, I could use a fully remastered Criterion blu-ray of this one, but I'm guessing that's not coming anytime soon. Neither am I, because, despite the promised nudity in a celestial setting, Nude on the Moon might quite possibly be the most boring, repetitive, un-sexy exploitation movie you will ever see.

Meh, whatever, sure.

The worst part is that the director actually thought we, the horny drive-in audience, really wanted the first 40 goddamn minutes of my 70 minute sleezeflick to be an earnest attempt at character development and plot set-up. We learn about our two astronauts, Captain Wallpaper Paste and Colonel Drying Paint, and about their struggles with developing interstellar travel on a tight budget with a team of, umm, just the two of them? We don't care. We see them in their rented hotel room lab, slaving away at their salvage yard Army surplus radio set and their borrowed from the PA's kid's sliderule, devising plans that the stuffy guvm'nt considers crazy. We dooooooon't care. Then, as we pass the half hour mark without any boobs, we see them climb into their carefully framed airplane cockpit down at the local airport and fly off to the moon in their stock-footage from some other b-movie rocketship. Make sure you groan and flinch like you're experiencing rapid acceleration, ok? Let me check, nope, still don't care a lick.

I can't tell you which is which.

On the Moon now, which much to their surprise (though not mine) looks almost exactly like southern Florida in July, except less Cubans and old people. They don their “spacesuits”, which consist of Christmas-colored ballet tights underneath cardboard and cut-up bedsheet armor plates, with plumbing water bottles feeding “oxygen” through tubes up to their helmets, which seem to be upside down 5 gallon paint buckets with holes cut out for their faces. They are now ready to explore the amazing mysteries of the moon!

Hoho, that's awesome.

Right off the boat, the astronauts meet a colony of lunar nudists, who are just chillin' around a stone castle in the middle of a copse of mangrove trees. The rest of the movie is just the two astronauts observing from various distances the girls frolicking around. I should note that they're not really “nude” but just topless, just boobs out and about for half an hour, boobs walking here, boobs sitting there, boobs talking to other boobs about boob things. Honestly, and I can't believe I'm saying this, boobs are kinda boring when they're not doing anything sexytime or are not attached to former Today Show host Ann Curry. They're just lumps of flesh with independent movement in this movie, what a letdown. At least the boobs are big and natural, mostly because the girls are all fairly plump in a pleasing 1960s way. In the surely-upcoming big-budget remake of this film (Nudez on Mars: Atomic Tits) all the girls will be whispy-thin Victoria Secret models with CGI boobs, except for the comedy relief fat girl and the goth nerd chick, of course.

Alien boobs!

Hey, see the counter on your youtube player? It says 39:35 at First Boob Contact. We could have cut all that boring first act down to five minutes tops, just a quick intro for the guys and then off to the spaceship! Why would you waste valuable filmstock on useless filler crap when your drive-in marquee shouts “Nude on the Moon!”?

I paid money for this.

The Moon Queen is a busty brunette in fishnet panties, well, she really doesn't do anything but stand around all softcore naked and wave her hands about slowly. Oh, and she falls in love with Captain Wallpaper Paste, because why not, and it's up to Colonel Drying Paint to save the mission by reminding him that “You're a scientist!”. Yeah, that will work just fine.

The Queen seems pretty hands-off.

To my surprise, none of the girls speak, only the Queen “speaks” telepathically without her mouth moving. As there is no plot reason for this, there must be a budget reason. You're already paying these girls flat rate to stand around with their boobs out, no sense having to pay them extra for dialogue (union rules!). In fact, there are only three people with speaking parts in this entire movie, the two astronauts and their mopey secretary, who we see for about ten seconds in the first act. I can guess that this movie's entire budget was under 10 grand, maybe much less if the girls all came as a package deal.

No need for words?

Did I mention that there are some nudist dudes in the mix? They're wearing swim trunks, of course, so they are less “nude on the Moon” than “every guy in Panama City during Spring Break”. The fact that all the girls are white and all the dudes we see are all tall, strapping, square-jawed beefcakes, leads me to believe that this nudist colony is, in fact, an offshoot of the Nazi Moon Base. One can imagine that a certain segment of the NMB's population, those not directly involved with plotting the return of the Fourth Reich and building Mecha-Hitlers with laser beams on their heads, would enjoy spending their freetime lounging in the hinterlands in their Ayran skivvies.

Fritz and Heinz need to lay off the tanner.

Someone is sure to ask me, “Hey, Nate, which of these topless alien chicks is the hottest?”, forcing me to rewatch this movie 13 times FOR SCIENCE. I can now conclusively state that, of all the girls, the honey with the long blonde hair and the blue hiphuggers is by far the most baberlicious. The camerman must have agreed with me because she gets the lion's share of the screen time during the “aimlessly bouncing around and giggling” second act of the movie. Luckily for the astronauts, the flaps on their spacesuits hide their boners!

Yes, her, with the bar-b-que fork, she's hot.

Enough of this disgusting ogling, you degenerate perverts, you need to stumble back to your airplane cargo door filmed from below and fly back to Earth before your oxygen runs out. Good thing you brought your camera back with the photographic proof so you can be famous and rich. Oh fuck me, you lost it?!? What the hell, astronauts? You need to upload that shit to your flickr account right after you take a set, what is wrong with you idiots? Hey, maybe you should just build another rocket and go back?

We know that's a helicopter cockpit, fools.

The stinger is that Captain Wallpaper Paste's put-upon secretary looks exactly like the Moonboobie Queen? And we get a flickerflash shot of her in just her supportive undies? Wait, is that actually the Queen? Wait a damn minute, was all of this just a dream sequence? Did they never actually go to the moon? Why do I even care anymore?

Is this the same actress as the Queen? Whatever.

The End.

Written in February 2016 by Nathan Decker.

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