‘Footprints on the Moon’ or — The Impact of Sinister Radiance?

Alice (Florinda Bolkan), a language translator, awakens one morning to find the last couple of days of her life completely wiped from her memory and seemingly replaced with flashes from an old science fiction movie she’s recalls from her childhood about an astronaut left to die alone on the Moon under instructions from an evil scientist (Klaus Kinski).

Her only clue is a discarded postcard from a hotel located on the island of Garma, yet when Alice visits the island looking for answers everyone she encounters claims she’s a woman called Nicole and that she’s been staying here for the last several days. The further Alice investigates the more mysterious things become with time, identity and sanity all gradually called into question.

Okay, let’s get a couple of things out the way first, the main one being ‘Footprints on the Moon’ (1975) is about as far from exciting or thrilling as it is possible to get. There’s no ticking clock, no sense of immediate threat and zero suspense to be found anywhere. Instead we follow Alice as she saunters around asking various people questions who always tell her she’s Nicole followed by whatever she herself supposedly already told them a couple of days ago and nearly all this information clarifies nothing.

Also, when the big mystery is finally explained it leaves a vast amount unresolved as well as feeling like a bit of an easy cop-out. So THAT’S it?! Yep, there’s a lot here to leave some viewers infuriated and dissatisfied, but this potential negative comes with a huge benefit because ‘Footprints on the Moon’ is also one of the most entrancing, beguiling and astonishingly beautiful films I’ve ever seen.

Director Luigi Bazzoni is less concerned with incident and action than atmosphere and psychological states so even though our pulses are never set racing we’re always utterly mesmerised by Alice’s quest and the more the film goes on the deeper that trance becomes.

This dream-like quality is realised by some jaw-dropping cinematography by the legendary Vittorio Storaro that’s not just up there with his best but might even BE his best. His handling of light and colour is extraordinary whether they’re bouncing off water in dazzling bursts, slicing through shimmering air or fractured into chromatic layers and units where cool blues nest alongside warm oranges.

This is best illustrated in a phenomenal sequence towards the end where Alice finally discovers the stained-glass window she’s been searching for and the impactful delicacy of the imagery practically sucks the air from the lungs, something enhanced by Bazzoni pulling out almost all sound and music creating the effect of an almost total suspension of time.

This, along with how immersed we become in Alice’s journey and personality, means that although the plot might not fully satisfy in terms of logic or strict narrative cohesion it most certainly does on an emotional, psychological and aesthetic level.

If you’re looking for an edge-of-your-seat thrill ride or a compelling plot you’re not going to find any of that here. What you will find, however, is something more hypnotic, absorbing and ravishing and for a film about existential unease and loss of identity it’s only appropriate that Bazzoni and Storaro have created something of such sinister beauty you could lose yourself in it entirely.