Moonwalkers (2015)

Moonwalkers is the kind of mischievous, high-wire comedy that takes a familiar conspiracy whisper and turns it into a neon-lit, swinging-sixties London fever dream, where the joke is as much about power and image-making as it is about the moon. Antoine Bardou-Jacquet keeps the movie buzzing with scrappy energy, letting the absurdity build until it feels both brilliantly stupid and oddly plausible, while Ron Perlman barrels through it as a traumatized CIA bruiser with the force of a wrecking ball and the timing of a seasoned comic weapon. Rupert Grint and Robert Sheehan bring a charmingly chaotic, small-time-hustler vibe that plays perfectly against the film’s pop-culture satire, which keeps winking at you without ever stopping the ride. It’s not for everyone—there’s heavy drug use, sharp violence, and a taste for the outrageous—but if you like your comedy dark, inventive, and a little unhinged, this one’s a blast.

Moonwalkers is aiming for a cheeky, swinging-sixties conspiracy romp where the “Kubrick faked the moon landing” idea becomes a messy caper full of drugs, gangsters, and CIA paranoia. The problem is the film often mistakes noise for comedy: the pacing lags, the jokes land flat, and the satire gets buried under chaotic violence and crime-movie mechanics. If you’re coming for sharp, clever laughs or a smart send-up of conspiracy culture, you may end up wondering why such a great premise feels so undercooked. Still, Rupert Grint and Ron Perlman bring some welcome energy, and if you enjoy grimy, drug-fueled mayhem with occasional absurdity (and don’t mind severe gore), it might scratch that particular itch.