Nigel Kneale was presumably responsible for the Quatermass-like opening: astronauts on the moon find a faded Union Jack and a note dated 1899, while back on Earth, an old man in a nursing home babbles about terrible dangers. But then this HG Wells adaptation turns very tame indeed, with the principals rendered as bumbling Victorian comics by a serviceable if not very exciting cast, and Juran taking it all far too slowly. Once on the moon ('colour by Lunacolor') things perk up, though Ray Harryhausen has mixed success with his monsters. The giant centipede isn't bad, but the belligerent beetles are too obviously chaps in rubber suits. No poetic effusions, incidentally, for Lionel Jeffries, on taking that pioneering small step. 'Hello, moon,' he says brightly.