In 1983, physicist and astronaut Sally Ride became the first American woman to travel to space, an achievement that etched her into the national consciousness as a barrier-breaking icon. But behind her poised public image was a deeply private life, one she chose to keep from view during her lifetime. National Geographic’s new documentary Sally, directed by Emmy winner Cristina Costantini, offers a revelatory and emotionally resonant portrait of Ride—not only as a space pioneer, but also as a woman in love. Premiering on National Geographic on June 16 and streaming on Disney+ and Hulu the following day, the film braids together Ride’s historic career with her 27-year partnership with Tam O’Shaughnessy, revealing a story of courage, intimacy, and legacy that has never before been told in full.
Sally arrives at a time when stories of authenticity and quiet resistance are more vital than ever. Drawing from candid interviews, personal archives, and narration by O’Shaughnessy herself, the film not only honors Ride’s public achievements but also provides long-overdue recognition of her private truth. As DEI policies are increasingly challenged across institutions—including NASA—the documentary resonates as a powerful reminder of how representation and honesty in storytelling can shape the cultural record. Costantini, a longtime admirer of Ride since childhood, approaches the subject with reverence and insight, crafting a dual narrative that captures both the grandeur of space exploration and the tender depth of a hidden love.
In this conversation, director Cristina Costantini and Tam O’Shaughnessy reflect on the making of Sally, the challenges of honoring both the public and private dimensions of Ride’s life, and the emotional weight of telling this story in the current political climate. Speaking with Scientific Inquirer’s Marc Landas, they discuss the vulnerability it took to bring the film to life, what Ride meant to generations of women and queer people, and why now—more than a decade after her death—is the time the world is finally ready to meet the real Sally Ride.
Marc Landas: Starting from the beginning—with this unexpected love story—how did the film come together?
Cristina Costantini: It happened a little differently for both of us. I’ve been a big fan of Sally since I was a kid. I loved watching interviews with her and following her story. When she passed away and I, like the rest of the world, learned about Tam, I remember thinking, “If NASA was barely ready for women, this must have been really hard for Sally.” I wondered what that was like.
So I started thinking about it and emailed National Geographic. They told me they were already working on a Sally Ride film. Then a few months later, they came back and said, “Actually, would you like to direct it?”
Story Syndicate had already reached out to Tam and made contact. They clicked. You [Tam] and the team shared a vision. You love National Geographic. I love National Geographic. So they basically set us up on this amazing blind date, and the project just came together from there.
Tam O’Shaughnessy: Yeah. From my side, I’ve always loved National Geographic and their documentary films. Once I met Cristina, it just felt like the right team—the right people with the right vision. And it was like: go for launch.
Marc Landas: What was it like sharing this story after such a long time, especially something so private?
Tam O’Shaughnessy: I actually shared a little of it shortly after Sally died. I wanted to hold a celebration of her life. About a week before she passed, I went upstairs to sit on her hospice bed and tell her what I was thinking. She loved the idea—celebrating with our families, friends, and colleagues—so we started planning it.
But then I started to wonder who I would be to the people who didn’t know we were a couple. And more broadly: who would I be in the world, moving forward? Sally thought about it, then simply said, “You decide. Whatever you decide will be the right thing.”
So I was honest. I wrote an obituary for our company, Sally Ride Science, which we had started in 2001. I added that Sally was survived by her partner of 27 years—me—along with her mother and sister. I just went for it.
Then President Obama wanted to posthumously award Sally the Presidential Medal of Freedom. The White House called me. That was just an unbelievable moment. The award ceremony was incredibly moving. Our country believed in Sally—and in me, in us, as a couple. That meant the world to me.
Over the years, I got offers to consult on miniseries or movies about Sally and our relationship, but the only thing I really cared about was a documentary. Ten years later, when Cristina, Nat Geo, and Story Syndicate came together, it finally felt like the right time. I think this is an important film. People should be allowed to love who they love. It shouldn’t be remarkable—it should just be a wonderful, human thing. I wanted a truthful story about who Sally really was, and I think it’s important for history and for people of all ages to see.
Marc Landas: The film tells two intertwined stories: Sally’s historic professional life and your relationship with her—which, for many reasons, is equally significant. What were the challenges of making sure one didn’t overshadow the other? Especially with Sally’s role as a national icon, how did you balance both threads?
Cristina Costantini: That’s a very astute observation. These really are two different stories that happened to unfold in parallel, and we were lucky that they did so chronologically—it made storytelling a bit easier.
But I think history often flattens people. It erases the complexity of who someone really was. As Tam said, their love story was beautiful—and thrilling, even. I mean, Sally was the most famous woman in the world at that time, and what they had was completely taboo. That secrecy made it all the more poignant and powerful.
Most of our team is queer. And I don’t know if I ever mentioned this to you, Tam, but often queer love stories are framed as tragic or brave—never as romantic, sexy, or joyful, the way straight stories are. We wanted this film to feel the way I imagined it would’ve felt back then. Full of warmth and intimacy. Whenever Tam shared a visual detail—Sally rising up on her tiptoes or a hand on the lower back—we leaned into those moments.
We had to invent a cinematic language for something that had never been filmed. So we shot on 16mm film to match the archival footage of Sally’s public life. One of the greatest challenges was giving the private story the same weight as the public one. I’m so grateful for Tam’s narration. Most people wouldn’t be brave or vulnerable enough to open up like she did. She was a godsend for this project.
Marc Landas: This might be a tough one—like choosing your favorite child—but was there a moment in the film that you feel best captures your relationship with Sally? Something that shows who she was privately, beyond the astronaut the public knew?
Tam O’Shaughnessy: There are a few moments, but the one that always gets me is when we’re dancing to Neil Young. We used to dance all the time—fast, slow, silly, fun—just the two of us in our living room. I love that scene. It’s so simple, but it really happened, and it’s so dear to me.
Marc Landas: For me, the moment that really hit me was when you accepted the Medal of Freedom on her behalf. What was that like for you?
Tam O’Shaughnessy: It was surreal. I’d never been to the White House before. I loved Obama. It was a relatively small room—I think it was the East Room—with chairs arranged in a semi-circle. I could see Sally’s mother, Joyce, and her sister, Bear, in the audience. In the front row were people like Hillary and Chelsea Clinton. On stage: Gloria Steinem, Oprah, Bill Clinton—the list goes on.
I didn’t want to cry. It was still pretty soon after Sally had passed—about a year. But I felt so honored. I was proud of Sally and proud of our country. The fact that Obama chose to invite me—Sally’s partner—to accept the medal, when he could have chosen her mother or sister or a colleague, meant so much. I felt safe. I felt seen. I felt joyful.
Marc Landas: That scene still gets me. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was the end of the film. When you place your hand on your chest—you held it together, but just barely. It’s a miracle you made it through.
Tam O’Shaughnessy: I was so close to losing it. I had to do something to hold it in. I thought, Come on… where’s Sally?
Marc Landas: Given the times we live in, why is it important that this story be told now—and told with the honesty you both bring to it?
Cristina Costantini: I think we each have slightly different but connected answers. We made this film for anyone who’s ever had to hide a part of themselves, or alter who they are, just to get where they want to be. And sadly, in 2025, that experience is more relevant than ever.
DEI initiatives are under attack, even at NASA. Employees have been asked to take down Pride and trans visibility flags. They’ve walked back promises about sending a woman to the moon. It’s a really disheartening time. But I hope the film gives people hope.
There’s a joy in seeing how absurd the 1980s were—how confused people were by women going to space, or by basic aspects of reproductive biology. It reminds us how far we’ve come, but also how fragile that progress is. People like Sally and Tam made that progress possible. And we have to fight now harder than ever to protect it.
Tam O’Shaughnessy: I agree. This film is more important now than when we started. So much progress is being unraveled. It’s critical for the historical record to be truthful—about who Sally was and what she stood for.
People mostly remember her as a pioneering astronaut. But she was also a physicist, an athlete, an educator. She co-founded our science education company. And our love story—it lasted nearly three decades. We knew each other since we were girls.
This film tells the truth. And truth is always worth telling.