Original Airdate: December 25, 1959
Plot: A seedy character tries to exploit a benign old man who gives people exactly what they need with his powers of foresight. When he asks for too much, he meets a violent end.
If it sounds like a simple premise, that's because it is. The Twilight Zone Companion glazes over this episode, citing "lackluster direction and performances" as the issues it suffers from. The original story from which Serling adapted it had the psychic old man as a scientist who invents a machine that shows possible futures for individuals. He then provides objects for the individuals that will guide them towards the best possible future.
... come to think of it, this reminds me of the Philip K. Dick story Paycheck, which they made into a Ben Affleck movie. Damn, this is the second time in 12 episodes that it feels like PKD ripped off Twilight Zone. I hope it wasn't intentional.
Back to the point, I'm glad that Serling decided to go with a paranormal explanation to the old man's foresight as opposed to a pseudo-scientific one. Mysticism trumps fake science in most cases of fiction, and the paranormal has been described as "science that we don't understand... yet."
In my rarely humble opinion, the problem with this episode wasn't the direction or acting, but the screenplay itself. I thought the two main actors were terrific, considering the basic lack of compelling dialogue and character development present. As I watch these episodes again for the first time in years and really consider them, I'm finding myself less and less impressed with Serling's material. (I only hope that some Serling devotee doesn't toss a brick through my window for that comment.) My hands-down favorite episode so far was from a Beaumont script. Still, it's early in the game; Serling hasn't even been on camera yet!
After the show's first week of absence (probably for a holiday special), this episode aired on Christmas day, 1959. While not explicitly seasonally themed, I couldn't ignore the element of gift giving and the score that plays throughout that seems to take something from God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. Something else that occurred to me was that the bar in the first scene was the same set from the previous episode, with a few cosmetic changes. I'm sure we'll be noticing a lot more reused sets going forward.
That wraps it up for 1959! It's been a blast watching The Twilight Zone week-by-week, "the way it was meant to be seen." Enjoy SyFy's New Year's Marathon, and join me next week as we boldly step into the 1960's!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Episode 11 – And When The Sky Was Opened
Original Airdate: December 11, 1959
Plot: An astronaut just returned from space is nearly driven mad when all traces and memories of his fellow astronaut seem to vanish. Soon he follows suit.
Rod Taylor really carries this piece on his shoulders. His delivery and expressions seem genuine in his given situation, sullied only briefly when he walks directly through a plate-glass door with very little effort and no negative side effects. Who could have guessed that within four years he would play the leading man in both The Time Machine and Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. At 80, he still gets in front of the camera on occasion, most recently playing Winston Churchill in Inglourious Basterds. He was also a recurring character in Walker, Texas Ranger, a show which really deserves its own blog...
One effect that didn't go over well was where Taylor is supposed to be looking in a mirror but not seeing his reflection. It probably looked fine on television sets which overscan so that not all of the sides are visible, but I watched it on my computer which displays all of the data on the disc, so I could clearly see part of his arm in the frame. A sloppy mistake that probably went unnoticed until long after the set was torn down and the actors had departed. Time to call in George Lucas for a digital touch-up.
Hands down my favorite episode title. "And When The Sky Was Opened": it's so elusive, like a phrase plucked from the middle of a sentence. What happened then, and what happened before? That's really the questions you're left with after watching this episode, and at first I felt cheated. No explanation for the disappearance of the three astronauts is offered or even hinted at. In the beginning it's mentioned that they seemed to have disappeared for 24 hours prior to their crash landing on Earth; that, too, is never touched on again. Serling's reasoning was that the rest of the story was so spooky that any ending tacked-on would have been overshadowed. I disagreed until I read what Zicree had to say about it in The Twilight Zone Companion:
"... the episode was made in a different era. We know that when astronauts go into space they don't cease to exist – we've done it. But when Serling wrote the script, no one could be certain what would happen when men first ventured into space. In his script, he was trying to capture that dread of the unknown..."
That was my error: I forgot to consider the Zeitgeist. In a show packed with dialing for the operator, 30 cent beers, sending telegrams, and smoking cigarettes, I forgot that this was a decade before manned space exploration. Much like last week's episode, the spirit of the time plays a large part in being able to relate to the material.
Sometimes when I'm reading The Twilight Zone Companion I feel like I'm back in an English class, with Zicree telling me exactly what to think about each installment. Unlike the bulk of my English classes, though, I never have to shake my fist at him, arguing that not every story is a parable for the life of Jesus. Do they just hand out English degrees?
Back to the point, considering that space travel probably seemed like a pipe dream to 1959 audiences, I see how the ending works now. Taylor's euphoric expression just prior to his disappearance makes me think of a sublimation into heaven, or nirvana. Still, I would have solidified the idea with an extra line, something like, "I see it now. We were never meant to leave the Earth. This is our place; this is!" But alas, I'm not the writer.
Yet.
Plot: An astronaut just returned from space is nearly driven mad when all traces and memories of his fellow astronaut seem to vanish. Soon he follows suit.
Rod Taylor really carries this piece on his shoulders. His delivery and expressions seem genuine in his given situation, sullied only briefly when he walks directly through a plate-glass door with very little effort and no negative side effects. Who could have guessed that within four years he would play the leading man in both The Time Machine and Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. At 80, he still gets in front of the camera on occasion, most recently playing Winston Churchill in Inglourious Basterds. He was also a recurring character in Walker, Texas Ranger, a show which really deserves its own blog...
One effect that didn't go over well was where Taylor is supposed to be looking in a mirror but not seeing his reflection. It probably looked fine on television sets which overscan so that not all of the sides are visible, but I watched it on my computer which displays all of the data on the disc, so I could clearly see part of his arm in the frame. A sloppy mistake that probably went unnoticed until long after the set was torn down and the actors had departed. Time to call in George Lucas for a digital touch-up.
Hands down my favorite episode title. "And When The Sky Was Opened": it's so elusive, like a phrase plucked from the middle of a sentence. What happened then, and what happened before? That's really the questions you're left with after watching this episode, and at first I felt cheated. No explanation for the disappearance of the three astronauts is offered or even hinted at. In the beginning it's mentioned that they seemed to have disappeared for 24 hours prior to their crash landing on Earth; that, too, is never touched on again. Serling's reasoning was that the rest of the story was so spooky that any ending tacked-on would have been overshadowed. I disagreed until I read what Zicree had to say about it in The Twilight Zone Companion:
"... the episode was made in a different era. We know that when astronauts go into space they don't cease to exist – we've done it. But when Serling wrote the script, no one could be certain what would happen when men first ventured into space. In his script, he was trying to capture that dread of the unknown..."
That was my error: I forgot to consider the Zeitgeist. In a show packed with dialing for the operator, 30 cent beers, sending telegrams, and smoking cigarettes, I forgot that this was a decade before manned space exploration. Much like last week's episode, the spirit of the time plays a large part in being able to relate to the material.
Sometimes when I'm reading The Twilight Zone Companion I feel like I'm back in an English class, with Zicree telling me exactly what to think about each installment. Unlike the bulk of my English classes, though, I never have to shake my fist at him, arguing that not every story is a parable for the life of Jesus. Do they just hand out English degrees?
Back to the point, considering that space travel probably seemed like a pipe dream to 1959 audiences, I see how the ending works now. Taylor's euphoric expression just prior to his disappearance makes me think of a sublimation into heaven, or nirvana. Still, I would have solidified the idea with an extra line, something like, "I see it now. We were never meant to leave the Earth. This is our place; this is!" But alas, I'm not the writer.
Yet.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Episode 10 – Judgment Night
Episode 10 – Judgment Night
Original Airdate: December 4, 1959
Plot: An amnesiac German on a British steamship in 1942 tries to remember who he is and why he's so sure that the ship is doomed. Helpless, he realizes that the ship is about to be sunk – by the U-boat that he commands!
I try my best not to read anything about the episodes before I watch them. Not The Twilight Zone Companion, not the back of the DVD, nothing. Many of the episodes I've seen, but in my early teen years and my memory's crap. I feel this is the most authentic way to watch, because viewers in 1959 would have gone into the show with little clue what it was about. As such, I found the beginning of this episode exasperating: who is this guy? Why's he so nervous? Does he know the other characters? As I got into it, though, I realized that was the point. Tension builds in the viewer because he/she is just as out of the loop as Lanser (the German.) It's to Serling's credit as a writer that he didn't start out with Lanser running along the deck shouting, "where am I?!"
The best part of the episode is the spectacle of it. The exteriors are a convincing steamship with a rolling fog and very noir lighting. I kept thinking that it looked too high-budget for a TV show, and the Companion confirmed that the set was constructed for the film The Wreck of the Mary Deare. Stock footage of an actual submarine crew in action was used to emphasize the U-boat near the end and is pretty effective, though the cinematically-minded will notice that the film speed on that footage doesn't match the rest of the episode flawlessly.
I can't say that I agree with the episode's message. Lanser's subordinate comes to him and expresses remorse for the lives extinguished on the steamship, but Lanser is heartless on the matter. I'm not familiar with maritime codes of conduct in wartime, but isn't sinking ships exactly what they got on the U-boat to do? The ship had been part of a convoy at one point but was carrying civilians, as well as people involved with the war effort aboard. Was the point in sinking the ship to take away a ship from the enemy, or to kill potentially threatening people? Sure, killing people is wrong, but they were fighting a war. Maybe thinking objectively about WWII was beyond the purview of 1959 audiences... or perhaps there's some deeper meaning in my siding with the villain.
Original Airdate: December 4, 1959
Plot: An amnesiac German on a British steamship in 1942 tries to remember who he is and why he's so sure that the ship is doomed. Helpless, he realizes that the ship is about to be sunk – by the U-boat that he commands!
I try my best not to read anything about the episodes before I watch them. Not The Twilight Zone Companion, not the back of the DVD, nothing. Many of the episodes I've seen, but in my early teen years and my memory's crap. I feel this is the most authentic way to watch, because viewers in 1959 would have gone into the show with little clue what it was about. As such, I found the beginning of this episode exasperating: who is this guy? Why's he so nervous? Does he know the other characters? As I got into it, though, I realized that was the point. Tension builds in the viewer because he/she is just as out of the loop as Lanser (the German.) It's to Serling's credit as a writer that he didn't start out with Lanser running along the deck shouting, "where am I?!"
The best part of the episode is the spectacle of it. The exteriors are a convincing steamship with a rolling fog and very noir lighting. I kept thinking that it looked too high-budget for a TV show, and the Companion confirmed that the set was constructed for the film The Wreck of the Mary Deare. Stock footage of an actual submarine crew in action was used to emphasize the U-boat near the end and is pretty effective, though the cinematically-minded will notice that the film speed on that footage doesn't match the rest of the episode flawlessly.
I can't say that I agree with the episode's message. Lanser's subordinate comes to him and expresses remorse for the lives extinguished on the steamship, but Lanser is heartless on the matter. I'm not familiar with maritime codes of conduct in wartime, but isn't sinking ships exactly what they got on the U-boat to do? The ship had been part of a convoy at one point but was carrying civilians, as well as people involved with the war effort aboard. Was the point in sinking the ship to take away a ship from the enemy, or to kill potentially threatening people? Sure, killing people is wrong, but they were fighting a war. Maybe thinking objectively about WWII was beyond the purview of 1959 audiences... or perhaps there's some deeper meaning in my siding with the villain.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Episode 9 – Perchance to Dream
Episode 9 – Perchance to Dream
Original Airdate: November 27, 1959
Plot: A man goes to see a psychologist because he fears that a recurring dream will kill him. After explaining his complex tale, it does just that.
Usually I try to sum up an episode from start to finish in two or three sentences, often revealing the twist ending because that's the part of the story that reminds people which episode it is. For Perchance to Dream, I just couldn't do it. There is so much story packed into these 24 minutes, multiple twists, and not a second to grow bored. Incidentally this was the first episode to not be written by Serling, and my favorite so far. Charles Beaumont adapted this script from a short story he wrote that was originally published in Playboy magazine of all places. Do they still put original fiction in Playboy? I was aware that there were words in there, I just don't know what they say.
We're introduced to a man named Ed Hall who has an overactive imagination and a heart condition. He's supposed to avoid overexerting himself, because the next big shock could be his last. The acting is superb – he's clearly mentally distressed and weary. The plot unfolds quickly but in a way that keeps you hanging on every word. There's a logical buildup as the stakes grow ever higher – transitioning from a childhood story to a paranoia-induced car accident to the unsettling amusement park dream sequence.
The dream sequence is one of the most true-to-life I've ever seen. This is exactly how (my) dreams (at least) play out: there's something resembling a story but it's pieced together by sudden turns that come out of left field, and the tone changes frequently.
Ed's having a fine time at the amusement park, then watches a performance by the sultry "Maya The Cat Girl" (starting to understand the Playboy connection), who suddenly takes an interest in him. We start to think it's going to be "one of those" kinds of dreams, but the tone shifts and now Maya is sinister, bent on Ed's destruction, and he no longer has the will to free himself. Back in the psychologist's office, Ed explains that the next time he goes to sleep he'll reenter the dream, and the shock will be too much for his weak heart.
Now the twists start screwing in. The psychologist's secretary is revealed to be the spitting image of Maya, causing Ed to leap out a window, something that was alluded to earlier. Finally we skip back in time to see that the entire psychological consultation was a dream, and that Ed fell asleep as soon as he entered the office.
It's a great use of a cliched ending, but there's another twist – the secretary really does look like Maya. We're left to wonder if Ed saw her on his way into the office and dreamed of her, or if there's an element of precognition to the story, and also how much of the dream story that killed Ed was solely a part of that specific dream. It's a great episode for people who like to over-analyze things.
As of this writing the full episode can be found on Hulu; I'd recommend this above all the others so far.
Original Airdate: November 27, 1959
Plot: A man goes to see a psychologist because he fears that a recurring dream will kill him. After explaining his complex tale, it does just that.
Usually I try to sum up an episode from start to finish in two or three sentences, often revealing the twist ending because that's the part of the story that reminds people which episode it is. For Perchance to Dream, I just couldn't do it. There is so much story packed into these 24 minutes, multiple twists, and not a second to grow bored. Incidentally this was the first episode to not be written by Serling, and my favorite so far. Charles Beaumont adapted this script from a short story he wrote that was originally published in Playboy magazine of all places. Do they still put original fiction in Playboy? I was aware that there were words in there, I just don't know what they say.
We're introduced to a man named Ed Hall who has an overactive imagination and a heart condition. He's supposed to avoid overexerting himself, because the next big shock could be his last. The acting is superb – he's clearly mentally distressed and weary. The plot unfolds quickly but in a way that keeps you hanging on every word. There's a logical buildup as the stakes grow ever higher – transitioning from a childhood story to a paranoia-induced car accident to the unsettling amusement park dream sequence.
The dream sequence is one of the most true-to-life I've ever seen. This is exactly how (my) dreams (at least) play out: there's something resembling a story but it's pieced together by sudden turns that come out of left field, and the tone changes frequently.
Ed's having a fine time at the amusement park, then watches a performance by the sultry "Maya The Cat Girl" (starting to understand the Playboy connection), who suddenly takes an interest in him. We start to think it's going to be "one of those" kinds of dreams, but the tone shifts and now Maya is sinister, bent on Ed's destruction, and he no longer has the will to free himself. Back in the psychologist's office, Ed explains that the next time he goes to sleep he'll reenter the dream, and the shock will be too much for his weak heart.
Now the twists start screwing in. The psychologist's secretary is revealed to be the spitting image of Maya, causing Ed to leap out a window, something that was alluded to earlier. Finally we skip back in time to see that the entire psychological consultation was a dream, and that Ed fell asleep as soon as he entered the office.
It's a great use of a cliched ending, but there's another twist – the secretary really does look like Maya. We're left to wonder if Ed saw her on his way into the office and dreamed of her, or if there's an element of precognition to the story, and also how much of the dream story that killed Ed was solely a part of that specific dream. It's a great episode for people who like to over-analyze things.
As of this writing the full episode can be found on Hulu; I'd recommend this above all the others so far.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Episode 8 - Time Enough at Last
Episode 8 - Time Enough at Last
Original Airdate: November 20, 1959
Plot: An avid reader wishes for less distractions from his books. His wish is granted in the form of a hydrogen bomb that leaves just him and a whole lot of books, which he can't read because he's just broken his glasses.
I'm sure we're all familiar with this episode. Along with "To Serve Man" and "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," this is one of the episodes that became insanely popular and is continually referenced in pop culture to this day. The bulk of the episode consists of our bookworm, Henry Bemis, walking around a bombed-out cityscape in near-silence. Bemis is a pathetic-looking creature himself so the image is stark, and in a rare change of pace, Serling does voice-over narration in the middle of the piece, not just bookending the tale. Of course Serling saves the most eloquent lines for himself, or rather his narrator persona, but the episode seemed to drag for me prior to Bemis's discovery of the destroyed library. Somehow the books survived when the structure itself failed, and never mind the ramifications of nuclear fallout, but this is a fantasy story, after all.
Bemis is played by Burgess Meredith, who most of you will recall as Mick from Rocky, but I associate primarily as The Penguin from the Adam West Batman show. He's a character actor in the truest sense. Bemis is an introverted man, bordering on autistic, who can't get his nose out of his reading material when he's introduced. His reading addiction reminded me of so many that I know who are unable to be in a room for any significant amount of time without turning on a TV. While he is an extreme example of humanity, I can't say that I care for the character: many of his reactions, particularly upon discovering that everyone else is dead, are completely illogical. It's a problem that also plagues the character of his wife, who looks like she's about to crack up laughing while being cruel and malicious.
While the ending is famously ironic, I didn't feel that Bemis got his "just desserts." His reading addiction never really came off as a character flaw, since he never really got to do it so much. I'd say that the stronger message of Time Enough at Last is one of nuclear paranoia. Mankind now possessed the power to unmake the world, and ignoring that fact wouldn't make you safe.
Consider it a call to action, a rallying cry, radiating out of The Twilight Zone.
Original Airdate: November 20, 1959
Plot: An avid reader wishes for less distractions from his books. His wish is granted in the form of a hydrogen bomb that leaves just him and a whole lot of books, which he can't read because he's just broken his glasses.
I'm sure we're all familiar with this episode. Along with "To Serve Man" and "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," this is one of the episodes that became insanely popular and is continually referenced in pop culture to this day. The bulk of the episode consists of our bookworm, Henry Bemis, walking around a bombed-out cityscape in near-silence. Bemis is a pathetic-looking creature himself so the image is stark, and in a rare change of pace, Serling does voice-over narration in the middle of the piece, not just bookending the tale. Of course Serling saves the most eloquent lines for himself, or rather his narrator persona, but the episode seemed to drag for me prior to Bemis's discovery of the destroyed library. Somehow the books survived when the structure itself failed, and never mind the ramifications of nuclear fallout, but this is a fantasy story, after all.
Bemis is played by Burgess Meredith, who most of you will recall as Mick from Rocky, but I associate primarily as The Penguin from the Adam West Batman show. He's a character actor in the truest sense. Bemis is an introverted man, bordering on autistic, who can't get his nose out of his reading material when he's introduced. His reading addiction reminded me of so many that I know who are unable to be in a room for any significant amount of time without turning on a TV. While he is an extreme example of humanity, I can't say that I care for the character: many of his reactions, particularly upon discovering that everyone else is dead, are completely illogical. It's a problem that also plagues the character of his wife, who looks like she's about to crack up laughing while being cruel and malicious.
While the ending is famously ironic, I didn't feel that Bemis got his "just desserts." His reading addiction never really came off as a character flaw, since he never really got to do it so much. I'd say that the stronger message of Time Enough at Last is one of nuclear paranoia. Mankind now possessed the power to unmake the world, and ignoring that fact wouldn't make you safe.
Consider it a call to action, a rallying cry, radiating out of The Twilight Zone.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Episode 7 – The Lonely
Episode 7 – The Lonely
Original Airdate: November 13, 1959
Plot: A convict, sentenced to isolation on an asteroid, grows attached to the lifelike female robot that keeps him company. When he's cleared of charges and must leave the robot behind he fights it vehemently, and has to be reminded that it's "only a robot."
What a powerful episode.
Shot in Death Valley, the exterior shots on the "asteroid" caused numerous crew members to pass out from the heat. Reportedly it got up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit, forcing the crew to reconstruct the metal shed's interior on a sound stage rather than in the field as had originally been planned.
Serling revisits the theme of isolation and the human need for companionship that constituted the whole of the pilot episode, but here it's just the jumping-off point for a slew of philosophical questions: what constitutes "life?" What makes us value human life above other forms of life? If something makes you happy, does it mater if it's genuine or not?
The robot, Alicia, is capable of learning and shows concern for the convict. Superficially, she's an attractive human woman. When the convict insults her, she even cries. So how is she different from a human? "Well," one might argue, "she isn't experiencing actual emotion. She's reacting to her programming."
Isn't that what we all do?
Hard drive and wires, brain and synapses... we're all just organic robots that feel like we serve some greater purpose. Is it any surprise that the convict shows only mild concern for his robot after seeing her clockwork insides? Why then does it perturb us so when we witness human death? Is it just sympathy, or do we feel the need to protect our own kind? Is that a part of our programming?
Original Airdate: November 13, 1959
Plot: A convict, sentenced to isolation on an asteroid, grows attached to the lifelike female robot that keeps him company. When he's cleared of charges and must leave the robot behind he fights it vehemently, and has to be reminded that it's "only a robot."
What a powerful episode.
Shot in Death Valley, the exterior shots on the "asteroid" caused numerous crew members to pass out from the heat. Reportedly it got up to 140 degrees Fahrenheit, forcing the crew to reconstruct the metal shed's interior on a sound stage rather than in the field as had originally been planned.
Serling revisits the theme of isolation and the human need for companionship that constituted the whole of the pilot episode, but here it's just the jumping-off point for a slew of philosophical questions: what constitutes "life?" What makes us value human life above other forms of life? If something makes you happy, does it mater if it's genuine or not?
The robot, Alicia, is capable of learning and shows concern for the convict. Superficially, she's an attractive human woman. When the convict insults her, she even cries. So how is she different from a human? "Well," one might argue, "she isn't experiencing actual emotion. She's reacting to her programming."
Isn't that what we all do?
Hard drive and wires, brain and synapses... we're all just organic robots that feel like we serve some greater purpose. Is it any surprise that the convict shows only mild concern for his robot after seeing her clockwork insides? Why then does it perturb us so when we witness human death? Is it just sympathy, or do we feel the need to protect our own kind? Is that a part of our programming?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Episode 6 – Escape Clause
Episode 6 – Escape Clause
Original Airdate: November 6, 1959
Plot: A hypochondriac makes a deal with the devil to ensure his safety and immortality. Acting irrationally, he is sentenced to life in prison whereupon he gratefully invokes his escape clause – death.
Not a tremendous episode, but not bad. The Twilight Zone Companion has little to say about it, save for the fact that it was really just "par for the course." The thing I like about Serling's dialogue (actually, by and large it's monologue) is that even when he's telling you an absurd story, you still find yourself drawn in by the clever wording and syntax. I say absurd because none of this story comes across as believable. Even when I'm writing my most outlandish tales, I always strive to inject the action with realistic characters who behave as people do. "Escape Clause" is a pair of stock characters and a doting wife who should really have gotten herself on match.com. I say this because throughout the episode I kept wondering why she would stay with a obviously crazy, disaffected man. But I had to ask myself: don't we all do this? Haven't we all made excuses for our loved ones, and loved unconditionally? So I can make an excuse for the wife character, but there is no way I can explain her husband's utter boredom at her demise. I should like to see the original script for this episode, to read Serling's description of the main character's reaction.
While I didn't care for the acting in this episode (the Devil character was about as menacing as a side of french fries), I was impressed with the long takes and some of the blocking. The scene where the Devil first appears was particularly well done, with characters moving about the room, being shown in the mirror, and acting for long stretches without fail.
Original Airdate: November 6, 1959
Plot: A hypochondriac makes a deal with the devil to ensure his safety and immortality. Acting irrationally, he is sentenced to life in prison whereupon he gratefully invokes his escape clause – death.
Not a tremendous episode, but not bad. The Twilight Zone Companion has little to say about it, save for the fact that it was really just "par for the course." The thing I like about Serling's dialogue (actually, by and large it's monologue) is that even when he's telling you an absurd story, you still find yourself drawn in by the clever wording and syntax. I say absurd because none of this story comes across as believable. Even when I'm writing my most outlandish tales, I always strive to inject the action with realistic characters who behave as people do. "Escape Clause" is a pair of stock characters and a doting wife who should really have gotten herself on match.com. I say this because throughout the episode I kept wondering why she would stay with a obviously crazy, disaffected man. But I had to ask myself: don't we all do this? Haven't we all made excuses for our loved ones, and loved unconditionally? So I can make an excuse for the wife character, but there is no way I can explain her husband's utter boredom at her demise. I should like to see the original script for this episode, to read Serling's description of the main character's reaction.
While I didn't care for the acting in this episode (the Devil character was about as menacing as a side of french fries), I was impressed with the long takes and some of the blocking. The scene where the Devil first appears was particularly well done, with characters moving about the room, being shown in the mirror, and acting for long stretches without fail.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Episode 5 - Walking Distance
Episode 5 - Walking Distance
Original Airdate: October 30, 1959
Plot: A businessman stops at a gas station and realizes he's not far from his hometown. While his car is worked on he takes a stroll into his own past, accidentally breaking his younger self's leg and giving himself a limp in the process.
A relatively simple tale, the entire premise seems to built upon the phrase, "you can't go home again." The protagonist attempts to enjoy the things about his childhood that he enjoyed at that time, but they're in the past now and that is no longer his life to live. It's more of a parable than an actual story, but it gets the point across. Our memories are a reflection of who we were at the time, but no place remains the same.
According to The Twilight Zone Companion, the script was a hard sell. The vice-president of CBS had read the pilot script and ok-ed it on the grounds that because the bulk of the story happened in the protagonist's head, it was feasible. Here he was presented with a tale that was entirely fantasy, in which change occurred in the real world due to supernatural phenomena. This just wasn't done on television at the time. Fantasy belonged in comics and pulp magazines; a mainstream audience for fantastic stories had never been given the chance to announce itself. It took the producers many hours of meetings, but they managed to get the script approved.
This just seems ludicrous to me. Aside from comedy, there is very little entertainment that I care for that doesn't contain elements of the impossible, and I'm sure much of my generation feels the same. It's the same story of old, out-of-touch men dictating what is presented for public consumption. It makes you wonder how many truly great stories are never told because they fall on blind eyes and deaf ears.
Watching this forced me to consider how I recall my own childhood. One thing is for sure: if The Twilight Zone had been airing in prime time when I was a kid, I would have watched it at that time. I can't tell you how hard it is for me to watch anything when it airs, rather than recording it, downloading it, or pulling it up online. Hey, look at that, I just missed South Park. Ah well, I'll catch it tomorrow. I've been trying to watch these Twilight Zone episodes on the day they originally aired, but I don't think I've managed it once! Perhaps one day, when I have a family, I'll once more watch television as it happens, if conventional television broadcasting still exists then. I stand amazed at the future I've grown into. We are living in a sci-fi story.
Original Airdate: October 30, 1959
Plot: A businessman stops at a gas station and realizes he's not far from his hometown. While his car is worked on he takes a stroll into his own past, accidentally breaking his younger self's leg and giving himself a limp in the process.
A relatively simple tale, the entire premise seems to built upon the phrase, "you can't go home again." The protagonist attempts to enjoy the things about his childhood that he enjoyed at that time, but they're in the past now and that is no longer his life to live. It's more of a parable than an actual story, but it gets the point across. Our memories are a reflection of who we were at the time, but no place remains the same.
According to The Twilight Zone Companion, the script was a hard sell. The vice-president of CBS had read the pilot script and ok-ed it on the grounds that because the bulk of the story happened in the protagonist's head, it was feasible. Here he was presented with a tale that was entirely fantasy, in which change occurred in the real world due to supernatural phenomena. This just wasn't done on television at the time. Fantasy belonged in comics and pulp magazines; a mainstream audience for fantastic stories had never been given the chance to announce itself. It took the producers many hours of meetings, but they managed to get the script approved.
This just seems ludicrous to me. Aside from comedy, there is very little entertainment that I care for that doesn't contain elements of the impossible, and I'm sure much of my generation feels the same. It's the same story of old, out-of-touch men dictating what is presented for public consumption. It makes you wonder how many truly great stories are never told because they fall on blind eyes and deaf ears.
Watching this forced me to consider how I recall my own childhood. One thing is for sure: if The Twilight Zone had been airing in prime time when I was a kid, I would have watched it at that time. I can't tell you how hard it is for me to watch anything when it airs, rather than recording it, downloading it, or pulling it up online. Hey, look at that, I just missed South Park. Ah well, I'll catch it tomorrow. I've been trying to watch these Twilight Zone episodes on the day they originally aired, but I don't think I've managed it once! Perhaps one day, when I have a family, I'll once more watch television as it happens, if conventional television broadcasting still exists then. I stand amazed at the future I've grown into. We are living in a sci-fi story.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Episode 4 - The Sixteen-Millimeter Shrine
Episode 4 - The Sixteen-Millimeter Shrine
Original Airdate: October 23, 1959
Plot: A movie actress, twenty-five years past her prime, can't let go of the past and spends each day rewatching her old films. Her agent attempts to get her work, but she's too vain to accept anything except a leading role. Finally she wishes so hard to be back on the silver screen that she is transported into a new film - one where she and her costars remain ageless forever.
I was surprised to see a female lead in a show made in the 50's. I became less surprised as I found out that she wasn't a strong character, but a half-crazed shrew. The episode is reminiscent of Sunset Boulevard and probably inspired by it. In an odd coincidence, just today I typed up a story that had similar elements: a former star dealing with being out of the limelight. I'm fairly certain I've never seen this episode.
For an episode that expounds on the dangers of dwelling on the past and not living in the moment, the conclusion is a complete 180: you can live in the past, and you can be young forever. Perhaps it's not the moral I thought we were going to get, but it did send us off with a beautiful musical score and a smile.
An effect I enjoyed (and who knows if this was intentional) was the contrast between the darkness of the viewing room and well-lit other locations. Time almost stops in a movie theatre; as you're transported to a different time and place it's like you cease to exist. And no one can see the finer indications of age in the dark: sagging skin, wrinkles. But in the light, time marches on. It's no surprise, then, that our leading lady rarely leaves her projection room.
Original Airdate: October 23, 1959
Plot: A movie actress, twenty-five years past her prime, can't let go of the past and spends each day rewatching her old films. Her agent attempts to get her work, but she's too vain to accept anything except a leading role. Finally she wishes so hard to be back on the silver screen that she is transported into a new film - one where she and her costars remain ageless forever.
I was surprised to see a female lead in a show made in the 50's. I became less surprised as I found out that she wasn't a strong character, but a half-crazed shrew. The episode is reminiscent of Sunset Boulevard and probably inspired by it. In an odd coincidence, just today I typed up a story that had similar elements: a former star dealing with being out of the limelight. I'm fairly certain I've never seen this episode.
For an episode that expounds on the dangers of dwelling on the past and not living in the moment, the conclusion is a complete 180: you can live in the past, and you can be young forever. Perhaps it's not the moral I thought we were going to get, but it did send us off with a beautiful musical score and a smile.
An effect I enjoyed (and who knows if this was intentional) was the contrast between the darkness of the viewing room and well-lit other locations. Time almost stops in a movie theatre; as you're transported to a different time and place it's like you cease to exist. And no one can see the finer indications of age in the dark: sagging skin, wrinkles. But in the light, time marches on. It's no surprise, then, that our leading lady rarely leaves her projection room.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Episode 3 – Mr. Denton on Doomsday
Episode 3 – Mr. Denton on Doomsday
Original Airdate: October 16, 1959
Plot: A drunken, washed-up gunslinger rediscovers his self respect after a few seemingly lucky shots bring him notoriety once more. This works against him though, as he is challenged to a shootout and fears reentering the life of violence he once knew. He takes a magic potion that ensures him perfect aim, only to find out that his challenger has taken the same potion.
A fairly entertaining episode, but not what I expected. Mr. Denton is initially an alcoholic, so I thought this would be an anti-drinking story, but Denton sobers up quickly. I was left wondering in which direction this would go. There was the mysterious traveling merchant, Henry Fate... what was he planning? Eventually we see that Fate intends to give Denton his life back, while taking away his quick draw abilities so his existence can be a peaceful one. In the process a young gunslinger is also robbed (or freed, rather) of his shooting hand, and thus his life is saved. This, in some twisted way, exonerates Denton of the guilt of killing a minor in a shootout, the very event that lead him to begin drinking in the first place. The moral we're left with, I think, is that... violence is bad.
Well, what it lacks in psychological significance, it makes up for in memorable visuals and performances. Dan Duryea makes a believable reluctant gunslinger as well as a drunk, though the latter trait washes off of his countenance perhaps a little too swiftly. Also look for a young Martin Landau as a bully and a jerk.
Definitely fun to watch, though the underlying message becomes overshadowed by our curiosity at the nature of the supernatural elements of the story. Coming hot off the heels of episode two, I was disappointed to see, once more, both a mobile salesman as well as a personified idea (Fate) – this time in the same character. This could probably have been remedied by swapping this episode with another, but since this idea-person plays the role of aid instead of antagonist, I'll let it slide. Still, Henry "Fate" is just a little on-the-nose. How about a different name, like Justice or Lesson? Just an idea... fifty years too late.
Original Airdate: October 16, 1959
Plot: A drunken, washed-up gunslinger rediscovers his self respect after a few seemingly lucky shots bring him notoriety once more. This works against him though, as he is challenged to a shootout and fears reentering the life of violence he once knew. He takes a magic potion that ensures him perfect aim, only to find out that his challenger has taken the same potion.
A fairly entertaining episode, but not what I expected. Mr. Denton is initially an alcoholic, so I thought this would be an anti-drinking story, but Denton sobers up quickly. I was left wondering in which direction this would go. There was the mysterious traveling merchant, Henry Fate... what was he planning? Eventually we see that Fate intends to give Denton his life back, while taking away his quick draw abilities so his existence can be a peaceful one. In the process a young gunslinger is also robbed (or freed, rather) of his shooting hand, and thus his life is saved. This, in some twisted way, exonerates Denton of the guilt of killing a minor in a shootout, the very event that lead him to begin drinking in the first place. The moral we're left with, I think, is that... violence is bad.
Well, what it lacks in psychological significance, it makes up for in memorable visuals and performances. Dan Duryea makes a believable reluctant gunslinger as well as a drunk, though the latter trait washes off of his countenance perhaps a little too swiftly. Also look for a young Martin Landau as a bully and a jerk.
Definitely fun to watch, though the underlying message becomes overshadowed by our curiosity at the nature of the supernatural elements of the story. Coming hot off the heels of episode two, I was disappointed to see, once more, both a mobile salesman as well as a personified idea (Fate) – this time in the same character. This could probably have been remedied by swapping this episode with another, but since this idea-person plays the role of aid instead of antagonist, I'll let it slide. Still, Henry "Fate" is just a little on-the-nose. How about a different name, like Justice or Lesson? Just an idea... fifty years too late.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Episode 2 - One for the Angels
Episode 2 - One for the Angels
Original Airdate: October 9, 1959
Plot: A sidewalk salesman of trinkets tries to avoid a personified death, but in doing so endangers the life of a little girl. In order to save her life, he must keep Death too enthralled in a sales pitch to claim the girl's life.
It sounds like a weak plot because it is. There's always that episode of a show that is always on when you try to catch the show on TV, and for The Twilight Zone, this is the one for me. The plot is ridiculous: are we supposed to see "pitchman" as a noble profession? I've never liked salespeople, and I think it's a testament to the failings of capitalism that we have people to convince us to buy things we don't need or at least want of our own accord.
The performances leave a lot to be desired. The salesman never seems alarmed by anything. "Oh, there's a strange man in my house. How do you do sir?" A lot of the actors on The Twilight Zone were established personalities; the actor in question is Ed Wynn, who even had his own show in the ten years before and went on to appear in Mary Poppins. Granted, the script isn't much to work with, but he's not even believable as a salesman. He's just monotone, disconnected, and awkward-sounding.
I can't blame the Death character too much for his performance. Death in this episode is a thin man in a suit who alternates between being absolutely immovable and a total pushover. What we have is a personification of an idea without any of the trappings of a person. Finally he is defeated because he can't resist a good deal on a tie. It's a miracle that anyone has to die when Death's on the job.
Perhaps the one saving grace of the episode is the scene in which the salesman is trying to avoid Death while leaving his apartment. He'll lock Death in one room just to find him magically in the next. It's a simple effect, but the movements of the camera make Death pop onscreen at that critical moment, and the whimsical score gives it a Looney Toons feel.
Altogether rather poor showing for The Twilight Zone's second airing, and something of a disappointment. Chin up, though, it's mostly uphill from here.
Original Airdate: October 9, 1959
Plot: A sidewalk salesman of trinkets tries to avoid a personified death, but in doing so endangers the life of a little girl. In order to save her life, he must keep Death too enthralled in a sales pitch to claim the girl's life.
It sounds like a weak plot because it is. There's always that episode of a show that is always on when you try to catch the show on TV, and for The Twilight Zone, this is the one for me. The plot is ridiculous: are we supposed to see "pitchman" as a noble profession? I've never liked salespeople, and I think it's a testament to the failings of capitalism that we have people to convince us to buy things we don't need or at least want of our own accord.
The performances leave a lot to be desired. The salesman never seems alarmed by anything. "Oh, there's a strange man in my house. How do you do sir?" A lot of the actors on The Twilight Zone were established personalities; the actor in question is Ed Wynn, who even had his own show in the ten years before and went on to appear in Mary Poppins. Granted, the script isn't much to work with, but he's not even believable as a salesman. He's just monotone, disconnected, and awkward-sounding.
I can't blame the Death character too much for his performance. Death in this episode is a thin man in a suit who alternates between being absolutely immovable and a total pushover. What we have is a personification of an idea without any of the trappings of a person. Finally he is defeated because he can't resist a good deal on a tie. It's a miracle that anyone has to die when Death's on the job.
Perhaps the one saving grace of the episode is the scene in which the salesman is trying to avoid Death while leaving his apartment. He'll lock Death in one room just to find him magically in the next. It's a simple effect, but the movements of the camera make Death pop onscreen at that critical moment, and the whimsical score gives it a Looney Toons feel.
Altogether rather poor showing for The Twilight Zone's second airing, and something of a disappointment. Chin up, though, it's mostly uphill from here.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Episode 1 – Where is Everybody?
Season One
Episode 1 – Where is Everybody?
Original Airdate: October 2, 1959
Plot: An amnesiac wanders through a deserted town, trying to piece together who he is and where everyone has gone. He grows increasingly paranoid and eventually breaks down – at which point Air Force officials pull the plug on what is revealed to be an experiment in isolation in preparation for manned exploration of the moon.
"Where is Everybody?" was actually the third script Rod Serling wrote as a pilot for The Twilight Zone. The first, "The Time Element," was made into an episode of Desilu Playhouse. The second, a story about a future society that euthanizes its senior citizens, was deemed too depressing to sell a show to sponsors. Immediately after it was turned down, Serling wrote "Where is Everybody?" a story that he concocted while walking around an empty cityscape on a studio back lot. Reportedly, Serling grew to dislike the episode as the years went on; he cited the protagonist's running monologue as unrealistic and thought the ending was too straightforward. When the episode was shown before sponsors, Serling was not the narrator. A fill-in was selected while the studio decided who to cast. Orson Welles was considered, but demanded too much money. Eventually (thankfully), Serling was chosen.
The pilot's title card was also quite different. It looked like this:
Instead of the classic that was shown on television:
I think this was the perfect episode to premiere television's most beloved series. I have "The Time Element," and I'll get around to reviewing that too, but "Where is Everybody?" is far and away the superior script. It leaves so much to the imagination that it could possibly be any sort of science fiction story. You can't help but run the scenarios through your head: was the town evacuated for some reason? Were the townspeople abducted by aliens? Did everyone die of disease, causing the survivors to bury them before packing up to leave? And then there are the little hints that someone is operating behind the scenes: a warm pot of coffee left on the stove, a burning cigar. You constantly feel that the protagonist is one step behind some shadowy figure, and he slowly starts to feel that he's being watched. Had The Twilight Zone begun with an alien story or a time travel story, the audience would have expected more of the same the next week. Because there are so many possible scenarios until the matter is resolved at the end, the possibilities for where the show could go next were endless.
Episode 1 – Where is Everybody?
Original Airdate: October 2, 1959
Plot: An amnesiac wanders through a deserted town, trying to piece together who he is and where everyone has gone. He grows increasingly paranoid and eventually breaks down – at which point Air Force officials pull the plug on what is revealed to be an experiment in isolation in preparation for manned exploration of the moon.
"Where is Everybody?" was actually the third script Rod Serling wrote as a pilot for The Twilight Zone. The first, "The Time Element," was made into an episode of Desilu Playhouse. The second, a story about a future society that euthanizes its senior citizens, was deemed too depressing to sell a show to sponsors. Immediately after it was turned down, Serling wrote "Where is Everybody?" a story that he concocted while walking around an empty cityscape on a studio back lot. Reportedly, Serling grew to dislike the episode as the years went on; he cited the protagonist's running monologue as unrealistic and thought the ending was too straightforward. When the episode was shown before sponsors, Serling was not the narrator. A fill-in was selected while the studio decided who to cast. Orson Welles was considered, but demanded too much money. Eventually (thankfully), Serling was chosen.
The pilot's title card was also quite different. It looked like this:
Instead of the classic that was shown on television:
I think this was the perfect episode to premiere television's most beloved series. I have "The Time Element," and I'll get around to reviewing that too, but "Where is Everybody?" is far and away the superior script. It leaves so much to the imagination that it could possibly be any sort of science fiction story. You can't help but run the scenarios through your head: was the town evacuated for some reason? Were the townspeople abducted by aliens? Did everyone die of disease, causing the survivors to bury them before packing up to leave? And then there are the little hints that someone is operating behind the scenes: a warm pot of coffee left on the stove, a burning cigar. You constantly feel that the protagonist is one step behind some shadowy figure, and he slowly starts to feel that he's being watched. Had The Twilight Zone begun with an alien story or a time travel story, the audience would have expected more of the same the next week. Because there are so many possible scenarios until the matter is resolved at the end, the possibilities for where the show could go next were endless.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Prologue
What better way to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of one of the world's most influential televisions shows than by reexamining it in the original viewing order? I'd always planned to go back and watch it from beginning to end; it seemed like the only way to be sure that I'd seen every episode. The Twilight Zone was one of the first non-cartoon, non-sitcom shows that ever drew me in. The stories were so fresh to me – I hadn't yet realized how many times it had been referenced, paid homage to, and blatantly ripped off. It was a subtle blend of science fiction conventions and morality tales, a show that could spark your imagination while making observations on the human condition.
Each week I'll post a short synopsis of the episode as well as a little editorial on what I personally took away from it. I'll be reading along with Marc Scott Zicree's The Twilight Zone Companion in order to better understand themes that might be lost on today's audience – specifics about political situations, for instance. In addition I'll be compiling a database for the unfortunate schmucks like myself who laid out hundreds of dollars on the original DVD releases. The "Definitive Edition" DVDs are supposed to have better picture quality and tons of extras. The first sets have menus that take ages to load, almost no extras, and the episodes aren't in any particular order. My database, when completed, will direct you to which episode is on which disc. No longer will I have to dig through 45 discs to find a specific episode.
As I go along I'll have various other related posts to make as well. So many talented individuals helped bring The Twilight Zone to fruition. There are creators to highlight, actors to single out, adapted stories to compare to their televised versions, and countless related topics to explore. So break out your DVDs, click over to Hulu, set your DVR, and let's watch some Twilight Zone! Please leave your thoughts, comments, and memories before you go.
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