Episode 17 - The Fever

Original Airdate: January 29, 1960

Plot: Franklin Gibbs, a man morally opposed to gambling, grudgingly accompanies his wife to Las Vegas after she wins an all-expenses-paid trip. After winning on his first try, Franklin succumbs to "the fever," imagining himself being chased by a mobile slot machine that calls his name.



According to The Twilight Zone Companion, gambling machines were illegal in California when the episode was shot. The only way the crew was able to dress the casino set was by borrowing confiscated machines from he police impound -- and the machines had to be accompanied by a police officer at all times.

Worst episode ever? Time will tell. We're introduced to Franklin, who seems determined to ruin his wife's vacation by constantly reminding her how amoral gambling is. His wife won the trip due to her "knack with a phrase," a vague reference whose implications we're left to guess at. The moment Franklin wins a small sum on a slot machine, though, he goes from staunch penny pincher to full-blown gambling maniac. His abrupt, absurd 180 reminds me more than a little of Reefer Madness, the 1930's anti-drug propaganda film that had a "good boy" become a murderous, laughing maniac after a few puffs on a joint.



Franklin is haunted by the mechanical voice of a slot machine calling his name, that audible effect being perhaps the one saving grace of the episode. His mania escalates to the point that he visualizes the machine stalking him, and falls through a window to his death. No level of acting or intensity of background music can make up for how head-slapingly bad this is.



Still, my biggest problem with this episode is its flawed ideology. Franklin is a jerk when he's righteous and a psycho when he's addicted. What's the moral here? That there's something despicable about all people? I suppose you could say "take all things in moderation," but that's negated when Franklin instantly becomes an addict, as if moderation isn't an option. It's just a poor episode all around.

Episode 16 - The Hitch-Hiker

Original Airdate: January 22, 1960

Plot: A woman driving cross country becomes increasingly paranoid as she repeatedly sees the same hitch-hiker. She finally stops running when she realizes that she was in a fatal accident, and the hitch-hiker is Death, come to claim her.



Although I've made no apologies for giving away the endings of the episodes in my plot summaries, I always feel a tinge of guilt upon doing so. Lately, though, I have to ask myself, "who doesn't guess every ending five minutes in?" Knowing the nature of the show with its ever-present "twists," I wonder if I'll ever be surprised by it again. I'm not complaining, but the foreshadowing was so thick in this episode that you could spread it with a butter knife. "Fixing your flat comes to $29.43. Cheaper than a funeral, anyway." Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk.

Serling adapted the script from a radio show he'd heard nearly twenty years earlier, in which Orson Welles was the nervous traveler. I personally think the story works much better with a female lead. Maybe I'm overestimating the machismo of the average man, but I feel like most guys would have just stopped the car and questioned the hitch-hiker with clenched fists. With a female, she seems much more prone and her situation comes across as helpless.

Which brings me to the one element that seemed unrealistic in the episode: the reaction of the gas station owner to the protagonist's predicament. She tells him that it's the middle of the night, she's alone, and she's being pursued by a drifter. He couldn't care less. I've heard that you didn't have to lock your doors at night in the 60's and that the world was generally a better place, but who wouldn't help this lovely, distraught woman? Maybe it's my acute case of Bad World Syndrome brought on from watching too much local news, but she could be in serious trouble! Of course, I also thought that the sailor was going to attempt to molest her. Did anyone else feel that to be the subtext of that scene, before she drove him away with her abundant crazy?



Terrific episode in terms of visuals and performances. Most episodes have that one iconic screenshot that everyone remembers, but here nearly every scene is composed masterfully. Into-the-mirror shots, paranoid close-ups, and a startling close encounter with a train keep you uneasy while not overdoing it. The hitch-hiker's dopey smile only enhances his creepy factor. Inger Stevens, the lead, has such a wealth of expressions that she says much when saying nothing, yet somehow also manages to deliver Serling's elongated monologues in a manner that seems genuine – a feat that has proven troublesome for many an actor thus far. I feel confident in saying that her's is the best performance we've seen to date.

Episode 15 - I Shot an Arrow Into the Air

Original Airdate: January 15, 1960

Plot: Three astronauts find themselves stranded on an arid asteroid after their rocket goes off course. The infighting soon starts and only one man is left alive to discover that they've actually landed in Nevada.



There's not a lot to be said about this episode. This production brought the crew back to Death Valley, where their ordeal shooting "The Lonely" had taught them some lessons on the limits of the human body. This time they took more frequent breaks and planned their meals properly.



Another week, another UFO story. For people who had never been to space, they sure liked to talk about it. What we have here is a mishmash of previous stories: similar themes of survival with last week's "Third from the Sun," the backdrop of "The Lonely," and the idea that anything could happen when man attempts to explore the universe that was handled better in "And When the Sky was Opened." The cast come off as amateurs – a captain with exactly one facial expression, the stock villain who proposes letting his fellow astronauts die with his first line, and... that other guy. Whoever he was, he was forgettable. The twist ending – that they're on Earth – can be seen coming a mile away by anyone not in the show. An asteroid with an atmosphere, exactly the same distance from the sun as Earth? Maybe they're astronauts, but they're definitely not rocket scientists. "I Shot an Arrow into the Air" might be more at home among episodes of the original Star Trek; it's just not the quality we've already come to expect from The Twilight Zone.

Episode 14 - Third From The Sun

Original Airdate: January 8, 1960

Plot: In a world on the brink of destruction, two scientists plot to steal an experimental space ship and escape with their families to a habitable world – Earth.



Another episode light on plot and heavy on atmosphere. Like Judgment Night before it, it's a tense build-up to a brief but action-packed conclusion. From the moment that our protagonist punches his time card and lights his cigarette to the late-night standoff with a gun, there's an ever-present feeling of impending doom. The somber, contemplative cast is accentuated by shots that have the camera slightly off level and lighting that is just a hair too dark.



Then we have this shot – through the glass table. The young Colonel Sanders in the center is reaching for a piece of paper which has notes on the pair's planetary escape, but we don't know if he knows what he's picking up. How apropos that from this angle we can also see the poker hands of all of the characters in the scene: everyone's secrets laid bare to our omniscient audience, quietly praying that these scientists can keep up their poker faces long enough for their gamble to pay off.

... it is said that early in The Twilight Zone's original run that sponsors worried that the show was too cerebral for lowest common denominator audiences. If only they could see the sort of sci-fi that hits the air nowadays... they'd probably be backing Jersey Shore.



And now a delightful bit of trivia, the stuff that I always get a kick discovering for myself. The space ship, at the end, both exterior and interior shots? Left over from 1956's Forbidden Planet, a flick that any Twilight Zone fan should appreciate. Why, is that Leslie Nielsen? I believe it is.

Episode 13 - The Four of Us are Dying

Original Airdate: January 1, 1960

Plot: A conman with the supernatural ability to adopt any face he chooses exploits his powers for personal gain.



The first episode of the turbulent 1960's is light science fiction fare. We're given a protagonist, or rather a despicable main character (nearly the same as last week's What You Need), and asked to buy into one central conceit: he can change his face at will. It's a neat idea that hearkens back to H.G. Wells's The Invisible Man. What do you do when you can get into anywhere, with zero accountability, and how could you possible not be corrupted by the power?



The premise is promising but the plot plays out predictably. My apologies for the alliteration. The main character (in)conveniently finds himself in the path of a bullet meant for another man and the piece comes to an unsatisfying end. The saving grace of this episode, then, is the style rather than the substance. The exterior world that the character wanders through is a mishmash of impossibly shaped buildings and neon signs that seem tacked into the sky itself. It's like watching a musical with great production value, and, if we want to get community-college-English on this, it reinforces the theme of falseness that runs through the story.

The hands-down high point of the episode occurs in the first moments. During the opening monologue, we see the main character shaving. First we see him, then pan over to the mirror - it's someone else! After following his razor in a momentary distraction, we come back to the mirror to find yet another face looking back at us. All the while Serling narrates away with elegant simplicity:

"But Mr. Hammer has a talent, discovered at a very early age. This much he does have. He can make his face change. He can twitch a muscle, move a jaw, concentrate on the cast of his eyes, and he can change his face. He can change it into anything he wants..."



It's not a complicated effect, but the precision with which it's pulled off and Serling's attention-commanding vocal presence make it one of the more memorable set pieces we've yet seen on the show.