TZ Promo: "Miniature" (2/21/1963)

Season 4, Episode 8 (#110 overall)

Cayuga Production # 4862

Originally aired February 21, 1963

We've seen this type of story before on The Twilight Zone, in which a misfit finds a supernatural means of permanent escape, be it into the past (“A Stop at Willoughby,” “Static”), an alternate reality (“A World of Difference”), or a nonspecific combination of both (“The Sixteen-Millimeter Shrine,” “Kick the Can,” “Young Man’s Fancy”).  Both “The Night of the Meek” and “The Fugitive” are variations on this theme as well.  Tonight we meet yet another of TZ’s unhappy loners who finds a way out of his troubled existence into something… well, else.

Charles Beaumont’s “Miniature” introduces us to Charley Parkes, a thirty-something bachelor who lives with his mother, has no friends, and who has just lost his job because he simply “ doesn't fit in” (I’m pretty sure he could sue for wrongful termination these days).  He can’t be bothered to look for another job, however, as he’s too busy visiting a local museum every day, gazing longingly at one particular item on display.

It’s a fairly average dollhouse, silent and inert, complete with a tiny wooden girl sitting at the tiny wooden piano.  When Charley looks at it, however, it comes to glorious life in a charming miniature pantomime:  the girl (Alice) plays the piano, a tiny maid attends to her every whim, and a tiny gentleman caller comes a’calling.

Charley falls desperately in love with the Alice doll, indulging in an ongoing one-sided conversation with her through the glass shield protecting the dollhouse.  Things seem harmless enough until the tiny gentleman caller shows up drunk, clubs the maid into unconsciousness and attempts to deflower Alice by force.  Charley panics and smashes the glass wall, and subsequently winds up in a psych ward.

   

Without giving away more of the plot (though I’ve pretty much spoiled it at this point anyway), it’s safe to say that Charley eventually manages to get himself released, return to the dollhouse and, through unspecified magic, vanishes forever from human existence, only to reappear as the doll’s tiny new companion inside the dollhouse.

Now, maybe I’m overthinking this, but what exactly happened here?  Okay, on a prosaic level, Charley transmogrified into a miniature wooden figure, just like Alice (up till then, it appeared that he was operating under a very complex delusion).  Going forward, in what capacity will these two wooden lovebirds exist?  Are the dolls actually miniature people (like Mary Norton’s The Borrowers, recently made into a lovely animated film by Japan’s Studio Ghibli called The Secret World of Arriety), masquerading as inanimate objects during the day and doing their living at night, in secret (oh shit, is this a precursor to Night in the Museum?).  Or is the dollhouse some sort of inter-dimensional portal to some other universe, a cosmic way station in which our reality bleeds into the other, only visible to a select few?

The setup for “Miniature” feels very much like a Jack Finney story:  a guy falls in love with a girl from the past; however, in Finney’s hands, Charley would've sought the real Alice Summers (or at least her grave) out.  At no time in Beaumont’s story does this seem to occur to Charley; rather, he simply falls in love with an action figure-sized woman, which is completely impractical on a number of levels.  But maybe this makes sense, given Charley’s introverted and apparently sexless nature: see how disastrously he interacts with a normal-sized woman on a blind date:

The humor in “Miniature” is gentle and quirky, mirroring Charley’s personality, except for one scene that, truth be told, kinda bugs me.  At the end of act one, the gentleman caller arrives at the dollhouse to take Alice out (to take in the nearby African tribal exhibit, perhaps?).  As Charley watches intently and presumably jealously, this happens:

Anybody got some Windex?

I would've preferred a furrowed brow here, maybe an uneasy knuckle nibble.  The smooshed-nose-against-the-glass routine is just plain childish; it worked in “The Night of the Meek” because excited kids were doing it.  It’s out of character for Charley, it violates the tone of the piece, and it’s just dumb.

Oscar-winner Robert Duvall did a lot of TV in his younger days, and genre fans will recall his two stints on The Outer Limits (“The Chameleon” and “The Inheritors”).  Here he shines as the awkward and shy Charley; however, he was much more awkward and shy as the enigmatic  Boo Radley in 1962's To Kill a Mockingbird.

Mrs. Parkes, who is probably largely to blame for Charley’s social awkwardness, is well essayed by Pert Kelton. Kelton was the original Alice Kramden, back when The Honeymooners was a recurring sketch, performed live on TV’s Cavalcade of Stars. I kinda wish Charley had given her the old “Pow! Right in the kisser!” right before he disappeared forever.

William Windom returns to The Twilight Zone as Charley’s psychiatrist, Dr. Wallman. He’s just as humorless here as he was last time we saw him, playing the army major in season three’s “Five Characters in Search of an Exit.”

John McLiam is great as the sympathetic museum guard who ultimately spots the vanished Charley inside the dollhouse (but keeps it to himself). McLiam appears in bit roles in three other TZ episodes (“The Shelter,” "The Midnight Sun,” and season five’s “Uncle Simon”).

TZ alumn Barney Phillips, as Charley’s boss Mr. Diemel, is less likable here than in his previous appearances (“The Purple Testament,” “A Thing About Machines,” and “Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?”).  Fear not, he’s not sporting a third eye this time around.

And hey --- TZ babe alert!  Pity this is Claire Griswold’s only TZ appearance.  She may be made of wood, but she’s crazy hot, and I wouldn't mind… (insert inappropriate wood-related innuendo here).

A gentle tale like this demands (okay, nicely asks for) gentle music.  Fred Steiner’s score incorporates several different classical works (most notably Mozart’s Piano Sonata in A Major, the tune that the Alice doll plays), and the result is quite lovely.  Given the melodramatic nature of the pantomime scenes inside the dollhouse, classical music just feels appropriate.  Steiner’s score has never been released on any music format (vinyl, cassette, CD or digital), but you’ll find it in isolated form on both DVD releases and the more recent Blu-ray edition of season four.

“Miniature” is the first of five TZ episodes that were omitted from the original syndication package (“The Lost Five”) for various reasons.  In the case of “Miniature,” a pending plagiarism lawsuit kept the episode off limits when the series was prepared for syndication in 1964.  It aired only once, 50 years ago tonight, and remained buried until 1984.

In 1984, three of the “lost five” episodes were collected in a television special celebrating the series’ 25^th anniversary, one of which was “Miniature.”  As a “bonus” (note the sarcastic quotes), the scenes inside the dollhouse in “Miniature” were colorized.  The colorization thankfully did NOT carry over into the various home video releases of the episode (which are four in number: Columbia House VHS collection, DVD volume 31, the season four Definitive Edition DVD set, and the season four blu-ray set). The colorized scenes were included as a bonus on the Definitive Edition DVD set, but omitted for the more recent blu-ray release (presumably because they realized what an abomination it was).  Let’s allow this unfortunate chapter in the episode’s unique history to fade into oblivion.

Next week: Burgess Meredith returns to The Twilight Zone.  Speak of the devil!

TZ Promo: “Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” (5/26/1961)

“Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” (5/26/1961)
Season Two, Episode 28 (64 overall)
Cayuga Production # 173-3660

I’ve observed many times that Rod Serling couldn’t write comedy. There are exceptions to every rule, of course, but most of the time his attempts at lighter material fell flat. 50 years ago tonight, he gave us one of the exceptions.



“Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?” is a tongue-in-cheek variation on the classic British mystery story in which a wanted criminal is hiding in plain sight in a room full of innocents. The detective, using the process of elimination and his own power of deductive reasoning, ferrets the culprit out and solves the crime. The detective here is represented by a pair of state troopers. They’re following tracks in the snow that originate at the site of a crashed flying saucer and lead to… a diner.

There are nine people inside this diner. One of them isn’t who they appear. Commence mystery.


The comedy comes mostly from the increasing tension among the suspects, a wacky old man in particular. Serling keeps things light partly by avoiding the obvious questions: why is the alien being hunted at all? Has he (or it) done anything wrong? Why do we always assume the worst of that which we don’t understand? Serling will tackle the theme of xenophobia again, in season three’s “The Gift” and season five’s “The Fear.” His effort here is by far the superior of the three, surprisingly enough.


John Hoyt (last seen in “The Lateness of the Hour”) and Barney Phillips (last seen in “A Thing About Machines”) are delightful as always. Bif Bang Pow! is about to release an action figure based on Phillips’ character. I can’t really show him without risking a spoiler, but… well…. okay, screw it.


Product placement alert! During season 2 of the series, Serling did plugs for Oasis Cigarettes, a product of sponsor Liggett & Myers (these plugs usually appeared right before the end credits, and they are happily preserved on the blu-rays). At the climax, a certain character pulls out a pack of smokes…. which just happen to be Oasis. It seems Martians really dig the cigarette with “the softest taste of all.”


Oh man, there’s another spoiler. Sometimes it really can’t be helped.

Next week: Season two ends on a high note (the best season finale of the series’ five years). Burgess Meredith redeems himself after the awful “Mr. Dingle, the Strong” with one of the greatest performances of his career. He’s a librarian, in a future society where books have been outlawed, and he’s just been found…. ob-so-lete. Not to be missed.

TZ Promo: "A Thing About Machines" (10/28/1960)

"A Thing About Machines"
Season Two, Episode #4 (overall #40)
Cayuga Production # 173-3645

50 years ago tonight, a man declared war on machines. No, his name wasn’t John Connor, and the machines weren’t played by California’s current governor.


“A Thing About Machines,” written by Rod Serling and directed by David Orrick McDearmon, stars Richard Haydn as Bartlett Finchley (Christ, what a name), a terminally unlikable man (a food critic, of all things; he might feel right at home on one of the Food Network’s endless parade of cook-and-be-judged offerings) whose hatred of All Things Mechanical leads to a battle of wills between himself and the various machines (TV, typewriter, electric razor --- yes, electric razor) in his house. Predictably, he doesn’t stand a chance.

The ages-old struggle between Man and That Which Man Creates is a great concept to build on, but unfortunately the episode never really does anything meaningful with it. We get a very simple tale in which a guy mistreats his appliances, which in turn rise up and fight back. Finchley sneers, he rages, he berates and belittles everyone he comes into contact with… seriously, the guy is a complete and utter tool. He’s so thoroughly loathsome that we end up cheering for the machines, which I’m pretty sure wasn’t the intent.


And then there’s the matter of the denouement. Finchley flees his house to escape the marauding appliances, and finds his car waiting for him…. with murder in its eyes (headlights?). The car chases him around the property for a while, and then backs him into the swimming pool.

Cut to the next morning, where Finchley’s body has been pulled from the pool. The coroner observes that the body wasn’t floating… it was found at the bottom of the pool. Are we to believe that the car jumped into the pool, pinned Finchley until he drowned, and then jumped back out? Silly, yes… but how else do you explain the water dripping from the bumper…?


Happily not every aspect of this episode sucks. Barney Phillips (who will return later this season with a third eye) is a bright spot as the bemused TV repairman. And Serling’s opening commentary, which he delivers from inside Finchley’s TV, is admittedly clever (in that picture-within-a-picture-within-a-picture sort of way):


And I can’t deny, the sight of Finchley’s electric razor coming down the stairs of its own volition (not to mention unplugged!) is delightful. These singular bits, however, aren’t enough to raise the episode above mediocrity.


And it’s too bad, because I should REALLY be able to identify with the themes of this episode. You see, I’ve had trouble with machines and electronics my whole life. Every car I’ve ever owned --- new or used --- has been plagued with issues. In the last year alone, I’ve suffered the death of a cell phone, a computer monitor, my beloved 60 gb iPod, a scanner, a LightScribe DVD-RW drive… not to mention the hundreds of dollars I've shelled out in car repairs. I have terrible luck with machines, plain and simple. Maybe I should be thankful these things simply die, versus hunting me down with murderous intent.

Interesting musical note: we hear Marius Constant’s "Milieu #2," which is a variant of his "Milieu #1" (which, along with his "Etrange #3," comprises the Twilight Zone theme used in seasons 2-5), played during the episode (rather than during the end credits, where it is normally heard). You can't miss it (it happens near the end of act one, when Finchley's typewriter repeatedly types the phrase "Get Out of Here, Finchley!").

Sigh. Overall, "A Thing About Machines" is sorta blah at best. Fortunately, the next five episodes range from pretty damned good to shockingly brilliant. Stay tuned.

Next week: Abbeys and monks and howling men, oh my!