TZ Promo: “Kick the Can” (2/09/1962)

Season 3, Episode 21 (#86 overall)

Cayuga Production # 4821

“You can’t stop kids from playing kick-the-can. It’s like statues, and hide-and-seek. It’s in their blood! It’s a special summer ritual. Did you ever stop to think of it? All kids play those games, and the minute they stop--- they begin to grow old. It’s almost as though playing kick-the-can keeps them young. Did you ever notice that?”

That’s Charles Whitley, who’s just figured out the secret of youth. Ben Conroy, his lifelong friend and fellow resident at Sunnyvale Rest, steadfastly and stubbornly disagrees. 50 years ago tonight, one of them was proven right.

“Kick the Can” is George Clayton Johnson’s fourth and final* Twilight Zone script, and it’s easily his best (if only the other writers could’ve gone out with a similar bang). This is one of those episodes where everything, from Johnson’s script on up, works beautifully. There is a palpable air of sentimentality, but it never becomes cloying or maudlin. The scene in which the nursing home residents, led by Whitley, endeavor to sneak out for a nighttime game of kick-the-can is a sheer delight. There's a simple sweetness that's irresistible.


Ernest Truex is wonderful as Whitley. You can’t help but sympathize with him right off the bat. The opening scene, in which he says his goodbyes to his fellow residents, fully believing that his son is about to pick him up and take him home, is staged masterfully (we only hear snatches of dialogue between father and son; most of the scene consists of the other residents on the front porch, leering expectantly, figuring out that things aren’t going according to Whitley’s hopes). When Whitley’s son drives away without him, and he sits down beneath a nearby tree, near tears, our hearts break for him (which is pretty amazing, given we’ve only known this guy for three minutes). Truex’s face is marvelously expressive, conveying disappointment and heartbreak. From there, his growing elation at figuring out the secret of youth (playing the titular game of kick-the-can) is just plain fun to watch.


Truex was last seen in season one’s “What You Need,” playing a peddler with a supernatural knack for providing exactly what people need at the exact time they need it. He was fine there, but here he truly shines. It’s a shame The Twilight Zone didn’t utilize his talents more.


Equally great is Russell Collins as Conroy. Bitter and tired, he has no patience for Whitley’s sudden flights of fancy and reacts brusquely and without sympathy. The scene in which he discusses Whitley with Sunnyvale’s superintendent, however, belies a convincing concern for his friend, which adds a nice dimension to the otherwise gruff character. And just watch his turnaround at the end of the episode…. It’s just damned heartbreaking.


Burt Mustin has a minor role as another of the Sunnyvale residents (we last saw him in season two’s “Night of the Meek,” where he received a new pipe and smoking jacket from Henry Corwin, aka Santa Claus).


Whitley’s son is played by Ernest Truex’s real-life son Barry. A nice touch (even though the poor guy didn't get screen credit!).

The child playing the transformed Whitley is similarly uncredited, but he reminds me of Hermie Brandt (Jerry Davis) from season 4’s “The Incredible World of Horace Ford.” Compare these two shots:


I dunno, maybe it's the messed-up teeth. Or maybe it's the lamp globes. Are they the same kid? The answer lies somewhere... in The Twilight Zone.



“Kick the Can” was one of four episodes remade in 1983’s Twilight Zone: The Movie. It plays out more or less like the original, except it ends with most of the residents ultimately rejecting the opportunity to be young again. This version lays on the sugar and sentiment pretty thick, but the cast is great (Scatman Crothers in particular). Steven Spielberg himself directed this segment of the film, and it fits squarely in with his other 80’s work (E.T., TV’s Amazing Stories, etc). Not terrible by any means, but the original beats it hands down.


“Kick the Can” is stock-scored. While it’s too bad Cayuga didn’t deem the episode worthy of its own score, at least they were smart enough to pull stock cues from season one’s “Walking Distance” by Bernard Herrmann. Wistful and yearning, the music fits in perfectly here.

Next week: Barry Morse! A player piano with supernatural properties! It can’t lose… right? Well…..

* Of course Johnson's contribution to the series extends beyond four teleplays. Three other TZ scripts were based on his ideas or unpublished short stories, and he did submit a fifth teleplay for season 5 called "Tick of Time," based on his own unpublished short story "The Grandfather Clock." It ended up heavily revised by another writer, to the extent that a chagrined Johnson requested that he be credited under a pseudonym. Therefore, "Kick the Can" is Johnson's final contribution in which he is properly credited as the sole writer. We'll delve into this more when we get to that particular episode (which, by the way, was aired as "Ninety Years Without Slumbering") next December.

TZ Promo: “One More Pallbearer” (1/12/1962)

Season 3, Episode 17 (#82 overall)

Cayuga Production # 4823

Ah, the ol’ practical joke: hand buzzer, disappearing ink, fake vomit…. It’s all cute, quick and effective, but admittedly a bit juvenile. Adult practical jokes, meanwhile, demand more forethought, more complexity, more… finesse. For example, if you really want to pull one over on your friends (or enemies), you might just stage a fake nuclear holocaust to scare the hell out of them. 50 years ago tonight on The Twilight Zone, somebody did just that.


“One More Pallbearer,” written by Rod Serling and directed by Lamont Johnson (sheesh, did any other directors work on the show this season?), stars Joseph Wiseman as Paul Radin, a multi-millionaire playboy who has constructed an impenetrable bomb shelter, three hundred feet beneath his own building in downtown New York City. Utilizing sound effects and video footage, he plans to play the above-described practical joke. On who, you ask? Well, his three worst enemies, of course! A former teacher, a reverend, and an army colonel, three figures from his past who wronged him in various ways, and he’s gonna make them beg for his forgiveness as an artificial Armageddon looms.


A dick move? Yeah, definitely, especially since it’s clear that Radin managed to achieve great wealth and success despite the perceived wrongs done to him. However, the three “victims” come off so harsh and cruel that it’s really hard to feel sorry for them. Wiseman injects Radin with such nuance and pathos that we end up identifying with him, which makes this more a tragedy than the comeuppance tale it tries to be. Or I dunno, maybe this was intentional on Serling’s part. Radin’s fate (which I won’t spoil here) seems somewhat undeserved, despite the mindfuck he attempts to inflict upon his guests. It feels a bit muddy, morally vague, as if Serling isn’t really sure which message he’s sending.



LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION!

Despite the aforementioned muddiness of the episode's themes, the set design is one thing that shines with crystal clarity. This is by far the swankest bomb shelter ever built. My God, just look it at!

Rows of martini and highball glasses!

Highly cool retro furniture!
(okay, I guess it wasn’t retro 50 years ago)

A flat screen TV, several decades before they were invented!

Whatever that big hanging mobile thing is, I totally want one.

And those rocky walls in the outer hallway are a nice touch too, conveying the fact that we are deep, deep underground.

Man oh man, I wanna live in there. You have no idea. Truth be told, I do have a pretty swanky setup at home....

Submitted for your approval.... the den.

No, the Dalis aren't originals.

The TV (37" Panasonic plasma, 3D, 1080p).

IKEA should be thanking me for the free advertising.

I call this part of the den The Vinyl Lounge...

Records + liquor = Pure bliss.

And across from The Vinyl Lounge is my desk, where the blogging happens...

I'm not in this picture because I'm taking the picture. Wrap your head around that.

It probably looks like I'm showing off a bit. I guess I am. Hey, I've wanted a room like this my entire life.

LIFE'S A BITCH, AND SO IS SHE.



Radin’s former teacher demands special mention because she’s, well, a mean bitch. She’ll get her comeuppance in a way, when she (well, the actress playing her, Katherine Squire) meets the business end of a subway train in season four’s “In His Image.” Karma, man.



All in all, “One More Pallbearer” is a fine enough episode. Nothing transcendent, just… really good. Wiseman’s performance, along with that beautiful set, elevates it above the mundane. There is a bit of that “been there, done that” vibe (which will continue to plague the show until it dies a pitiful death at the end of its fifth season), probably due to the ending, which harkens back to “Time Enough at Last” (see for yourself; I’m not spoiling!). It should be mentioned that there’s really no supernatural element here, which should probably count against the episode. But Serling’s script does have some choice lines in it…. Okay, yeah, I’m kinda flip-flopping here. I like the episode quite a bit, but I don’t love it. There, good enough?

Next week: Hey, remember on Lost, when Jack was trying to get back to the island, and he needed his dead father’s shoes to do it? Um… okay, that has nothing whatsoever to do with next week’s episode, except it’s called “Dead Man’s Shoes.” Man, I’m fucking loopy this week.

TZ Promo: “Nothing in the Dark” (1/05/1962)

Season 3, Episode 16 (#81 overall)
Cayuga Production # 173-3662

Her name is Wanda Dunn. She’s an old woman who lives alone in a shabby tenement, afraid to go outside. She’s convinced that Death himself is out there, just waiting to come in and claim her.

The thing is…. well, she’s right.


“Nothing in the Dark” is a moving study of humanity’s fear of its own mortality, and Gladys Cooper’s portrayal of the frightened old woman is one of the greatest performances ever captured on The Twilight Zone. Cooper will (happily) return for appearances in season four’s “Passage on the Lady Anne” and season five’s “Night Call.” She’s fine in both, but “Nothing in the Dark” is where she truly shines.


Unfortunately, young Robert Redford... well, sucks as the wounded cop who finally convinces her to open the door and help him. Oh, sure, he’s pretty to look at, but he couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag at this early point in his career (I’m not entirely convinced that he ever became that great of an actor, truth be told). As great as “Nothing in the Dark” is, Redford’s embarrassingly bad performance is a serious blemish. I imagine this is why the episode doesn’t appear in my Top 20 Favorites list (it did make my Top 40 list two years ago, however).


O, DEATH!

This is Death’s third (and final... I think) appearance in the series. We’ve encountered him twice before, in “One for the Angels” and “The Hitch-hiker” (both from season one) and, once again, he proves less frightening when his quarry stops struggling and acquiesces, a pleasant alternative to the skull-and-scythe depiction we’ve all seen countless times. Here’s hoping the real Death is a nice guy...

Another connection to “The Hitch-hiker” can be found in the stock music used in the episode. During Death’s surprise (well, not really) reveal near the end, the underscore features cues from Bernard Herrmann’s music for the radio production of “The Hitch-hiker” (which was subsequently used in the TZ adaptation). A nice touch for attentive ears.

Lamont Johnson directs a George Clayton Johnson script (no relation, as far as I know). We just saw Johnson’s directorial chops two weeks ago in “Five Characters in Search of an Exit” but, interestingly enough, he directed “Nothing in the Dark” earlier. Like, way earlier. The production number (173-3662) indicates that this episode was actually produced during the show’s second season, but held back until the third (the same is true of “The Grave,” which we looked at back in October). The opening shot of act one does not feature the usual season three title cards (episode title, writer, director)… we simply open on a shot of Wanda slowly unlocking and opening her front door. The title shot above is from the episode’s end credits (the only place the episode title was ever seen during season two).

In his The Twilight Zone: Unlocking the Door to a Television Classic (which you need on your shelf; seriously, go NOW and get a copy), Martin Grams Jr. reports that “Nothing in the Dark” was originally scheduled to close the second season, but was replaced by “The Obsolete Man” and held back until midway through season three. This strikes me as odd…. If the episode was ready to go in mid-June, why was it held in limbo for six months? Was Serling and Company as dismayed by Redford's performance as me? In any case, as much as I love “The Obsolete Man,” I think “Nothing in the Dark,” with its elegiac and meditative qualities, would have been more effective as a season finale. But hey, what do I know?

In 1992, a local theater company called Hellfire Productions presented Tales from The Twilight Zone, which included stage adaptations of three TZ episodes: “The Obsolete Man,” “A Game of Pool,” and yes, “Nothing in the Dark.” It’s been almost 20 years, and my memory ain’t what it used to be, but I recall being quite impressed with their efforts.

"Am I really so bad?" Um... yeah, Bobby, you kinda are.

“Nothing in the Dark” is ultimately an exercise in frustration for me. It possesses all the elements of a truly great episode, but Redford’s awkward mannequin routine hurts it enough to cripple its chances at true legend status. As it stands, it’s a Mona Lisa with a crayon mustache. Too bad.

Next week: The world gets nuked yet again… or does it?

TZ Promo: "The Shelter" (9/29/1961)

Season 3, Episode 3 (#68 overall)
Cayuga Production # 4803

Fifty years ago tonight, a jolly (i.e. alcohol-fueled) birthday party was interrupted by an emergency radio announcement: unidentified objects, presumably enemy missiles, have been spotted heading toward the US. Sheesh, talk about a buzzkill.


“The Shelter,” written by Rod Serling and directed by Lamont Johnson, has all the hallmarks of a classic Serling script: crisis (the possibility of a nuclear attack), moral dilemma (only one family on the block has a bomb shelter), and a preachy indictment of man’s tendency to act badly in the face of adversity (the rest of the neighborhood wants access to the bomb shelter, and isn’t interested in taking no for an answer). What’s missing? Well, there’s virtually zero supernatural or fantasy trappings (in fact, this is the third straight TZ episode that lacks an overt divergence from reality), but that’s not an automatic deal breaker.


What is a deal breaker, however, is the fact that Serling already told this same story, back in season one’s “The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street.” The unseen menace there was a presumed alien invasion, but the basic story --- in which neighbors turn on one another --- is essentially the same. As with last week’s “The Arrival,” Serling’s idea well seems to have run dry, so he’s pilfering earlier episodes for ideas. It’s a disappointing trend that will continue throughout the rest of the series. Great, even brilliant Serling-penned episodes are still to come, but consistent quality is no longer guaranteed. The glory days of the first two seasons are clearly over.


Having said all of that, “The Shelter” is by no means terrible. It’s just… stale. Predictable. Maybe it was more shocking and relevant in 1961, given the political climate. My mom remembers lying awake at night when she was young, scared half out of her mind that Russia could launch its missiles at any time. Even as late as my own childhood in the 70’s and early 80’s, all-out nuclear war was a real and vivid possibility. Remember that 80’s TV movie The Day After? I was in 7th grade when it aired, and let me tell ya, that thing scared the shit out of me. Fast forward 30 years: how often does the concept of World War III even cross our minds? The world is a different place now. My kids, who are now transitioning into adulthood, have never lived in fear of a nuclear holocaust. The more plausible threat to their way of life? A complete economic collapse, followed by worldwide Chinese rule.


“The Shelter” sports two familiar TZ faces: Sandy Kenyon (who we last saw in season two’s “The Odyssey of Flight 33,” and who we’ll see again in season four’s “Valley of the Shadow”) and Jack Albertson (who will appear --- and reappear --- as the titular genie in season four’s “I Dream of Genie”). Albertson is better known as Grandpa Joe in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, not to mention “The Man” himself on TV’s Chico and the Man.



THE MUSIC

“The Shelter” does not feature an original musical score; rather, existing cues were selected by the series’ musical director Lud Gluskin from the vast CBS Music Library (this practice is commonly referred to as “stock scoring”). Most stock-scored episodes feature cues by various composers from various sources; however, almost every cue heard in “The Shelter” was composed by Robert Drasnin from a suite called, simply, “Serling.”

Drasnin in 1998.

Drasnin is also responsible for one of my all-time favorite exotica LPs, 1959’s Voodoo: Exotic Music from Polynesia and the Far East (he recorded a follow up in 2007, Voodoo II, which is equally wonderful). Drasnin isn’t typically named among exotica luminaries like Les Baxter and Martin Denny, presumably because of his relatively slim contribution to the genre, but what he did give us is simply marvelous. As of this writing, only the first Voodoo volume is available on iTunes, but both are readily available from Amazon.com. I highly recommend both of 'em. For more information on Mr. Drasnin, go here.



AH, MEMORIES

Flashback to 1983: my 7th grade literature teacher, Mike Nygren, gave us an intriguing assignment: create a radio play based on an existing literary work. Having recently discovered The Twilight Zone, I immediately hit upon the idea of adapting an episode. I hadn’t seen “The Shelter” at that point, but I had read Serling’s short story version in his New Stories from The Twilight Zone paperback. The dialogue-heavy story seemed well suited to radio, so I condensed the story into a ten-minute script. My group for the assignment consisted of myself and my friends Donovan Littlejohn and Ignacio Palacios (both of whom I'm still in touch with). We recorded the script using my old Radio Shack tape recorder, and we even included Marius Constant's classic TZ theme (taped directly from a syndication airing on KPTV-12; I tape recorded many episodes before my parents finally gave in to my impassioned pleas and bought a VCR). We got an A for our efforts, as I recall. Damn, I’d love to hear that recording again. I don’t recall if Mr. Nygren kept it, or if maybe I ended up with it afterwards, but either way, I’m pretty sure that cassette is deep inside a landfill by now. Shame. If by some crazy twist of fate I find it, I'll upload it for your listening pleasure (torture?).

Next week: Scarlet O’Hara meets Nicole Kidman. Don’t worry, it’ll make more sense in context.