Episode Spotlight: "Come Wander with Me" (5/22/1964)

Season 5, Episode 34 (154 overall)

Originally aired 5/22/1964

Cayuga Production # 2641

He said: Come wander with me, love

Come wander with me

Away from this sad world

Come wander with me

He came from the sunset

He came from the sea

He came from my sorrow

And can love only me

Oh where is the wanderer

Who wandered this way?

He’s passed on his wandering

And will never go away

He sang of a sweet love

Of dreams that would be

But I was sworn to another

And could never be free

Singer Floyd Burney, the Rock-A-Billy Kid, arrives in a remote backwoods town in search of a usable folk song. The proprietor of the music store (a barn full of musical instruments, actually) gives him the cold shoulder, but he hears the perfect melody emanating from somewhere in the neighboring woods. Guitar and tape recorder in hand, he sets out to track it down, taking no notice of the black-clad woman watching him... not to mention the nearby headstone with his name on it.

After a fruitless search of unknown duration, he sits down and tries sounding out the melody. Just then the hummer of the elusive song appears, a young woman named Mary Rachel. She refuses to give her song to him, however, stating that it “belongs to someone else” (that “someone else” is Billy Rayford, her fiancé). Burney turns on the charm and, before you can say “redneck seduction,” she’s happily singing the song into his tape recorder.  Act one ends with Mary Rachel in Burney’s arms with his tongue planted firmly down her throat.

Act two opens with the pair listening to the recorded song, Burney enjoying what is presumably a post-coital smoke. He promises to take Mary Rachel to the big city, where he’ll buy her sparkling jewels and unicorns and whatever the fuck else, and she laps it up like the Appalachian simpleton that she is. Just then Billy Rayford arrives, shotgun in hand, poised to take out the competition. Burney dispatches him with a rock to the head, at which point his tape recorder kicks on… but the song has now changed, its lyrics reflecting the murder. 

You killed Billy Rayford

Bespoke unto me

Struck him down in his anger

'Neath an old willow tree

By the lake where our love dwelled

'Neath an old willow tree

You killed Billy Rayford

'Neath an old willow tree

Mary Rachel begs him not to run “this time,” that if he lets her hide him “things might be different.” Burney assumes she’s nuts and flees from the wrath of Rayford’s vengeance-minded kin. When he looks back at her, she's now inexplicably dressed in black mourning garb.

They sought out their brother

And found him alone

The wept by the lakeside

For a boy hardly grown

They wept by the lakeside

And vowed he must die

The wandering stranger---

He makes his way back at the music store, where the proprietor refuses to help him. He clocks him in the head, doubling his body count. He then tries to hide, but the instruments come to life in an accusatory cacophony, leading the Rayford posse straight to him. A gunshot sounds, and we close on a shot of that mysterious headstone….

“Come Wander with Me” was written by Anthony Wilson, who also wrote the pilot episode of my newest sci-fi TV obsession The Invaders (“Beachhead”)… which I will most likely be blogging about when the series turns 50 in 2017 (so if you were wondering if I’d be doing any more of these Silver Anniversary blogs, there’s your answer). Wilson has another (very approximate) Rod Serling connection: he developed the TV spin-off of 1968’s Planet of the Apes, which Serling had a hand in adapting from Pierre Boulle’s novel. Hey, I said it was approximate, didn’t I?

In the director’s chair is Richard Donner for his sixth and final Twilight Zone go-round. “Come Wander with Me," which turns 50 tonight, has something of a proto-David Lynch vibe about it: impressive visual flair with tons of atmosphere, heightened (almost to the point of artifice) acting, and a twisted, near-incomprehensible plot. The episode would sit comfortably next to films like Mulholland Drive and Wild at Heart. I’m a Lynch fan, so it delights me to draw this comparison.

The question must be asked: does Floyd Burney register on the Obnoxiometer™? I dunno. In rewatching the episode recently (twice in fact), I found myself pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t nearly as grating as my memory indicated. In fact, I actually enjoyed him. So I guess… no, he doesn’t. Your mileage (and the readings on your own personal Obnoxiometers™) may vary. It occurs to me that perhaps his personality seems more caustic because of the languid, almost dreamlike surroundings; point another way, would he seem that insufferable in the big city?

In any case, I cannot deny that he is quite dickish, particularly when he chucks a rock at an innocent crow for no reason whatsoever (where’s PETA when you need ‘em?). Oh yeah, and he kills two guys, which doesn’t really help his case (in all fairness, Billy Joe Jim Bob Rayford was about to blow him away, so we can call that one self-defense; the music store guy totally didn’t deserve to die, however). His worst offense of all may be his relentless self-branding: he wears a shirt with his initials on it, plays a guitar with his name on it, and drives a car with --- you guessed it, his name on it. Since he states his own name frequently (“You’re bespoke, I’m Floyd Burney, so what?”), none of this is necessary.

This is the point at which I'd usually dissect the supernatural force(s) at work and poke holes in it/them, but in this case the dreamlike atmosphere more or less defies such analysis. Burney is either trapped in a time loop or, more likely, is eternally reliving his transgressions (like Karl Lanser in season one's "Judgment Night" or, more recently, the E-89 crew in season four's "Death Ship"). I also wonder if the song itself is cursed somehow...? It doesn't matter. This is a dream, or a nightmare, or some half-conscious point in between.

  

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THE MUSIC

“Come Wander with Me” features an original score by Jeff Alexander (who also scored season two’s “The Trouble with Templeton”), which includes an intriguing original song, (music by Alexander, lyrics by Anthony Wilson), verses of which appear throughout the episode. The song was later featured in the notorious 2003 film The Brown Bunny (notorious because its, um, climatic oral sex scene was not simulated; yes, I’ve seen it, and it’s clearly the real, um, thing); before that, Alexander himself integrated an instrumental version of the song into his score for the 1968 western Day of the Evil Gun. I’ve pieced together the various sections into a semi-cohesive song for your listening pleasure (you’ll notice a drop in quality in the fourth and final verse, since it was heard in the episode as a tinny tape recording; I also didn't include the apocryphal story-specific verses)….

The underscore, fragmented song pieces and all, can be enjoyed (without intrusive dialogue and sound effects) thanks to the isolated music track present on both DVD iterations and the more recent Blu-ray release of season five.

Dutch singer Anneke van Giersbergen covered the song in 2007 under the moniker Agua de Annique. It's every bit as lovely and haunting as the original recording. Enjoy!

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DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Floyd Burney is played by Gary Crosby (yes, Bing’s son) in his only Twilight Zone appearance. Crosby’s other genre credits include The Bionic Woman (“Bionic Beauty”), Wonder Woman (“Light-fingered Lady”), and Project U.F.O. (“Sighting 4003: The Fremont Incident” and “Sighting 4022: The Camouflage Incident”); unfortunately I was unable to procure any usable photos from any of them, so instead I’ll include Crosby’s 1951 Life Magazine cover. That’s right, kids: the Rock-A-Billy Kid made the fucking cover.

Note "The Midnight Sun" there in the upper left corner. It's clearly not a reference to the Twilight Zone episode of the same name (which would air ten years later), but it's a cool coincidence nonetheless.

The role of Mary Rachel was Bonnie Beecher’s first professional acting gig. Her career was short-lived (1964-68) but, in that slight span of time, she managed to land roles on Star Trek (“Spectre of the Gun”), The Invaders (“Beachhead”) and The Fugitive (two, actually: “Ill Wind” and “Ten Thousand Pieces of Silver”). She has the pleasure (maybe, I dunno) of being married to hippie activist Hugh Romney, better known as Wavy Gravy.

The zombie-like proprietor of the music store is played by Hank Patterson, who has crossed over into The Twilight Zone twice before (season three’s “Kick the Can” and, more recently, “Ring-a-Ding Girl,” in which he was the cranky high school superintendent who wasn’t having any of Bunny Blake’s consarned nonsense). Patterson has no other genre experience to speak of; most fans of classic TV probably remember him as Fred Ziffel on both Petticoat Junction (1963-66) and Green Acres (1965-71).

“Come Wander with Me” is marvelously schizophrenic: on one hand it’s a disjointed and jarring circle with no resolution and a brash loudmouth at its center; on the other it’s an ethereal mystery operating on the languid logic of dreams. There’s nothing else in the series quite like it; given the fifth season’s frequently derivative nature, it’s both welcome and refreshing. I love it.

Next week:

With only two episodes left to air, Rod Serling offers up his

very last Twilight Zone teleplay. I wish to Christ it was a good one... but alas.

Episode Spotlight: "Sounds and Silences" (4/03/1964)

Season 5, Episode 27 (147 overall)

Originally aired 4/03/1964

Cayuga Production # 2631

Fifty years ago, a man found himself victimized by a surreal, aural nightmare. Besieged by unknown forces, he bravely attempts to…. oh, screw it. I can’t polish this turd, nor am I inclined to try.

Roswell G. Flemington is obsessed with all things nautical, particularly recordings of actual naval battles, which he regularly blares at full volume. After twenty years of wedded misery, his wife finally leaves him, after which his hearing becomes inexplicably sensitive: quiet sounds like dripping water become deafening roars to him. He sees a doctor, who refers him a psychiatrist, who makes the staggeringly clinical diagnosis that it's all in his head; moreover, he can choose to exercise control over it.

Bolstered, Flemington goes home, where he finds his estranged wife, there to pick up the last of her things. He uses “mind over matter” to reduce her voice to a whisper. Smugly satisfied, he goes to play one of his beloved naval battle records, which he finds he can’t hear at all. He then comes to the horrifying realization that he can’t hear anything at all.

Well folks, here it is: the single worst episode of season five. I’m not quite prepared to place it below “Mr. Bevis” or “Four O’clock,” but I’ll definitely rank it in the bottom five of the entire series. First and foremost, there’s almost no story at all. Loud guy suddenly develops super-sensitive hearing, and then abruptly (and presumably) loses his hearing entirely. That's it. It’s essentially a depiction of a man losing a vital sensory function. How is that a Twilight Zone? Is causing an asshole to become disabled really Cosmic Justice?

I could almost find it in myself to sympathize with the ol' guy a bit. Almost. Not quite.

It doesn’t help matters that Flemington is such a complete and utter tool, or that there’s a ridiculous amount of overacting on John McGiver’s part, particularly every time he (over)reacts to the exaggerated sounds around him (it’s almost as if he’s using his facial expressions to compete with them). Seriously, how flagrantly obnoxious can one character be? Flemington makes previous Obnoxiometer™ placers like Roger Shackleforth and George P. Hanley seem positively likable by comparison. In fact.... I can't believe I'm about to do this, but.... 

That's right.... he's worse than James B.W. Bevis. That's quite a feat, Mr. Flemington.

“Sounds and Silences” is yet another episode that, once aired, resulted in somebody crying plagiarism and suing Cayuga Productions. Since litigation was still pending, the episode wasn’t included in the syndication package, and remained buried for 20 years. When the series turned 25 in 1984, it was resurrected along with vault-mates “Miniature” and “A Short Drink from a Certain Fountain” for a syndicated special. The episode is now easily viewed via Hulu and Netflix, and can be acquired in the various DVD and Blu-ray iterations of the series.

Rod Serling had to have known his teleplay was an utter piece of shit; however, he clearly didn’t care anymore at this late point in the series. There’s a whiff of season two’s “The Mind and the Matter” as Flemington utilizes what he calls “mind over matter” to minimize the sound of his wife’s voice. Serling wrote that one too; I guess it’s the closest to an antecedent we’ll find for “Sounds and Silences.” In the director’s chair this week is Richard Donner, who also helmed “From Agnes - With Love” (‘nuff said).

THE MUSIC

“Sounds and Silences” is notable (I guess) for having no actual underscore; aside from the copious sound effects herein, there are only a few brief snatches of nautical source cues played on Flemington’s hi-fi.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

I despise Roswell G. Flemington; however, I do like John McGiver quite a bit. We last saw him in season four’s “The Bard" but, to me, he’ll always be the noble democrat Senator Thomas Jordan in 1962’s The Manchurian Candidate.

Mrs. Flemington (no first name, apparently) is played by Penny Singleton, probably best known as Blondie Bumstead in the long-running Blondie film series (1938-1950). If she sounds more familiar than she looks, it’s because you've undoubtedly heard her as the voice of Jane Jetson on TV’s The Jetsons.

Michael Fox plays the unnamed psychiatrist (I love how the nameplate on his door reads, simply, “Psychiatrist”). This is his third sojourn into The Twilight Zone: he played the doctor in season one’s “Nightmare as a Child,” and was one half of the two-head Martian in season two’s “Mr. Dingle, the Strong.” He also popped up on the 80’s Twilight Zone revival in “A Message from Charity."

Francis de Sales plays the unnamed doctor (give these people some names, for Rod’s sake!). Genre fans may have spotted him in the Outer Limits episode “The Mice,” which also turned 50 recently.

“Sounds and Silences,” like its protagonist, is all bluster and no substance; there’s honestly nothing of value here. The completest in me is relieved that it’s available along with its Lost Five kin, but its relative rarity doesn’t change the fact that it’s one of the worst offerings in the entire series. I’m filing it under “S” for “sucks” and turning a deaf ear to it for the rest of my days. 

Next week:

Season three's "The Dummy" gets a late-in-the-game surprise repeat airing, and---- wait, what? It's not a repeat? It's a new episode? We're doing another dummy story?  Really....?

Episode Spotlight: "From Agnes - With Love" (2/14/1964)

Season 5, Episode 20 (140 overall)

Originally aired 2/14/1964

Cayuga Production # 2629

50 years ago tonight, The Twilight Zone presented a love-themed tale for Valentine’s Day. Unfortunately, it’s the equivalent of handing your sweetheart a box of shit instead of chocolates.

“From Agnes – With Love” starts somewhat promisingly: Agnes, the world’s most advanced supercomputer, is in complete disarray, and Fred Danziger, the programmer assigned to maintain her, has gone off the deep end. Fellow programmer and über-nerd James Elwood is called in to take charge of the situation. And it’s here, roughly 57 seconds in, that things go straight to hell in a painfully sharp vertical drop… unless you’re a big Wally Cox fan, that is. I am not. He is so horrendously annoying that, before the prologue ends, he’s already managed to displace James B.W. Bevis as the single most irritating character in the entire series.

OBNOXIOMETER™

Agnes begins coaching Elwood on wooing Millie, a coworker he’s crushing on. However, it becomes apparent very quickly (well, to us anyway) that Agnes is actively undermining his attempts by giving him bad advice. However, the oblivious and socially awkward Elwood somehow still manages to get Millie into his apartment, where she kills the lights and cuddles up to him… but of course he cluelessly fucks it up. Of course he does.

Agnes then instructs Elwood to introduce Millie to an “inferior” male in order to repair things. That “inferior” male is Walter Holmes, another programmer who would probably give Don Draper some serious competition in the bedding-all-the-ladies-in-the-office-pool department. Of course Millie immediately falls for him, and Elwood’s chances--- slim as they may have been--- are completely dashed. Of course they are.

“What did I ever do to you?” Elwood demands of Agnes, who reveals that there’s a better woman available to him: her! Elwood’s already-frazzled mind comes completely unhinged, forcing his supervisor to bring in yet another replacement: Walter Holmes. Repeat cycle ad infinitum.

“From Agnes – With Love” is the single worst episode of the fifth season. It’s not quite the worst of the entire series, but it resides squarely near the bottom of the barrel with other failures like “Mr. Bevis” and “Four O’clock.” It’s just awful. Stupid. Pointless. I could go on hurling negative adjectives at it for several paragraphs, but my goal is to waste as little time as I can on this (I’m already close to 400 words). 

So when we boil it all down, we have a supercomputer meddling in the lives of humans. Sound familiar? It should. We just saw this a few months ago in “The Old Man in the Cave.” I deemed that episode mediocre at best but, compared to this dreck, it suddenly looks like first season quality. 




Season five is peppered with man vs. technology stories beyond the two already mentioned. “Steel” and “The Brain Center at Whipple’s” are variations on this theme, as are (less obviously) “Uncle Simon” and “Number 12 Looks Just Like You.” Five different writers are responsible for these six scripts, so it’s not a simple matter of Serling going overboard with the self-borrowing. It seems that, at least around Cayuga’s offices, man’s relative lack of control over his own technology was a very real concern. And it’s certainly a marvelous topic for exploration… it’s unfortunate that, more often than not, this potential is squandered by lazy, half-baked teleplays.

THE MUSIC

“From Agnes – With Love” inexplicably was deemed worthy of an original musical score, so Nathan Van Cleave was brought in. Van Cleave can usually be counted on for greatness (“Perchance to Dream”; “The Midnight Sun”), but there’s nothing of value here--- just more comedic crap along the lines of Fred Steiner’s “The Bard” or Van Cleave’s own “A Kind of a Stopwatch” from earlier this season. Like all fifth season original scores, it’s never had a soundtrack release; however, unlike most of them, it’s NOT available as an isolated track on the DVD and blu-ray releases (just like his “Black Leather Jackets” two weeks ago). This means the only way to listen to Van Cleave’s score (if you wanted to, that is) is to watch the episode. No thanks.

FAMILIAR FACES

An actor like Wally Cox isn’t likely to have much in the way of sci-fi/horror/fantasy on his résumé, but Cox actually surprises with stints on Lost in Space (“The Forbidden World”) and Kolchak: the Night Stalker (“The Night Strangler”). Cox would cross paths with Rod Serling again in 1971 on Night Gallery (“Junior”).

Ralph Taeger (Don Drap--- er, Walter Holmes) may have gotten this gig based on his past work with director Richard Donner, whose 1961 film X-15 he co-starred in (along with TZ alums Charles Bronson and James Gregory). If the lovely Sue Randall (here playing Millie) looks familiar, it’s because we met her in season one’s “And When the Sky Was Opened” (incidentally the episode I attribute to making me a lifelong fan) playing a nurse. Is she a TZ Babe? Why yes, I’d say so.

Elwood’s unnamed supervisor is played by three-time TZ alum Raymond Bailey (we saw him previously in season one’s “Escape Clause” and season two’s “Back There”). Bailey has another very dear connection for me: he had a minor role in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 masterpiece Vertigo (he played James Stewart’s doctor), which is my favorite film of all time. He also played doctors in 1957’s The Incredible Shrinking Man (written by frequent TZ scribe Richard Matheson) and 1958’s The Space Children (which was scored by--- yup, Nathan Van Cleave).

Don Keefer returns for his third and final Twilight Zone appearance (he was the travel agent in season four’s “Passage on the Lady Anne” and, more famously, the ill-fated Dan Hollis in season three’s “It’s a Good Life”). But his TZ connection goes even further back: he had a minor role in “The Time Element,” a 1958 production on Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse that was written by Rod Serling and is considered by many to be The Twilight Zone’s true pilot.

Nan Peterson plays an unnamed secretary in her third and final TZ appearance (she played two similarly unnamed characters in season one’s “Walking Distance” and season two’s “The Whole Truth”). Incidentally, “From Agnes – With Love” was her final acting gig… maybe she was sick of going nameless. If it makes her feel any better, she qualifies as a TZ Babe with ease.

“From Agnes – With Love” is directed by Richard Donner (yes, that Richard Donner), who should’ve known better even this early in his impressive career (The Omen, Superman, and five other TZ episodes: “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” “Sounds and Silences,” “The Jeopardy Room,” “The Brain Center at Whipple’s” and “Come Wander With Me,” all from this season).

With irredeemable crap like “From Agnes –With Love” being produced, even a diehard Twilight Zone fan like me is starting to look forward to the end. I get no pleasure out of saying that, but there you go. There are still a few decent efforts to come, but it’s mostly subpar from here on out. Gauge your expectations accordingly.

Next week:

Horseback chases! Time warps! Love triangles! Sounds awesome, right?  Um....