TZ Promo: "The Big Tall Wish" (4/08/1960)

Before he was a television writer, Rod Serling was a soldier in the U.S. Army, and while he was a soldier, he did some boxing (a total of 17 fights, the first and last of which resulted in his nose being broken). His experiences in the ring undoubtedly informed his teleplay Requiem for a Heavyweight, a 1956 episode of Playhouse 90 (performed and televised live).  Serling's Peabody-winning tale concerned Harlan "Mountain" McClintock, an over-the-hill boxer facing life after the ring. McClintock is a lumbering, inarticulate lug who never quite made it to the top.

The Requiem cast, from left: Keenan Wynn, Jack Palance, and Ed Wynn.

For The Twilight Zone, Serling reimagined McClintock as Bolie Jackson, an African-American boxer past his prime. Jackson is introspective, articulate. He knows his wad is basically shot, just like McClintock before him, but the difference here is that Jackson is a denizen of The Twilight Zone.  Things --- magic things --- tend to happen here.

Henry is a kid who lives with his single mother in the same tenement building as Jackson. Henry is Jackson’s biggest fan, and he plans on making a special kind of wish --- the big, tall kind --- to ensure that Jackson wins in the ring. Trouble is…. Jackson has to believe in the magic for the wish to come true, and he’s had too many hard knocks to invest in such nonsense.

But again, this is The Twilight Zone. Things tend to happen here.

Henry makes the big, tall wish.

“The Big Tall Wish” was first aired 50 years ago tonight.  It's the first and (regrettably) only TZ episode with a predominantly African-American cast, and this cast shines. Ivan Dixon commands the screen as Jackson, his eyes and mannerisms speaking volumes beyond the words Serling puts in his mouth. Steven Perry is excellent as Henry, a little kid with a somber, ethereal wisdom beyond his years. The scene in which Henry pleads with Jackson to believe in his magic wish is at once uplifting and heartbreaking. On the strength of the casting for this episode, The Twilight Zone was awarded the Unity Award for Outstanding Contributions to Better Race Relations in 1961.

The episode is well-directed by Ron Winston. One effective touch is the use of extreme close-ups of the eager crowd during the boxing match. We see hands being wrung, palms being punched, popcorn boxes being clutched…. and the reluctant eyes of a female patron, peeking out from behind her hands in between blows.

One other item of note regarding this episode: the original score by Jerry Goldsmith is beautiful and haunting, and is the reason I first became interested in film and TV music twenty years ago. I can’t explain why this particular piece of music appeals to me so greatly, especially since it employs the harmonica of all things (which for me would usually be a deal-breaker), but I can’t deny that “The Big Tall Wish” is my single favorite Twilight Zone score.  Goldsmith’s original recording has been released a number of times, first in the 80’s by Varese Sarabande on The Twilight Zone: The Original Television Scores, Volume 2 (on both vinyl and cassette, later released on CD in Japan only). The score later appeared on The Twilight Zone 40th Anniversary Collection from Silva (which compiled all the music from all five Varese Sarabande LPs, plus some additional TZ music).

Regarding those Japan-only CDs… Volume 2 was the first one I got (‘round 1994, I think it was). I paid $50.00 plus shipping to import it from a German soundtrack dealer, which sounds crazy now in the days of digital downloading and rampant music piracy, but I had to have the damn thing. Why? Because it had “The Big Tall Wish” on it, and my cassette would inevitably wear out.  I've never once regretted the cost.

 

Next week: A two-bit thief gets iced in a robbery gone bad and wakes up in heaven. He’s got flashy threads, a swanky pad, girls galore, a casino where he wins every game, all the money he can spend… well, it's just gotta be heaven... right?  Roll the dice and tune in.

TZ Profile: Arlen Schumer (Part 1 of 2)

The subject of today’s spotlight needs no introduction, especially not to Twilight Zone fans operating at an obsessive fan level approximating mine. But since this blog is available to the entire world via this marvelous thing called the internet, I’ll pretend that those reading have never heard of the guy.

I first became aware of Arlen Schumer in 1991. Lisa, my first wife, who was well aware of my preoccupation with all things Twilight Zone (having purchased the first two Varese Sarabande soundtracks on cassette for me the previous Christmas), held up a book that she’d spotted as we browsed the shelves at Powell’s Books in downtown Portland.

I eagerly snatched it out of her hands and gazed lovingly at it. It wasn’t a work of fiction, like the Original Stories collection I’d purchased back in 1985. It wasn’t a work of nonfiction, like Zicree’s Twilight Zone Companion (which I’d beaten the hell out of since I’d first bought it in 1983). No, this was something else entirely. The title said it all: Visions from The Twilight Zone, by Arlen Schumer. And visions they were. We generally refer to this type of publication as a "coffee table" book. This was so much more. This was art. This was my favorite television series, in all its visual splendor, distilled and compressed into a 10" x 9" x .75" package. I had to have it, but at the time I was dead broke. Lisa, in her infinite generosity, bought it for me. No wonder I married her.

I took it home and devoured it with my eyes, my trembling fingers turning each page as I read the words aloud, snatches of dialogue married to stark, compelling images The words frequently didn’t match the specific episode shown, but the themes rhymed. This was poetry. No, it was something beyond poetry. There was something post-modern in Schumer’s approach, something akin to sampling, a practice that had only recently began to take over popular music, in which short musical riffs or drum loops were taken from one song and looped into another. The words and images from The Twilight Zone had been extracted, remixed, re-purposed, and presented as something wholly different, wholly original, yet still in keeping with the series’ recurring themes and ideas. This guy Schumer, whoever the hell he was, was an absolute genius.

...a sample page. Image from "Shadow Play" overlaid with text from "Escape Clause."

The images in the book stem from actual photographs of a black and white television screen, the resolution of which was a scant 250 scan lines. The result is a convincing approximation of what viewers of the show back in the early 60’s must have seen, and it adds to the visual mystique of the book immensely. All the text in the book is set in Bernard Modern, which just happens to be the very same font used in the series’ opening and closing credits. If that’s not attention to detail, I don’t know what is. The book also includes the classic episode “The Eye of the Beholder” in its entirety (in words and images), as well as insightful essays by J. Hoberman, Carol Serling (Rod's widow), and Schumer himself. Icing on the proverbial cake comes in the form of a piece culled from the private notes of series producer Buck Houghton, bestowed upon Schumer by Houghton himself.

…Our man Schumer, 20 years ago, rocking the bow tie.

The bio on Schumer in the book is pretty skimpy… graphic designer, graduated from the Rhode Island school of design, comic book artist, student of popular culture. The intervening 20 years have added some new credentials… but we’ll get to that, in Part 2.

The book, as books often do, went out of print several years ago. I remember spotting a hardcover copy at some point at a Barnes & Noble, clearance-priced at $5.00, and passing it up (d’oh!). If you don’t have this book, FIND IT. There are copies on eBay. There are second-hand copies on Amazon. Seek it out. Of all the Twilight Zone books in my collection, this is by far the most beautiful, the most exciting, the most moving. I had the rare joy of buying a copy for my friend Bill Huelbig, who resides on the other side of the country in New Jersey, this past Christmas. He’s just as big a Twilight Zone fan as I am, so I’m not sure how this particular work of art has eluded him all these years. I was happy to rectify the situation, and I’m prepared to do it again, should some other deserving TZ fan come forward, empty hands desperately outstretched. This book needs to be experienced. Hell, it needs to be BACK IN PRINT. Chronicle Books, are you listening? Do you even still exist?

Fast forward twenty years, give or take. Mr. Schumer presents The Twilight Zone Forever, a “multimedia visualecture” at The Times Center in New York City on 10/02/09, the show’s 50th anniversary. My aforementioned friend Bill buys a ticket and attends, much to his delight (and my internal dismay, since there’s no way in hell I can afford to make the trip). Bill reports back with a positive review (which will appear in Part 2 of this spotlight). A few weeks later, I take a chance and email Mr. Schumer, having only recently discovered his website, wondering if perhaps the presentation was videotaped. Turns out it was. And Mr. Schumer, out of an immeasurable kindness, sends me a DVD of the presentation. But we’ll get to that, in Part 2.

It doesn’t stop there. The magnanimous Mr. Schumer proceeds to send me an assortment of TZ-related gifts, one of which I’ll address right now, since it’s germane to the topic at hand.

Sight, Sound & Mind: A Montage of The Twilight Zone’s Words, Images & Music is a 12-minute DVD that mirrors Schumer’s Visions book, page by page (one dissolves into the next, with that 250-lines of resolution look gloriously intact), augmented by musical cues from various episodes, with all of the text read by the author himself. This alone makes the disc essential (honestly, can you imagine anybody but Anthony Bourdain reading Kitchen Confidential out loud? I like to think that if my novel Diminished Returns ever gets published, I’ll get to do the audio version). The Visions book is Schumer’s baby, and his voice brings it to vibrant, shimmering life.

I can’t stress enough what a treat this DVD is to behold. As I’ve already stated, the book needs to be back in print or, better yet, back in print with a copy of the DVD included. Until that happens, however, something of a guerrilla approach will be necessary for interested parties to attain the full experience. Get the book, then contact Mr. Schumer directly at arlen@arlenschumer.com to inquire about the DVD. Or inquire about the DVD first, then get the book. Either way, they’re two great tastes that taste great together.

My marriage to Lisa lasted nine years. The Twilight Zone, on the other hand, is forever. Arlen Schumer agrees, as you’ll see in Part 2 of our profile. Stay tuned, won’t you?

TZ Promo: “The Fever” (1/29/1960)

Franklin Gibbs is a sour, unpleasant man with few (if any) redeeming character traits. His wife Flora wins a trip for two to Las Vegas and, upon their arrival, proceeds to ruin the trip with his endless bitching and complaining. Staunchly against gambling (or spending money on anything frivolous), he nonetheless finds himself falling victim to… the fever. A battle of wills ensues between Gibbs and a particularly aggressive slot machine, one that seems to literally call his name….

The casting is spot-on. Everett Sloane stars as Gibbs, who somehow creates an even more unpleasant character than Walter Ramsey, the CEO from hell in Serling's Patterns, a Kraft Television Theater script from 1956 (for which Sloane was nominated for an Emmy). Vivi Janiss is marvelous as Gibbs' eternally suffering wife, Flora. As for the third character in the story….

…well, it's the scariest one-armed bandit I've ever seen. I visited Las Vegas for the first time five years ago, and was disappointed to discover that there were no actual slot machines anywhere. Everything's computerized, with push buttons instead of those tactile pull-arms. It just ain't the same.

The Fever is written by Rod Serling, directed by Robert Florey, and shot by George T. Clemens. The music is a "stock score" affair (explained last week), but the majority of the music is derived from two different CBS Music Library pieces, one by Jerry Goldsmith, and another by Rene Garriguenc. Both suites were first released in 1984 by Varese Sarabande on the LP The Twilight Zone: Volume 4, under the titles "Jazz Theme One" and "Jazz Theme Two," respectively. Both appeared later on CD in 1999 as part of Silva's The Twilight Zone 40^th Anniversary collection, but this time Garriguenc's piece was retitled "Jazz Theme Three" (apparently to accommodate a second jazz suite by Jerry Goldsmith, which did NOT appear on the original Varese Sarabande LP, but WAS included on the Japanese-only CD release of that album). For the record, the Garriguenc piece is called "Street Moods in Jazz," and would also be used in later TZ episodes such as "The Chaser" and "The Prime Mover."

The Fever isn't one of my favorites, but it's certainly worth a look. Even grade-B Zone is better than most TV. Christ, for that matter, even grade-D Zone is better than most TV. Make no mistake: The Twilight Zone did have its share of bad episodes ("turkeys," as Serling called them). But we'll get to those in due time, and thankfully not for a while….

 

Next week: A WWI pilot lands… well, someplace he never thought possible. Book a flight and check it out.

Afterthoughts ("Walking Distance")

I watched "Walking Distance" Friday night as scheduled. It was my hope that perhaps this time around (I haven't watched the episode in at least ten years, probably more) I'd absolutely fall in love with it. While I've always admired the episode, it's never quite grabbed me enough to achieve a place among my all-time favorites. It's widely considered one of the greatest (if not THE greatest) episode of the entire series, so I've always felt a bit self-conscious about my apparent ambivalence toward it, as if perhaps the problem is with me and not with the episode. The theme of the episode is nostalgia, a longing for the past so intense that one's appreciation of the present is compromised. It certainly sounds like something I'd identify with, especially since my 40th birthday is looming ever closer (25 days now), and I find myself increasingly discontented with my life. The time certainly seems right for a revelatory rush of appreciation for this episode. Perhaps now, with Friday's viewing, I'd finally get it, so to speak.

Well, I didn't. That's not to say I don't still appreciate the episode on many levels. It's well written. It's technically well put-together. The performances are fine. I just don't.... Christ, I don't know. It should touch me. My eyes should well up with tears. I should ride the emotional roller coaster and break down when Martin Sloan achieves the devastating realization that the past is off limits to him, that he must focus on the present (and future). It's certainly a valuable lesson, one I'd be wise to learn, and yet I remain relatively unmoved. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I dead inside?

One thing about the episode that DOES move me is the musical score. Using strings only, composer Bernard Herrmann manages to capture the floating, bittersweet spirit of nostalgic longing perfectly. I can listen to the music in a darkened room and cry, so no, I'm not dead inside. But in the context of the episode, the music is somehow less powerful. it certainly elevates things, but overall "Walking Distance" is somehow less than the sum of its parts (for me). I hate that I feel this way. There are certainly other Twilight Zones that touch me ("In Praise of Pip" comes to mind, the very thought of which causes a lump in my throat), but I reamin somehow detached in this case. I honestly don't know why.

Regarding Herrmann's score: the original recording has been released a number of times, first in the 80's by Varese Sarabande on The Twilight Zone: The Original Television Scores, Volume One (on both vinyl and cassette; later on CD in Japan only). The score later appeared on CD here in the states on The Best of The Twilight Zone, Volume 1 (also from Varese Sarabande), and later appeared on the Twilight Zone 40th Anniversary Collection from Silva (which compiled all the music from the five Varese Sarabande LPs, plus additional Zone music).

Additionally, the "Walking Distance" score has been re-recorded twice, first by Joel McNeely on his Bernard Herrmann: The Twilight Zone album, and more recently by John Morgan and William Stromberg (as a bonus on their recording of Herrmann's Fahrenheit 451 score). Of the two, the Morgan & Stromberg version is superior (McNeely has recorded many Herrmann scores over the past twenty years, and unfortunately many of them are inferior to Herrmann's originals; his Twilight Zone recordings are particularly problematic). However, the preferred version (for me, anyway) is Herrmann's original. I'll be spotlighting the various Twilight Zone soundtracks in the weeks to come.

Here are a couple of links regarding Herrmann's "Walking Distance" score:

http://www.filmscorerundowns.net/herrmann/tzwalking.pdf

http://www.americanmusicpreservation.com/WalkingDistanceTwilightZone.htm

Next up: "Escape Clause" on 11/06/09. Guy wants to live forever. Guy makes a deal with the devil. Guy finds out the hard way that the devil never plays fair.

TZ Spotlight --- The Twilight Zone: A Sound Adventure in Space (Marty Manning and his Orchestra)

This spotlight represents a bit of a departure for me, namely because I don’t actually own the item I’m spotlighting. Ladies and gentlemen, your attention is directed to one of the strangest items to ever bear the Twilight Zone name….

Columbia Records released this album in 1961 in both mono (CL 1586) and stereo (CS 8386) versions, with the clear intent of capitalizing on the show’s growing fame. The casual observer, browsing the record store bins, might have assumed that the LP contained actual music from the show. Well, it didn’t. Not even close. In fact, only the title track is even remotely connected to the show, and even then it’s a barely-recognizable rendition of Marius Constant’s theme for seasons 2-5 (Bernard Herrmann’s superior season 1 theme is thankfully spared). Otherwise, the album contains short musical interpretations of film scores, classical pieces, and easy listening songs, arranged by Marty Manning and Ernie Altschuler, and performed by Mr. Manning and his Orchestra. Here’s the track listing:

01. The Twilight Zone

02. Forbidden Planet

03. The Lost Weekend theme

04. Invitation

05. You Stepped Out of a Dream

06. The Unknown
07. Far Away Places

08. Spellbound Concerto

09. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

10. The Moon is Low

11. Night on Bald Mountain

12. Shangri-La

The album has been out of print for years, and has never been reissued on CD or digitally via iTunes. It’s a highly-desired collectible, no doubt about it (I’ve seen copies sell on eBay for between $50-$100 over the last several years). Since I don’t own a copy of the album, I don’t have access to the liner notes. I did find the following excerpt online, however:

"To pluck such sounds out of The Twilight Zone and give them expression, an astounding group of musical instruments was brought together. The familar tones of woodwinds, trumpet, piano and guitar were expanded and given shapes through electronic sorcery. And to them were added exotic instruments that seem to have been invented for, and even in, The Twilight Zone; the Martinot, the Ondioline, the bongos and the whole spectrum of percussion instruments. A vast library of sound effects added further intriguing notes. All of these were employed by arranger Manning to produce sounds that are musical, witty and beyond question other worldly."

Um… okay, sounds interesting enough. However, if you aren’t into space-age lounge music, you will not, I repeat, NOT enjoy this record. How do I know, you ask? I, um, acquired it in digital form using, er, questionable tactics (okay, tough guy, since you’re pressing me, I downloaded it from one of those disreputable torrent sites. Sue me!). So I do have the complete album, albeit in mp3 form. And I’ve been listening to it pretty much nonstop all day. First, it appears that these mp3 tracks came from the stereo version of the album, as there are some really nice directional effects here and there. The sound is pretty clean, too, without any perceptible skips or vinyl noise (the person or persons behind these mp3s clearly had access to a nice clean specimen). So yeah, the quality is good. It’s definitely cool getting my hands (well, ears) on it.

But…. do I like it? Well, I dunno. I do appreciate exotic lounge music in general (for example, I’m a big fan of Capitol’s Ultra-Lounge compilations, particularly the Mondo Exotica, Rhapsodesia and Bossa Novaville volumes). I like unusual instrumentation and mysterious sounds, but I generally prefer the music itself to be low key, mellow… you know, atmospheric. And the fact is, the space-age variety of lounge music sometimes gets a bit bouncy and frenetic, kinda like a small child with ADHD, and employs some pretty obnoxious electronic sounds in the process. In short, it can get pretty wacky, and therefore I tend toward caution when it comes to this type of music.

Manning’s Twilight Zone LP definitely has its moments, I’ll give it that. Both the title track and “The Unknown” are highlights, both employing wordless female vocalizing (a la Alexander Courage’s Star Trek theme) and establishing an appropriately mysterious mood. “Invitation” and “You Stepped Out of a Dream” effectively maintain the atmosphere. Unfortunately, the album also contains tracks that utterly shatter the mood. “Faraway Places” starts out like a xylophone factory on crack, “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” is relentlessly cutesy (and almost certainly not at all what Dukas intended), and “Night on Bald Mountain” is just plain repellent (who’s idea was it to sprinkle human screams throughout?). However, the album closer, “Shangri-La,” is moody, vaguely tropical, and utterly sublime. The album is schizophrenic in its arrangement, and ultimately an exercise in frustration. Fortunately, the digital age permits us to customize what we listen to with great precision, so roughly half of this album is going to be deleted from my iPod.

Bottom line? In the realm of Twilight Zone collecting, this album is a curiosity piece at best. If I ever find it cheap, I’ll probably snatch it up. Otherwise…. nah.

An interesting side note: while this album clearly isn’t an actual Twilight Zone soundtrack, it sure as hell looks like one, especially when compared to the five Varese Sarabande LPs released in the 80’s:

I will note that I'm a HUGE fan of Twilight Zone music, so this is a topic that will most definitely be explored in future entries. Consider these (gorgeous) LP covers a small taste of what's to come.

And hey, if you’re interested in outer space exotica, here’s a great online overview of this unique musical subgenre. Talk about gorgeous album covers!