TZ Promo: "No Time Like the Past" (3/07/1963)

Season 4, Episode 10 (#112 overall)

Cayuga Production # 4853

Originally aired March 7, 1963

50 years ago tonight, a discontented scientist bounced back and forth through time, desperate to alter history for the better.  No, this isn't an episode of Quantum Leap.  And no, he’s not a Time Lord either.

Rod Serling’s “No Time like the Past” introduces us to Paul Driscoll, a scientist of unspecified specialty (say that fast three times!) who’s had his fill of modern life, particularly the looming threat of nuclear annihilation. He’s constructed one of the strangest, coolest time machines ever presented on The Twilight Zone, and with it he plans to change key moments in the past, creating a ripple effect that will hopefully result in a more agreeable present.

I love this time machine so much; I’ll forgive the blatant use of a goddamned tape recorder as the control panel.

Throughout act one, Driscoll hits three different time periods, attempting to change important world events (the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915, Adolf Hitler’s rise to power in 1939, and the bombing of Hiroshima in 1945).  All three attempts fail.  Realizing that the flow of time is immune to such tampering, Driscoll decides instead to escape the present and live --- sans meddling --- in a simpler time and place:  Homeville, Indiana circa 1881, before world wars, atomic catastrophe and reality TV (okay, I added that last one).  He finds, however, that simply observing is more difficult than he anticipated.  Time, it seems, is going to teach him a lesson one way or another.

Homeville vs. Willoughby.  Or maybe it's vice versa.  I can't tell. 

It’s hard not to compare “No Time like the Past” to Serling’s earlier “A Stop at Willoughby,” and not just because Homeville strongly resembles Willoughby.  Paul Driscoll is something of a variation on Gart Williams, only he has the means to actually visit the past (versus Williams, who seemingly has to die to get to a celestial version of it).  I guess we can throw Martin Sloan in the mix too (“Walking Distance”), who apparently can travel in time AND make changes without a time machine or a magical train.

 Gart Williams, meet Martin Sloan.

In his increasingly-irrelevant Twilight Zone Companion, Marc Scott Zicree incorrectly states that Driscoll’s attempt on Hitler’s life is foiled by his wasting time on a “test run” instead of immediately firing when he gets the chance.  In Zicree’s words, “no assassin in his right mind would get his intended victim centered in the cross hairs of his rife without intending to fire.  He would know that he might not get a second chance --- as indeed Driscoll does not.”  Gee, MSZ, I’m pretty damned sure Driscoll isn’t a practiced assassin, so we can probably cut him some slack for not strictly adhering to the sniper manual.  

When Driscoll does finally attempt to shoot Hitler, his rifle inexplicably jams.  This is a pointed example of time allowing visitors to travel against its natural flow, but not permitting changes (as Driscoll’s assistant Harvey later observes, “the past is inviolate”).

There’s a flat-out brilliant sequence that closes Driscoll’s failed attempt to evacuate Hiroshima (time stamp 9:20).  We hear the distant sound of a single B-29 overhead as the Japanese Police Captain studies a framed photograph of his wife and daughter.  The initial atomic blast levels his office, and we see the photograph lying in rubble.  Then the secondary shock wave hits, leaving only a charred frame.  It’s a seriously haunting 25 seconds. 

Note that Driscoll’s clothing changes with each, um, time leap. When he leaves the present, he’s wearing a modern suit and tie.  Each time he arrives in the past, however, he’s wearing a completely different suit that is appropriate to the period. It’s a clever wardrobe detail, but I can’t help but wonder how the hell he managed this.  The editing suggests that he hits three time periods in one shot, then briefly returns to the present before his final trip to 1881.  And since he’s always wearing his modern suit when he departs, the wardrobe changes are happening while he’s moving through time.  That’s some time machine, man.

Dana Andrews is quite good as the stoic and morose Paul Driscoll in his only TZ outing (he particularly shines during his anti-war rant at the dinner table in act three). Andrews appeared in a number of classic film noirs, including Fallen Angel (1945), Boomerang! (1947), Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950), and Beyond a Reasonable Doubt (1956). In noir circles, he’s best known as the obsessive Detective Mark McPherson in 1944’s Laura (now on blu-ray from Fox).

As Harvey, Driscoll’s disapproving assistant, Robert F. Simon imbues his character with sufficient compassion to suggest that he truly cares about Driscoll’s well-being  successfully fleshing out what would have otherwise been a cardboard role.  Simon would inject a great deal more compassion into his role as the peace-loving General Hart in “The Zanti Misfits” on The Outer Limits later the same year.

School teacher Abigail Sloan, the object of Driscoll’s affections, is played by Patricia Breslin in her second Twilight Zone appearance (she previously appeared alongside William Shatner in season two’s “Nick of Time”).

Don’t typecast me, bro.

Malcolm Atterbury plays Professor Eliot, the traveling medicine peddler.  If he looks familiar, it’s because he also played Henry J. Fate, a different traveling medicine peddler, in season one’s “Mr. Denton on Doomsday.”  In the so-coincidental-it-must-be-more-than-a-coincidence department, Atterbury also played a traveling medicine peddler, also named Professor Eliot (!), in a 1962 episode of Gunsmoke (“The Boys,” 5/26/1962).

“No Time like the Past” isn't generally favored by TZ fans and historians (Zicree included), but I've always had a soft spot for it. Yes, some of Serling’s dialogue is pretty heavy and unrealistic (but isn't it always?), and yes, the denouement is a bit obvious (the past is dead; the future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades!), but despite Driscoll’s melancholic demeanor and the frequent depiction of tragedy (Hiroshima bombing, Lusitania sinking, school fire, etc.), the episode somehow manages to be… well, fun somehow.  And that time machine? Freakin’ awesome.

Next week:  The Astronaut’s Wife, Serling-style and Depp-free.

TZ Promo: "Printer's Devil" (2/28/1963)

 Season 4, Episode 9 (#111 overall)

Cayuga Production # 4864

Originally aired February 28, 1963

After entertaining us with multiple manifestations during the first two seasons of The Twilight Zone, His Satanic Majesty (a.k.a. Ol’ Scratch, Beelzebub, Lucifer, The Prince of Darkness, The Devil; he answers to all of them) apparently took last year off.  Happily (or not, depending on your religious/spiritual inclination), he/she/it makes up for it by appearing twice this season.

50 years ago tonight, The Evil One visited the city of Danzburg under the name “Mr. Smith.” His target?  One Douglas Winter, editor of the failing Danzburg Courier. Winter’s just lost his linotype operator to the competing Danzburg Gazette, effectively spelling the end of his paper. Full of self-loathing and liquor, Winter is poised to jump off a bridge… until Smith shows up out of nowhere, looking for a job.  It seems he’s an expert linotype operator and a crack reporter to boot.

  

With Smith on board, The Courier quickly becomes the town’s top newspaper, consistently scooping The Gazette. Winter’s long-suffering girlfriend Jackie doesn't trust Smith; in fact, she suspects he’s behind the very catastrophes he’s reporting. When Winter confronts him, Smith lays his cards on the table:  he’ll continue providing his services, guaranteeing permanent success for The Courier, in exchange for Winter’s soul.

Smith’s diabolical work on The Courier comes with an interesting twist: he isn't directly influencing events in Danzburg; rather, he’s “made some modifications” to the paper’s linotype machine that causes whatever is typed into it to come true. This ultimately causes Smith’s plans to unravel, as the linotype machine twists reality regardless of who uses it. Some may cry deus ex machina, but I think it’s a nice touch.

"Printer's Devil" is scored with an impressive array of CBS library cues, including selections from previous TZ scores "The Big Tall Wish" and "Nervous Man in a Four Dollar Room" (the latter is put to great use to build suspense during act four; both are composed by Jerry Goldsmith). CBS Music Director Lud Gluskin had an amazing knack for choosing preexisting music for episodes for which original scores hadn't been commissioned.  "Printer's Devil" is a perfect example of this: the entire score, stock though it is, is imminently listenable on its own (happily, it's isolated on the season four Definitive DVD and blu-ray sets for our listening pleasure).

This is the fourth and final TZ appearance by the great Burgess Meredith: he’s previously graced “Time Enough at Last” and “The Obsolete Man” (he also starred in the dreadful “Mr. Dingle, the Strong,” but we try not to talk about that ‘round here). He’s just marvelous as the (literally) devilish Mr. Smith, particularly in his completely unapologetic horndoggedness.  Note his unsubtle ogling of the waitress, about whom he observes: “She moves quick for a big one.”  Later, he whispers something (presumably highly inappropriate and/or offensive) into Jackie’s ear, which prompts her to slap him (after all these years, I still wonder what exactly he said!).  This is my favorite of Meredith’s four TZ performances (yes, even over his brilliant work as the obsolete Romney Wordsworth).  Meredith is probably remembered best as either The Penguin on TV’s Batman or as boxing trainer Mickey in 1976’s Rocky.

  

Robert Sterling is suitably morose as Douglas Winter in his only Twilight Zone appearance. Genre fans may remember him as Captain Lee Crane in 1961’s Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

The editor of the competing Danzburg Gazette is played by Ray Teal, who is probably best remembered as Sheriff Roy Coffee on TV’s Bonanza.

TZ babe alert! Winter’s girlfriend Jackie is played by Patricia Crowley, and she’s a fine looking specimen indeed; unfortunately, she spends the entire episode frowning and complaining. She appeared on TV’s Bonanza a mere four days before “Printer’s Devil” aired (“The Actress” on 2/24/1963); unfortunately Sheriff Coffee wasn’t in that episode.

The actor falling asleep at the wheel in act four is uncredited, but he looked damn familiar to me, so I tried tracking him down… to no initial avail (IMDB, Wikipedia, The TZ Café, even the ever-useful Martin Grams Jr. book…. nothing, nada, zip). However, after much digging, I’m convinced that he’s David Armstrong, who almost ran over the mechanical grandma in season three’s “I Sing the Body Electric” (Jesus, somebody revoke this guy’s driver’s license!). He also appeared as an uncredited extra in “To Serve Man” and was Simon Oakland’s stunt double in “The Rip Van Winkle Caper.”  His greatest TZ moment, however, came in “The Trade-Ins,” in which he had a speaking role as the surgeon who successfully turns Joseph Schildkraut into Edson Stroll.

“Printer’s Devil” is great fun, maybe not quite top-tier Zone, but quite good all the same (Meredith’s performance advances it several notches, just as Julie Newmar will do for “Of Late I Think of Cliffordville” in a few weeks).  If you’re keeping track, this puts us exactly halfway through season four.

Next week:  Dane Andrews tries to assassinate Hitler but burns down a school instead.  D’oh!

                

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!