Monthly Archives: May 2019

Twilight Zone – Crazy as a Soup Sandwich (04/01/89)

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I have honestly gone back and forth for 2 weeks on whether this is a great episode or just unwatchable shit.  And it’s not even a close call — it is decidedly one or the other.

It uses a garish color palette, something you would expect from Tales from the Crypt.  Well done, if this is what you’re looking for.

The lead character Arky is a skinny, obnoxious, hyperkinetic, man-child with a high pitched voice like very-early-era Jerry Lewis.  Unfortunately, he is about as funny as every-other-era Jerry Lewis.  Yet, I can’t help but be impressed by his commitment to the part.  Seriously, the actor gives it 100% and I think is successful in what he wanted to do.

The dialogue is stilted and wordy.  For example: “Before you have Gus and Bork reduce him to his component parts for shipment, are you interested in hearing his tale of woe?”  Or, when Arky is asked why he made a deal with a demon: “For a first-refusal option on 51% of my immortal soul.”  Yes, I understand that it is purposely so, and I appreciated the musicality of some of the lines, but to what end?

That is just one of many indications that this does not take place in the Twilight Zone universe (ie our universe).  The whole foundation of TZ was that is existed in little cracks of our reality.  The old TZ’s stories took place in dull, B&W 1958-1964 when suddenly BAM! — your daughter falls out of bed and into another dimension.  This uber-styled episode is, again, a better fit for TFTC than TZ.

For some reason, a particularly egregious example of this did make me laugh.  Poor Arky is on the hook to the mob for a loan with 750% interest!  Or maybe this was set during the Carter Administration.

I did enjoy the design of the demon.  It is arguably cheesy, but I found its shifting, yellow, cloud-like form to be fabulous.  It was also given a voice that was a perfect blend of menace and stentorian parody.  That was great as far as it went, but it just kept going and going.  Paradoxically, that’s just how I want my demon to speak, but the constant yelling does get tedious.

The anchor of the episode is its straight man, Anthony Franciosa. As the mobster, he projected cool, confident authority and confidence.  Without him, the episode would have been irredeemable.

This felt like when they used to take an episode of a sitcom and unexpectedly shift the focus to a different family or character as a non-committal spin-off pilot.

So I guess I appreciated more than I liked it.  It is impossible to assign it a number or letter grade.  I rate this one a mauve.

Mansion of Death – Roger Torrey (1940)

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According to the introduction — and why else would I pay for a bunch of 80 year old public domain stories — this is “the most atypical story one could imagine in the pages of a pulp:  a little old lady takes a hard-boiled detective and leads him around by the nose.”  Well, the age and the body part are different, I’ll give’m that.

Shay was summoned to the Conklin Mansion, as it was known yesterday, to meet Miss Conklin about her murdered maid.  He liked the old woman immediately.  She looked like an old-fashioned grandmother dressed up in 5th Avenue clothes.  Her clothes fitted her perfectly and undoubtedly had cost her a lot of money.  But she didn’t seem to belong in them.  Yeah, but she damn well better stay in them if they expect me to finish this story. [1]

Conklin says $1,864 was stolen from her desk drawer.  Strangely, there were $50,000 in bonds in the same drawer, but none were taken.  Also, her 28 year old maid Mary Morse was murdered (I’m picturing Anne Hathaway’s intro in The Dark Knight Rises).  She did not call the police because she didn’t want them tramping through the house, and she has her own way of handling things.

Suspects are plentiful as Miss Conklin hires only ex-prisoners for her staff.  For example, the Butler was sent up for Armed Robbery and Assault, and her Chauffeur is also “an ugly bird”, presumably of the jail variety.  She does not want them hassled.

I thought of the butler and the cutthroat who had driven us to the house — and lord knows what other specimens around the house — and said, “Mrs. Conklin, I’d as soon live in a cage with wild tigers as here.

“That is very unfair,” she said.

“If Mary could talk, I’ll bet she wouldn’t agree with you.”

Boom!  The police arrive and determine that the Chauffeur had indeed done time in Dannemora and Joliet.  The Gardeners had collectively done time at McAlester, Folsom, and Leavenworth.  The Cook killed her husband with a frying pan.  Mary and the other Maids had done time for minor infractions such as shoplifting and practicing lesbianism without a license.  Also in the house are her nephew George and her niece Frances.

The butler tells Shay that Mary had been shaking George down for cash.  In fact, George had roughed her up about it recently.  Miss Conklin asks him not to pass that tidbit on to the cops until she has time to investigate it herself.

She lays a trap for her nephew, but he spoils it by actually being concerned about his aunt.  Then, her niece’s boyfriend — described problematically as a “small, dark man” — enters to conk Conklin on the head.  Luckily, Shay is hiding behind the fern and shoots him in the shin.  Yeah, right in the bone, splitting it in two.  I’m cringing just thinking about it.

Like the apocryphal liberal who has been mugged, Miss Conklin suddenly sees the light on punishment.  She pulls a horsewhip out of a drawer and begins whaling on Frances.  Shay has to stop her before she kills the girl.

Turns out, Miss Conklin’s sympathy for criminals was not ideologically driven.  She had actually done time herself, so felt an affinity for these jailbirds.  After that beating she gave her niece, she might get a chance to be around a lot more of them.

I could imagine this story being very entertaining if it were expanded.  The older woman taking charge is new.  The staff of criminals has great possibilities for fun.  And who doesn’t like a crook’s leg being blown off?  At just a few pages, though, it wasn’t possible to do much with it.

Other Stuff:

  • [1] Sorry about the ageism, but 30 minutes ago, I was traumatized by a scene on TV with a naked 100 year old woman.  Luckily, this was just basic cable so there is no lasting retinal damage.  On the plus side, it is an opportunity to recommend The Mick — maybe the funniest show since Arrested Development (Seasons 1-3 (it is also funnier than AD Seasons 4 and 5 but so is [insert any name here]).
  • First published in the May 25, 1940 issue of Detective Fiction Weekly

Tales from the Crypt – 99 & 44/100% Pure Horror (01/18/95)

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Lovely blonde Willa Sandleton is taking a shower when her husband enters the bathroom.  He asks his nekkid wife to not throw towels on the floor, and where do they keep the antacid.  From the looks of things, he’s seems to conveniently have a roll of Tums in his pocket right now. [1]

Luden Sandleton sits down to watch a promotional video about his soap company.  He says most companies use rendered animal parts that are full of acid to make their soap.  “Think about it, would you want the stuff that digests food in your stomach doing the same kind of thing to your face?  That’s why for the past 70 years, DermaSmooth has been all-natural.”

Willa enters and he tells her that soap sales are at an all-time low, and with the Occupy Wall Street generation being born, they won’t be getting any better.  The board seems to think it is because Willa’s artwork has gotten stale.  In a radical departure for TFTC, Night Gallery, and TV in general, the drawing she holds up is actually pretty good.  It reminds me of that old Poco album cover.[2]  Typical of TV’s ineptitude, however, this fine hunk of art is supposed to be bad.  Anyhoo, she takes the criticism well, and immediately works on some new concepts for the shareholders meeting.

Unfortunately, Luden tells her the board decided to forego her more — er, controversial — work as well in favor of a graffiti artist.  BTW, preceding this was a bizarre scene of Willa appearing on a talk show.  On one hand, it was blatantly and jarringly shoe-horned in only to set up the name of the graffiti artist.  On the other hand, it was a shockingly tight little scene.  Graffiti guy has his moment and shows off his art, the host gives Willa about 15 seconds and hilariously does not show hers, this universe can apparently sustain a TV show about art running against The View, and the host is fabulously clueless and cruel about the mentally challenged artists in the next segment.  This could have been a big nothing that just set up the other artist’s name as a joke.  It gives me hope for TV that someone actually put some effort into this little scene.

But back to Willa and Luden.  When he gives her the bad news she gives him a 2-handed slap in the face.  Both cheeks at the same time — smack — and storms off, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor.  OK, it ain’t Shakespeare, but it’s pretty dang funny.  So, definitely not Shakespeare.

Willa tells Luden that if the board won’t use her design then she wants a divorce.  Her delivery is so over the top that I’m not sure if she is a terrible actress, or is one of the few that actually understands TFTC.  They have built up some good will, so I say Bravo! to her.  Her divorce case gets off to a rocky start as Luden has pictures of her fooling around with another man.

I feel compelled to offer a spoiler warning even though this next bit is not a major twist or unexpected plot point.  Willa picks up a DermaSmooth soap on a rope, spins it so fast it whistles, and clocks Luden right in the face with this massive brick of soap.  Then again and again.  It is fast, brutal and awesome.

Gratuitous, but I didn’t include the shower shots.

Willa takes Luden’s body to the soap company which fortunately has no guards and a drive-through manufacturing plant.  She tosses his body into a vat of soap and hits the START button.  In minutes, bars of DermaSmooth  roll out on a conveyor belt.  She takes a box back home with her.

She is still covered with Luden’s blood, so gets into the shower with one of the bars of soap that he is part of.  What happens next is also fun.  As she rubs the soap over her body, the acid begins to eat away at her, leaving her screaming in a goo of water, soap, and bloody skin.  The camera pans from her ravaged body, to some of her new artwork which is stylistically similar to her current condition.  Bravo on tying her art to her fate!

This was a great, fun episode.  Bruce Davison was fine as Luden and Cristi Conaway was outstanding as Willa.  The fact that her career in Hollywood only seems to have lasted another 5 years shows how little they know about what works.  This was an excellent showing of beauty, comedic-timing, understanding the material, and perfectly toned scenery-chewing.  And they made Julia Roberts the big star of the 90’s?

I am a 99.44% satisfied customer, but I must say that ending was a little sloppy, and not just the entrails.  C’mon, Luden’s body was about 2% of that vat of soap mix.  And even though a handy voice-over reminds that he said animals contain acid, they aren’t totally acid.  And the ending is muddled by his earlier question about the antacid in the beginning of the episode.  Are they suggesting that the acid from his upset stomach was enough to dissolve Willa?  That f***ing tummy-ache should have bled through his shirt like Roy Hobbs in The Natural. [3]

But none of that matters.  I don’t know if this episode and The Assassin are proof that all TFTC needs is a hot blonde as the killer to be a success, but it’s worth more testing.

Other Stuff:

  • [1] See, because he isn’t jumping this babe.  I’m emasculating him by speculating on the size of his weiner.  Like the old “Are you happy to see me?” joke.  See, is that clear?
  • [2] Designed by Phil Hartman, BTW.
  • [3] I never understood that scene.  He had just been poisoned, but his gunshot wound was years earlier.  What caused the bleeding?
  • Title Analysis:  I dig it.  And as usual Unca Cecil has the answer to a question I never considered . . . pure what?
  • She thought this would sell soap? And I thought the guys at Gillette were boobs.

Outer Limits – Summit (05/21/99)

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Ministry of Defense Envoy Katherine Woods is sending a message from space to her young son.  She knows the war is scary, but she tells him, “It’s our job to talk with the Dregs and try to stop the bad feelings between us.”  Well, maybe not calling them the Dregs would be a start.  She is confident, having previously negotiated treaties with the Scumbags and the Poopyheads.

The Dregs are late to the titular summit.  Colonel Thurman takes this as a sign that 1) they are not coming, 2) this might be a set-up for a terrorist strike, and 3) he really over-ordered on the shrimp.  They finally see a Dreg ship approaching.  It soon goes out of control and the Dregs immediately suspect sabotage by the humans.  They arm their weapons, so we blow them out of the sky (Team Humans!  F*** yeah!).  Sadly, they were apparently right over top of the base at the time so the debris rains down on the base killing our Ambassador.  Earth and Dreg Central both launch their fleets.  In 3 hours, there will be a war.

Thurman takes charge, but Woods reminds him that she is in charge until there is a declaration of war.  He says she is in over her head and “the only order she has ever given is for desert at a diplomatic function.”

Somehow Dregosian Ambassador Prosser and his sidekick survived the crash of their ship and force their way into the facility.  The frightening Prosser has yellow-green snake-like eyes set in hellish red sockets.  But mostly he is terrifying because he is played by Michael Ironside.  He tells Woods that after 5 generations of oppression, the Dregs are fighting back.  Engineered by humans to serve their needs, they work under a sun so bright that they need yellow eyes to reflect its rays, and a third lung to tolerate the thin atmosphere.  Prosser says they are through working in the mines!  Wait, then why is the bright sun a problem if they work in mines?

The actors — especially Michael Ironside and John Spencer — do a great job, although the casting did most of the work.  There is nothing particularly wrong with the episode.  It just feels like a missed opportunity.  The first act reminded me of the classic Trial by Fire — an untested leader suddenly thrust into a global conflict.  It never achieved that level, though.  The fourth act should have been awesome.  The stakes are so high, and the sacrifices made are so final that it could have been a series highlight.  Sadly, the direction is unimaginative and the score is utterly lacking in support for the drama on screen.

Still, the performances and script make a decent episode.

Science Fiction Theatre – The Mind Machine (06/08/56)

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Host Truman Bradley: “If you pussies at Variety don’t like this episode I’ll kick your asses”

They must have been a little short on story this week as it is an interminable 4 minutes before they get started.  There is some obvious padding as we have to wait while Truman Bradley dials a number on a rotary phone in the intro.  This torture is lessened by the fact that 1) this was back when phone numbers apparently had only 6 digits, and 2) it is followed by a cool little clip of how the caller is connected to the callee.  All this is to set up how the brain is superior to this technical marvel.

78 year old Dr. Milton — sweet Jesus!  This guy is only 78?  They hired a 69 year old to play him, but he looks 100.  Anyway, he drops by the lab of Dr. Alan Cathcart [1].  He asks Cathcart how he would like to be able to “measure nerve impulses in micro-volts and expressed in a typewritten language.”  Cathcart is intrigued because who wouldn’t be?  They go to Milton’s lab.

Milton shows Cathcart his new discovery that allows brain impulses to be transmitted as language.  Unfortunately, Milton feels he doesn’t have long to live and wants the youthful Cathcart to collate his notes, finish the research, and open a jar of pickles.

Cathcart agrees to continue Milton’s research and comes to the lab the next day.  Several men are testing the mind-reading device on Joyce.  Judging by her radiant smile, she is not reading their minds, or maybe she is!  The machine begins printing data from Joyce’s mind.  Milton sees it as gibberish.  Cathcart suggests the symbols can be decrypted, although Joyce quickly shoots down his proposition that “gamma = in the butt”.

Sadly, Milton has a stroke leaving him unable to move except for one finger.  At the hospital, Cathcart says, “Listen carefully.  Let 1 represent the letter A, 2 B, 3 C, and so on.”  Milton wiggles his finger to indicate he understands the system.  He begins communicating by moving his finger to indicate the binary numbers associated with the letters forming the words of his response.

After his initial plea of K-I-L-L-M-E, Milton informs them he has memorized the code.  He instructs them to keep his brain alive after death and he will attempt to send his thoughts to the printer.  His supposition is that without the other pesky organs confusing his thoughts, the data should come out in perfect english.  Recognizing this is a 30-minute show, Milton dutifully croaks during the commercial.

His brain is preserved in a vat of nutrients.  The printer (actually an electric typewriter) begins producing data.  Cathcart’s assistant looks at the data and says, “That can’t represent the alphabet; there’s more than 26 characters!”  Wait, this is a typewriter, how is it just making up symbols?

Or is he counting punctuation?  Like S-E-R-I-O-U-S-L-Y-K-I-L-L-M-E-I-M-A-F-#-$-^-%-&-I-N-G-D-I-S-E-M-B-O-D-I-E-D-B-R-A-I-N !

Cathcart takes the message to the US Signal Corp in Washington DC to be translated.  They use the most sophisticated decryption equipment of the era which seems to be a chalkboard.  After a few hours, they crack the code, but it is not very interesting.  A message from Heaven would have been better.  A message from Hell would have been awesome.

On 06/21/56, Variety said:  This one may be a hit at Caltech, but it is a miss on TV . . . A viewer tuning in in the middle might get the impression it was partly dubbed in Pakistani . . . Actors doing their best with thankless material . . . Paul Guilfoyle’s directing is unimaginative.

Wow, I thought I was tough.

Other Stuff:

  • [1] BTW, the new Catch-22 series is looking dreadful.  WTF are any of these people other than Clooney?  The 1970 version was also not good, but what a cast!  Go read the book!
  • Correction:  The first episode of Catch-22 was surprisingly not-awful.  The actors playing Yossarian, Cathcart, and Daneeka were especially good; the others might grow on me.  This version also captures a few of the verbal set-pieces better than the original movie which sometimes sounded like a table-read.  Go read the book!
  • The big money this week went to Dr. Cathcart ($800).  The lovely Joyce made a mere $80.