Alfred Hitchcock Presents – Coming, Mama (04/01/61)

Middle-aged Lucy [1] & Arthur have cut short a date that I don’t even want to think about.  Old-aged Mrs. Evans meets them at the door.  Stone-aged Mrs. Baldwin, Lucy’s mother, had some sort of episode while Mrs. Evan was visiting.  Lucy and a doctor were summoned — not like Dr. Jill Biden, but an actual doctor who helps the aged and infirmed.  So, I guess, yes like Jill Biden.

The doctor is a strangely-cast pusillanimous sort, when a solid authority figure was needed.  However, I do believe him when he says Mrs. Baldwin was just faking to get some attention from Lucy.  He advises Lucy to stop allowing her mother to control her life.  Despite his diagnosis that there is nothing wrong with Mrs. Baldwin, he gives Lucy some medicine for her mother.  He warns her that only one teaspoon should be used — any more would be dangerous.

What’s with the medicines on these shows that are actually killers?  In real life, you would never see a doctor prescribing some treatment that was suspected of doing more harm than good.  Why, he would have to be some fame-obsessed quack who facilitated the creation of the illness, lied about its source, and was caught in repeated lies about mask efficacy. [2]

She sees the doctor out.  There is a fire in the fireplace, which is really the best place for it.  But where did it come from?  I don’t think Arthur started just it.  Mrs. Evans was just visiting.  Mrs. Baldwin is bed-ridden upstairs.  And what kind of word is fireplace, anyway?  It is very cavemanesque.  Ummm, fire place!

But I digress, and probably bore.  Arthur agrees with the doctor that Lucy needs to get out from under her mother’s thumb.  He reminds Lucy that they aren’t children, just 40 year old virgins.  He says he wants to marry her, but won’t wait forever.  He says, “I want your answer tomorrow.”  Nothing in between — just tomorrow or never.

Lucy takes her mother some tea.  She apologizes for ruining Lucy’s date, but Lucy accuses her of not being sorry at all. She tells her mother, “I am 34 years old!” even though actress is 42.  She worries that she will be stuck here forever with her mother.

Lucy tells her mother about Arthur’s ultimatum.  Her mother says good riddance!  Lucy accuses her of not wanting her to be with any man.  Mom says Arthur is only after her money.  She dares Lucy to accept Arthur’s proposal, but to also tell him that her mother is changing her will to leave her money to Jerry’s Kids.[3]   Not the Muscular Dystrophy Assoc., but Jerry Lewis’s actual kids that he screwed in his will.

Lucy admits she is afraid to do that.  She shouts at her mother, “Look at me!  Why would anyone want to marry me?”  Her mother says, “Everyone can’t be a great beauty.”  Lucy storms out in tears, saying, “I have been by myself long enough!”

I felt bad immediately upon seeing a young Eileen Heckart in this episode because my first thought was, “Wow, she was always homely.”  Then I read her bio on IMDb: “Versatile, award-winning character actress Eileen Heckart, with the lean, horsey face and assured, fervent gait . . . “  Then the script piles on her in a manner usually reserved for Hitchcock’s daughter, Pat.

That night, Lucy purposely gives her mother two tablespoons of the medicine and it kills her.  WTF is in that stuff?  She learns that her mother’s loot came from an annuity which ceases upon death.  Arthur also seems stunned at the news, but not incriminatingly so.

After, or maybe during, their honeymoon, they visit Arthur’s mother who lives “way out in the country”.  For the 2nd episode in 3 weeks, we have a woman getting married without meeting her husband’s mother.  Let this be a lesson, ladies.

His mother is bed-ridden just as Lucy’s mother had been.   Her infirmity is legit, though, as she took a header down the stairs.  She says she is lucky to have Lucy to look after her now.  The old woman orders Lucy to make some tea.  Lucy tells Arthur they should get the doctor to prescribe something to make her sleep.  She walks to the kitchen with a knowing smile.

As Lucy, her mother, the writer, and the camera make clear, Lucy is not a looker.  However, Eileen Heckert knocked it out of the park in this episode.  You really do feel sorry for her as the lonely, trapped woman whose life is slipping away.  Don DeFore might seem like a schlub, but his decency and stability, at least in the beginning, are a credible antidote to her misery.  I’m not entirely sure how we’re supposed to feel about him at the end.  It feels like they want to say he manipulated this outcome.  But that would have required a lot of working parts, and is not necessary.

I appreciate that any other series would have been satisfied with having fate ironically doom Lucy to the same subservient role she thought she had just escaped.  Cheers to AHP for morphing her into a serial killer and smirking at the prospect!

Other Stuff:

  • [1]  That started me thinking about I Love Lucy.  Her husband was Ricky Ricardo.  Does that mean his name was Ricardo Ricardo?
  • [2]  This is not the place to come for accurate medical commentary.  That sort of analysis should be left to experts such as late night comedians, over-rated over-weighted has-been rockers, and our tyrannical social media overlords.
  • [3]  I see on Wiki that Jerry’s Kids was also the name of a punk band.  I’m assuming punk because that is a pretty punky thing to name yourself.  They make Dead Kennedys look like The Housemartins. [4]
  • [4]  I know nothing of their music but always admired the name.
  • For a more coherent review with actual facts and stuff, see bare*bones e-zine.
  • Not that anyone should care, but I cancelled Netflix today.  According to them, I joined in December 2002.  According to me, I watched 1,640 movies.  HBO MAX, you’re next!

One Step Beyond – Front Runner (06/09/59)

Ronnie Watson is in an oxygen tent in the ICU.  He tells reporter Tim Berryman he has incontrovertible evidence that Joe Kennedy is going to steal the election for JFK next year.  But the journalist really just wants to hear about the ghost story with horsies this woozy guy is telling with his last breath.

Ronnie recalls some years ago when, at 5’10”, he was the world’s tallest jockey (although that fact is not mentioned in the story).  He is having dinner with his pal, fellow jockey Sam Barry (a slightly more reasonable 5’5″) .  Ronnie’s girlfriend joins them.  Sam says tomorrow’s race is his last  He is retiring to open a bar in New Jersey where strangers would be welcome. [3] Oh, and he adds one other thing — he is marrying Ronnie’s galrita.  His what?  Oh his gal, Rita. [2]

Rita is 29 years younger than Sam and towers about 5 inches above him, so the jockey business pays a lot better than I thought.  Or they are drawn to the business because they have something in common with horses.

At the track the next day, Sam and Ronnie are neck and neck.   Later that afternoon, their horses are running even in the race.  Ronnie reaches over and tugs on Sam’s saddle cloth.  That is enough to throw his horse off stride.

Sam complains to the judges.  They are inclined to believe Sam since he is a veteran jockey with a clean record.  However, Ronnie points out that Sam had $10,000 bet on the race.  The judges let the results stand.  Sam socks Ronnie in the kisser and says someday the tables will be turned.

Over the next 10 years, Ronnie goes on to be a rich and famous jockey.  Sam is reduced to working for $10 per race south of the border, down Mexico way.  Ronnie tells his agent he is going to retire.  On the day of his last race, he sees Sam in the line-up.  As they are in the final stretch, Sam cuts Ronnie off and they both finish out of the money. [4]

This time, Ronnie complains to the judges.  They do not believe the story about Sam cutting him off.  Mostly because Sam died in a freak steeplechase accident in Uruguay yesterday, which is how I hope to go.  They even run a film of the race showing that Sam was not there.  In the footage where Sam’s horse veers off from the pack, they are alone.

C’mon, I’ll buy the occasional appearance of a dead colleague, or an image on a wall or in a mirror.  But riding a horse?  Before the race we saw a groom leading it to the gate.  Is the groom dead?  Is the horse dead?  Is the opera dead?  How about a horse-opera?

Cut back to Ronnie today in the ICU.  He is freaking out from the story he just told.  The nurse sedates him.  He asks if the journalist believes him, then dies peacefully.

I’m baffled by this framing device with the journalist.  It seems clunky and unnecessary. I’m not even clear why Ronnie is in the ICU.  He did not take a fall in the race.  Is this supposed to be many, many years later?  He looks like he’s been beat up, but he doesn’t look older.

On the plus side, either Alcoa was shelling out some big coin, or they appropriated some great film of the horse races.

Footnotes:

  • [1]  In comparison, Willie Shoemaker was 4’11’ and Eddie Arcaro was 5’2″.  That is every jockey I can name.
  • [2]  Blatant rip-off of the goonluca gag from Police Squad.
  • [3]  OK, this means nothing to you, but it reminds me of something a friend in college said.  It was hilarious, so clearly this is not the time or place to repeat it.
  • [4]  Link goes to “We’re in the Money” from Gold Diggers of 1933.  Yeah, it might seem corny, but wait for the close up of her singing in Pig Latin around 1:35.  It is impossible to not have thoughts of your great-great-grandmother that even your great-great-grandfather didn’t have.  Sadly, the focus-puller seems to have been pulling something else other than the focus.
  • I was going to mock writer Don Mankiewicz for being the black sheep in a family that included Joseph Mankiewicz and Herman Mankiewicz.  But he actually had a fine career.  Plus no one knows who the hell Joseph Mankiewicz and Herman Mankiewicz were.

Suspense – A Night at an Inn (04/26/49)

Want to vague that up a little more?

Sadly, what lies ahead is equally murky; an abyss, devoid of humor or purpose.  And that’s just this review.  Heyyoooo!

The maid is going from window to window in the Inn, closing the shutters on each.  Hey, get over yourself, no one is going to be peeking at you!  Well, maybe those four gangstas playing cards in the lobby.  And I mean “lobby” in the same sense that the Kramden’s had a “living room”.

There is a knock, and Boris Karloff instructs her to answer it.  A motorist asks for a room.  The Maid nervously says they are all booked up —  Perry Como [5] is in town and his posse of cardigan-wearing fans have descended on the city in their General Motors sedans and have rented rooms with toilets and showers like civilized people.  Thank God music fans will never degenerate to drifters, slobs and potheads.

She returns to the men and asks if they need anything else tonight.  Boris says for her to leave out 3 meat pies and 2 bottles of Claret [1], and whiskey.  She says, “They’re on the dresser” and quickly pivots to leave.  This raises several questions:

  • Who’s not getting a meat pie?  I don’t spot any likely vegans in the group.
  • Is there a dresser in the lobby?
  • Is the dresser in one of the rooms?
  • Are the guys all staying in one room?
  • Is there any point in continuing this episode?

Dull story short, the crew stole the ruby out of the eye of a statue.  They mention Bombay, but then the writer pointlessly makes up the country of Indostan.[2] So maybe he meant the gin.  Trigger Warning: One says they luckily “gave those dark devils the slip.”  

They go on and on in hammy, overbearing English accents about merchant seamen, not being able to sell the ruby because it was stolen from a temple, escaping Indostan,  betraying Boris, and the gender fluidity of Jo in Little Women.

One by one, 3 men with turbans enter the inn to retrieve the ruby.  I gotta say, I’m kinda on their side.  Boris and his pals did steal the jewel and smuggle a piece of their heritage out of the country like the Elgin Marbles or the Djibouti Jacks.  You can’t really do that and be the good guys without a cool hat and a kick-ass score by John Williams.

You know, soap and water will take care of a lot of that.

Sadly, all 3 of the Indostanleys are killed by Boris’s thugs. [3] However, then the statue itself appears and takes back his ruby eye which was inexplicably left on the windowsill.  It then hypnotizes the men to go outside, where they are killed.  Maybe that should have been Plan A.  The last to be lured out is Boris.  He says, “This, I did not foresee” which is a pretty good callback to an earlier comment by him.  

This was tough going.  As mentioned, the English accents were overwrought and difficult to understand.  The poor transfer did not help.  There was not much story even though is it based on a play.  Boris Karloff just isn’t very interesting unless he has bolts in his neck.  Maybe the worst feature was the intrusive organ [4] that seemed omnipresent.  It really was a parody of horror movie scoring.

So, a very dull outing.  I rate it a Motel 6.

Other Stuff:

  • [1]  Clatter per the closed captioning.
  • [2]  My guess is the writer didn’t know this was an actual word.  But it ain’t no country.
  • [2]  Upon a, literally, more sober examination, it appears to not be a word.  I think the definition I found earlier was just a rogue lexicographer. It does, however, appear as a place in the parable about elephant and six blind dudes.
  • [3]  Yes, I know.
  • [4]  That’s what she said.
  • [5]  Perry Como was yuge in 1949.  But the top song was Ghost Riders in the Sky by Vaughn Monroe.  Here is the version by Johnny Cash:

 

Tales of the Unexpected – Skin (03/08/80)

The story begins in 1946 France.  Drioli is a maison-less guy (and that’s about it for my junior high school French).

He scavenges through the garbage cans of French restaurants.  Or as they call them in France, restaurants.  He is disgusted to find snails in the garbage can!  What has happened to my life!  How did those disgusting creatures get there!  Call Le Health Inspector!  The chef chases him away.

In the window of “the finest gallery in Paris” he sees a painting by his old friend Saltine Soutine. [1]

Drioli remembers his friend back in 1913.  Oddly enough, he remembers a conversation he was not present at between Soutine and his model Josie.  No matter, Drioli shows up soon 30 years younger, cleaner, and probably smelling better.  Although, this is France so that’s not a given.

Drioli is happy because he just made a big art sale himself.  Nine, in fact!  Soutine mocks him because he is a tattoo artist.

We learn that Josie is Drioli’s wife.  You’d never know it the way she and Soutine are all over each other.  Dioli even suggests his friend should paint his wife nude.

Josie will have none of this.  She is a nice Christian girl. The two drunken men crudely chase her around the apartment.  The prim and proper Josie flees in horror. She is disgusted by their boorish behavior.  To even think a lovely girl like her would — oh dear, she’s whipped her tits out.

And not it’s not cheap, cropped American broadcast TV nudity.  They actually show one full breast.  She has one of Drioli’s tattoos — a butterfly — above her nipple.  Soutine goes in close for a look because who wouldn’t?  However, he also starts sucking her nipple.

This gives Drioli an idea, and somehow it’s not braining Soutine with a stale baguette.  He wants a picture of Josie that he will always have with him (but will never get to see?).  He asks Soutine to tattoo a picture of Josie on his back.  Drioli goes to get his tattooing tools.  Soutine and Josie start kissing when he leaves.

When Drioli returns, somehow Josie has gone to the hair salon in those 15 minutes and now has crimps in her hair.  Or maybe Soutine just gave her an awesome rogering while her husband was gone.  She poses, and Soutine starts painting the portrait of her.  After an intense session, Soutine finishes on Drioli’s back — coincidentally just as he did earlier to Josie.  Once the painting is done, he tattoos over it. He is so proud of his effort that he signs his name on it, also coincidentally as he did earlier to Josie.

Back in the present (i.e. 1946), the filthy, disheveled rue-person Drioli goes into the gallery to see Soutine’s work.  The hoity-toity art snobs look at him in disgust like he was Norman Rockwell.

As the elite crowd looks on in distaste, the gallery owner hustles him to the door.  He strips and shows the crowd his back, which would have been my reaction, too.   Oh wait, He’s showing them the tattoo.  Drioli says Soutine was his friend and he has a picture by him.

The owner offers Drioli 200,000 francs for the picture.  He will have the finest surgeon in France remove it, and bill it as a carbuncle.  Another man says that would kill Drioli.  However, this man offers him a life of luxury.  He just has to hang out by the pool at the Hotel Bristol in Cannes with his shirt off and keep his back shaved so she doesn’t have hairy ‘pits.

Drioli walks out with the man.  Eighteen months later, the tattoo is in the window of a gallery in Buenos Aires.  A voice-over tells us there is no Hotel Bristol in Cannes.

As usual with TOTU, I was bored by the first viewing.  Going back to fill in some notes, I kind of liked it.  The accents were a challenge since it was full of foreigners, which of course is what did in your League of Nations. [2] But I got used to the French and Russian accents.  Lucy Gutteridge of the vastly underrated Top Secret! is the only performer who really stands out.  Coincidentally, also the only topless woman.

Other Stuff:

  • [1]  The painting shown was actually painted by an artist named Chaim Soutine.  Painted in 1925, it is entitled View of Cagnes.  Oh yeah . . . and it is dreadful.
  • [2]  Major Frank Burns circa 1951.
  • Lucy Gutteridge was last seen on The Hitcher.
  • IMDb says she now lives on the Isle of Wight.  More like Isle of Lucy.

Science Fiction Theatre – The Miracle Hour (12/28/56)

This one was almost never finished due to depression; and not mine, for a change.  Wait, I guess it is mine.  Parts of the story are just very sad.  Way too sad for this silly show.

Host Truman Bradley says over a picture of New York City, “Don’t let the bright lights fool you.  The production of a Broadway play, in all its technical aspects, is an exact science.”  One of the technical wizards is theater lighting director Jim Wells.  We see the master at work, a grizzled old guy, probably a WWII vet. [1] In his work-clothes and work-hat with the bill facing the right direction, he is efficiently pulling levers and checking gauges like an artist.  Oh no wait, here comes Jim — wearing a suit, a fancy hat, and with a trench-coat over his arm.  He is heading out at 5 pm, leaving the other nameless poor sap to do the real work.  Where’s the Shop Steward!  Wait, the boss is gone — where’s the Wine Steward!Jim is going to see the play’s costume designer Cathy Parker, but it is a social call.  Being of different sexes, they have to meet in private to avoid the stigma.  He rings the bell and Cathy comes down the stairs with a terrible limp.  That’s not the sad part.

They are actually a nice couple.  They have a nicer banter than we usually see on SFT.  This is a terrible print, but Cathy looks amazing in that slender dress.  Cathy’s 6-year old son Tommy unexpectedly comes out of his room.  So the beautiful, single woman has a child.  While a downer, that is not the sad part either.

Actually, Jim knew about Tommy and had been looking forward to meeting him — what a guy!   He has even brought Tommy a present.  Cathy had clearly been dreading this moment.  She introduces them.  Jim kneels and extends his hand.   With a blank, straight-ahead stare, Tommy feels around for Jim’s hand.  Tommy is blind.  OK, that is sad, but just the beginning.

Put’r there! No, here.

Cathy helps Tommy open the present Jim brought.  Jim protests and tries to stop her from unwrapping it.  It is a coloring book and crayons.  It just got sadder.

Jim tries to come up with an alternate description of the gift.  He goes off with a crazy story about wadding up the pages, and the crayons being sticks to bat them around.  Cathy breaks down in tears, but it is partially due to there being a racist Crayola labelled FLESH in the box. [4] The scene is cringe-inducing — and for a change with SFT, that is not a criticism.  It is a terribly sad, awkward situation — would I have handled it any better?

The next day at the theater, Cathy explains what happened.  Her family was in an automobile accident which killed her husband, broke her back, and left Tommy blind.  The other driver was not hurt, and was even able to swim like a fish and run like the wind right after the accident.  After a few days in a fake neck brace, he was well enough to be re-elected to the Senate. [5]  BTW, as they lounge around talking, the old guy is in the background working.

Jim’s college roommate from Dartmouth, Roger Kiley, now runs the Optic Clinic at Mercy Hospital.  He sets Tommy up with an appointment.  Dr. Kiley examines him twice and finds that the optic nerve is completely destroyed.  Jim suggests some experimentation, but Kiley says he’s not into that.

Back at the theater, we find out the old guy is named Bill.  Jim tells Bill he is taking Tommy fishing.  Bill tells him how, as a kid, he used to capture worms for bait.  At night, he would hose down the yard, turn on a lantern, and the worms would come to him.  Hearing that the worms could detect the light without eyes, Jim has an idea!

He calls Dr. Kiley and tells him about the worms.  Kiley is surprisingly knowledgeable about our vermicular-American friends.  He explains that they have photo-sensitive cells in their epidermis.  He speculates that the “soft tender skin of a child” might also be sensitive.

The next morning, Kiley does a brief, preliminary examination.  Holy crap, did he have Tommy take his shirt off for an eye exam? [3]  Then Kiley says, “Would you like to see me tomorrow?”  To the blind kid.  Really?  Is this what they teach at Dartmouth?  Waaait a minute — Dartmouth Medical doesn’t even have a Dept. of Ophthalmology, Optometry, or Otolaryngology (although that last one is irrelevant since it is an Ear, Nose, Throat, and Wallet doctor).

After a few more shirtless — seriously — exams, Kiley theorizes that Tommy is not sensitive to light, but is just feeling the warmth.  Jim suggests they try different colors of light which have different wavelengths.  In time, Tommy can distinguish colors and see movements that interrupt the light.  Through his skin.  Right.  The end.

I’m happy that any progress at all was made, but this isn’t going to help him with Playboy [2] in a few years.

Once you get through the sad parts, this is actually one of the better SFTs.  Jim and Cathy had nice chemistry, Tommy had that thousand yard stare nailed, they had a scientific basis for the story — even if it was Ludacris, and the kid does end up a little better than he started.

I rate it 20/50.

Other Stuff:

  • [1]  Ha, at this point, WWII was only 11 years ago!  Well, war does things to a man.
  • [2]  I really wanted to reference Pornhub.  But by the time that was invented, he wouldn’t care anymore.  In 1956, Playboy had been around for 3 years and the photography was not yet the god-awful mess it would become in 20 years.
  • [3]  You’re thinking that the “soft tender skin” might be on his chest.  That makes sense, but Kiley seems to only be flashing the lights in a band across his eyes like they used to shine on Captain Kirk in Star Trek.  Plus, they make a point of saying the worm’s sensitive cells are on “what passes for a head.”  And in the last test and in a demonstration for Cathy, he is fully shirted.
  • [4]  The article says the Flesh Crayon was discontinued in 1962.  Abalone, I remember them and it wasn’t no 1962!  I got yer flesh crayon right here, hee-hee!  Wait, that’s not very impressive.
  • [5]  I will never forgive that asshole.
  • It just seemed too creepy to caption that last picture “Tommy, do you like movies about gladiators?”