Dick York plays young tough Manny Coe . . . well, we can stop right there.  Dick York’s appearance in this role belongs in the Miscasting Hall of Fame.  When he walks in to the gangsta’s apartment and pulls a gun on him, the incongruity between that act and his gaunt boyish mug, pencil-neck, reedy voice, and loosely-hanging leather jacket is absurd.  There is a reason Dick York was cast as the panicky husband in Bewitched — he is not a bundle of confidence and gravitas.  This is like the time George-Michael bought the leather jacket on Arrested Development.

He calmly shoots the gangsta, Boss William’s former deputy who has botched a heist.  His girlfriend sees the murder in the paper and asks him about it.  He says he hasn’t killed anybody.  He lays her down and starts kissing her, no more convincing in this scene than the last.  Of course, how he bagged Samantha on Bewitched was also a great TV mystery of LOSTian proportions.  She wants him to get out of “da life” and get a real job, away from Mr. Williams.

York storms out of the apartment and sees Russell Johnson on the stoop playing a harmonica — another huge casting blunder.  Like York, he would later go on to a role that he portrayed to perfection, the Professor on Gilligan’s Island.  But here playing a hipster named Turk, saying “man”, it just doesn’t work.

York goes to Boss William’s penthouse and is offered the job as the boss’s new deputy.  Strangely, during the interview, York pours some liquid into a tiny glass too small for a demitasse, or a shot, or even a demi-shot.  He hands it to Williams who uses it as an eyewash.  Hunh?  Maybe whatever he was doing was commonplace in the 50’s.  And, oh by the way, he tells York that his girlfriend must be killed.

Seems Williams fears Betty is a rat, and all rats have to suck the pipe (in the words of Dennis Miller).  Sadly, Williams is being 100% figurative.  A mere 50% figurative would have been a treat for York.  He gets as far as pulling a gun on her, but can’t pull the trigger.  She swats the gun away and runs away.  Unfortunately, she is hit by a car and killed.  Williams compliments York on making the death look like an accident.

1950’s booty call.

Unfortunately, York is not so lucky on his next assignment and botches the job.  Soon he has a visitor at his apartment — a short, even younger kid with ambition and an ill-fitting leather jacket.  At least this kid seems to have a short-man’s complex chip on his shoulder, so he is slightly more menacing.  You know, in that silly short-man way.

Hence the titular Vicious Circle.

Post-Post:

• AHP Deathwatch:  Only Kathleen Hughes and Mickey Kuhn are still with us.
• Based on the eyewashes and dark glasses, I diagnose Boss Williams as having conjunctivitis aka pink eye.  I appreciate that it was part pf the scene, but was never commented on.  This is not Chekhov’s Eyewash.

This one is hard to get much hold on, and I mean that in the best possible way.  Hitchcock did not necessarily save the best scripts for himself to direct, but he did direct this one which was perfect for “The Master of Suspense.”  This one is very simple, and it plays out just about perfectly (it could have used Bernard Herrmann in a couple of spots).

David Wayne is Sam Jacoby.  We see scenes from a marriage through the window of the house he shares with his wife.  Poor guy is just trying to read the paper and his wife just won’t shut the hell up.  She throws his paper in the fire, and goes on and on, finally slapping him in the face.  Eventually, Jacoby has had enough and nails her with a fireplace poker.

The first several minutes of the episode are silent, which is perfect for the story.  Well, silent of dialogue other than their muffled voices through the window.  Many saw this as something of a trial run for Psycho which also had long silent stretches and depended on suspense above action.

Jacoby stuffs the old bag in his trunk . . . I mean the old bag he stuffed his wife into.  He shrewdly tosses in some chains and random hunks of metal, so I’m  expecting a water landing. He heads south on Route 99 to dispose of the body.  Along the way, he is pulled over by a cop for having a broken tail-light.  It is easy to see Hitchcock’s fear of police in this episode, and also to see it a predecessor to the cop who wakes up Janet Leigh in Psycho.  In both cases, our empathy is with the criminal, and the cops sticking their beefy face in the car window is an intrusion and a threat.

It is the cop who finally breaks the silence of the episode almost 11 minutes in.  In several encounters, the cop alternates between being the most helpful and least helpful officer imaginable.  All the while, though, he is a threat to our guy — you, know, the killer.

It is a great exercise in suspense, almost devoid of plot or twists.  To say any more would spoil the fun.  This is one of the best.

Post-Post:

• AHP Deathwatch: No survivors.
• F.J. Smith wrote 2 AHP’s, and that’s it.
• Cop from Psycho:

Well, this had to be a rarity in the 50’s.  Episodes 25 – 27 of this season are a single three-part story.  I guess airing it as a 90 minute very special episode would have blown people’s minds back then.  Sadly, it was not directed by Sir Hitchcock.

Like most (or maybe all) AHP episodes, I killed the Count is based on an existing story.  It was a play written in 1937, a British film in 1939, and produced on Broadway in 1942.  Who says Hollywood just ran out of ideas?

The boss’s daughter, Pat Hitchcock, cast as always in a non-glamorous role (though I can’t say it is against-type), is a maid bringing tea to Count Mattoni. Like most men, I suspect, he does not respond to her.  In his case, however, it is because he was been shot in the head.  It must have been very unusual for AHP and 50’s TV in general that the wound is shown, with a darkened circle for the bullet hole, and trickles of blood running down his face.  Very Lincoln-esque.

AHP regular John Williams is Inspector Davidson, on the scene from Scotland Yard to determine what happened.  The first witness is Polly the maid (Pat H).  She claims to have been mixed up in so many investigations that this is old hat to her.  She is “always losing ‘me’ job because my employer got arrested or shot or something.”

She last saw the Count when she was turning down his bed last night.  Not the first time she has experienced a turn-down in a man’s bedroom, I imagine. ^[1]  Polly says he was drunk and no gent.  She is dismissed by Davidson and we meet new academy graduate Detective Raines who has got to be relative of Simon Pegg.

The Inspector finds a letter from Lord Sorrington to Mattoni cancelling a dinner invitation.  Raines calls the Lord who claims to have never heard of Mattoni.

A Mr. Rupert has rented the adjoining flat, but he has never been seen.  Only Mullet the lift operator has seen him.  They go into his flat and find the missing cartridge.

What the hell? No justice, no peace, baby!

Back in Mattoni’s flat, Raines finds a letter addressed to an American, Mr. Froy.  Raines begins reading the very odd letter which pauses after a few sentences and the letter turns into a  play-by-play of the action in the room: “Froy has just come in the room, I can see him in the mirror, he has gun, if anything happens, you will . . . .” and then it stops.  Davidson believes Froy and Rupert are the same person.

Johnson the day lift operator says he never saw Rupert, but would recognize Froy.    Polly also never saw Rupert.  Mullet the night liftman can identify Rupert.

Froy arrives and says he was not at the flat last night.  Davidson shows him the letter and Froy admits he was there and confesses to the murder.  Davidson brings in Mullet to confirm that Froy is also Rupert but Mullet says this looks nothing like Rupert.

Lord Sorrington arrives.  He says he has never heard of Mattoni.  Davidson shows him the letter and he admits knowing him, but denied it because he was an unsavory character.  Then Mullet IDs Sorrington as being Rupert.  Finally Sorrington admits that he did rent the adjoining flat under the name Rupert.  It was just coincidence that they knew each other, he says.  Then Davidson products the letter with the address.  Having been caught in multiple lies, Sorrington confesses that he killed Mattoni.

Part II – Strangely, Hitchcock’s opening remarks are played twice before this episode.  Whether it was a mistake by NetFlix or AHP was just padding this episode out to 3 weeks, I don’t know.  Also not known: how the hell people kept this plot straight for a week.

Sorrington saved this bon mot for Part II: his daughter was married to Mattoni.  Did he think that wouldn’t come out?  She had left him a year ago, however.  Her time with Mattoni ruined her and devastated her mother to the point of death.  So Sorrington had a motive.  Sorrington relates in flashback how he killed Mattoni.  His gun was found at the scene.

Froy tells the Inspector he killed Mattoni because he was in love with Countess Mattoni, Sorrington’s daughter.  An incriminating letter from him is found on the scene.  He also relates in flashback how he killed Mattoni.

Louise Rogers comes in for questioning, but has no info.  Next the police question a dancer, Miss LaLune who lives on the same floor.  Mullet is questioned and finally confesses after his fingerprints match those on the Count’s bloody money.  At this 3rd confession, Davidson flips out to wah-wah-wah music.

Part III – Another duplicated intro.  Hitchcock gets winded as he gives a recap.

Mullet says he had lost at the track and was stealing a few quid from Mattoni each night as he was put to bed.  This night, Mattoni caught him.  After a struggle, he was shot.

All of the confessors are taken to Scotland Yard.  When they get some privacy, Froy and Mullet discuss “who drew the black ace” to do the actual murder.   When Sorrington arrives, all three say to each other that they did not kill Mattoni.

Ha-cha-cha, Aunt May!

Louis Rogers has come in and confesses.  She is the Countess Mattoni, the dead man’s widow, and Sorrington’s daughter.  She claims she shot Mattoni during a struggle and has scratch marks to prove it.

Raines points out that it is illegal for Davidson to charge all 4, so they stick to their story and can’t be arrested.  Raines whimsically opines that it is lucky the Count deserved to  die.

OK, he’s no Simon Pegg.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] OK, that’s just gratuitous and makes no logical sense.  Why would they have even gotten to the bedroom if — pffft, not worth the time.
• AHP Deathwatch:  Rosemary Harris, who played Spiderman’s Aunt May 45 years later, is still alive.  Also Pat Hitchcock and Jered Barclay.
• John Williams is tied for the 2nd most AHP appearances, with Pat Hitchcock and Mr. Drysdale from the Beverly Hillbillies among others.  Strangely, all but one of Williams’ appearances are in the first 2 seasons. [UPDATE] IMDb seems to have re-tallied the results.  It’s rigged!
• [UPDATE] Weird confluence:  Rosemary Harris, John Williams, and Anthony Dawson were all also in Dial M for Murder, but not the one directed by Hitchcock. For some reason, auteur George Schaefer ^[2] felt the need to remake it (or technically the original play, I guess) for TV four years after Hitchcock’s movie.  Actually, Williams and Dawson were in both versions.
• ^[2] Schaefer has another one of those oddly fascinating IMDb pages.  He also remade Little Foxes for TV 15 years after the Bette Davis version, remade Meet Me in St Louis for TV 15 years after the Judy Garland version, remade Lost Horizon for TV (as Shangri-La) 23 years after the Frank Capra version . . . Jesus Christ, he also remade Arsenic and Old Lace, Teahouse of the August Moon, Pygmalion, Abe Lincoln in Illinois, Inherit the Wind, Our Town, Harvey, Anastasia, and others.  He also managed to squeeze in a lot of Shakespeare (more bloody remakes!) and two Barry Manilow specials.  To be fair, he was hugely respected by his peers, racking up an impressive list of awards.
• WTH – Scotland Yard is 458 miles from Scotland.  It was named for the street it was on, not the country.

Broadway actor Claude Rains stops by his favorite watering hole and orders a scotch.  He has been cut off due to his bar tab, and it literally becomes a watering hole as that is all they will serve him.  What he wants is an alcohole.

Being the kind of bar that has caricatures of actors on the wall, there just happens to be a copy of Variety on the floor.  Enjoying his water on the rocks, he sees that Wayne Campbell has a new play.  He goes to Campbell’s office, but Campbell is on the way to a cocktail party.  His secretary talks him into seeing Rains.  Being pre-ADA, Campbell tells him he is a drunk and he won’t hire him.

Rains says he feels that he is only his characters, there is nothing underneath and that’s why he drinks.  Rains says he will blackmail Campbell about the 3 years he spent in prison.  They were both from a bad area of Philly, and had made up more glamorous stories of their background when they got to the big city.  Campbell had stolen $5,000 as a bank teller long ago, but now is married to a high class society dame from a rich family that has probably stolen millions exploiting the working man; so Campbell’s small-time larceny would be humiliating to them.

Campbell gives Rains $20, and leaves him crying in his office.  Rains takes the $20 back to the bar and begins performing Macbeth for the bartender.  It should have been worth another sawbuck to get him to knock it off.  “Nobody writes like that anymore, Jerry,” he says.  Well that is understandable, it has been 350 years.  He laments the modern playwrights as Campbell enters the bar and overhears him.

They speak briefly and Rains passes out, this being back in the good old days when $20 could get it done.  Campbell takes him back to his office and puts him to sleep on his sofa.  Campbell is remorseful about how he treated Rains earlier that day and says it would be an honor to have Rains in his play.

The next morning, Campbell tells Rains there is big role open in the play, but Campbell says he is too soft, which is ironic since the role is of a blackmailer.  Rains tells him he can perform the role through make-up and acting.  He even does a cold-read to convince Campbell of his skills.

Campbell stops him mid-monologue and tells him he is great!  Campbell still needs to convince the backer, so he sends Rains over to see Nick Roper, a gangsta who has decided to dabble in culture.  Rains goes out to get a clean shirt and a shave, or maybe it was a clean shave and a shirt.  Back at Campbell’s office, the secretary is called away, so Rains types up the monologue himself to carry with him to the audition for the backer.

Going all method, Rains barges into Roper’s office and without proper introduction, begins the monologue which in which he identifies himself as Charlie Richtor.  He continues the monologue describing a crime with which Roper is obviously familiar.  Roper pulls a gun and kills Rains.

Roper’s goons hear the shot and rush in.  He tells them somehow “Richtor” knew “all about the Donovan job.”  Searching for how Rains knew of the crime, he finds the script in Rains’ pocket with Campbell’s name on the letterhead.  The episode ends abruptly with Roper saying, “Wayne Campbell.”  It is a strange place to end the story as you don’t know what the crime was, how Campbell was involved or what Roper will do next.

None of this really matters.  It is a good tale with a good — if ludicrous —  twist, and Claude Rains is always great.  I rate it a “Party on Wayne, party on Claude.”

Post-Post:

• AHP Deathwatch: No survivors.  A couple of the actors have no expiration date on IMDb, but they have no birth date either.  A third actor has a birth date in 1892. He has no date of death, but it doesn’t look good.
• AHP Proximity Alert:  Paul Picerni was in Number Twenty-Two just 2 episodes earlier.
• The phrase “Cream of the Jest” is from a 1917 novel of that name by James Branch Cabell.  It was also used as the title of a 1962 episode of Have Gun Will Travel.
• Story by Frederic Brown, who wrote the classic Arena on which the Gorn episode of Star Trek was extremely loosely based.

I’m no expert in pharmacology, but all three characters in this episode must be strung out on the 50’s version of Xanax or be pioneers of medical marijuana.  Their muted reactions to infidelity and murder are so bizarre, they are more like pod-people than human beings.

Charles Hendricks is starting out with his morning coffee into which he dumps 2 spoons of sugar — believe it or not, a critical plot point.  He is heading out of town for work as he frequently does. His wife is clearly devoted to him, tying his tie, packing his bag, watching his diet, opening a fresh pack of cigarettes for him — although those last 2 don’t seen entirely compatible.  She is all smiles and good cheer until she whips out a lighter and suggests it belongs a lady friend.  She seems to accept that he mysteriously picked it up at some unknown office.

It is very strange as he doesn’t seem alarmed by her accusation, and she doesn’t seem too upset by his cheating.  Yet again, after Three’s a Crowd, And So Died Riabouchinska, and The Dead Man, we have spouses that react to infidelity with a yawn. Sure enough, he is soon having a martini with his girlfriend.  AHP really stacks the deck against Mrs. Hendricks by casting a much prettier woman in the role of mistress Beryl.

Upon returning home, his wife accuses him of meeting a girlfriend in Lockton with the initials B.A. as engraved on the lighter she found in his suit pocket.  “So what if I happen to see a woman in Lockton,” he says.  “What of it?”  Charles is certainly a bag of the douche variety, but this is pretty callous.

Hendricks returns to his girlfriend that night,  He tells her of his wife’s suspicions.  When Beryl suggests that maybe they should get married, he says the current arrangement suits him just fine.

Back at home the next — frankly I’m having trouble keeping up with his schedule — his wife says that he is still seeing that woman and there is lipstick is all over his shirt.  He replies, “I’m trying to work it out.  You’ll just have to be patient.”   He says.  To his wife.  What a stud.

Twin beds — this might be part of the problem.

The next day, Mrs. Hendricks drives to Lockton.  Pretending to be collecting clothes for a charity, she enters Beryl’s home. While there, she puts poison in the sugar bowl.  Only after she arrives back home does she get a message that her husband will be late because he has gone to Lockton.  Doh!

Charles tells Beryl it might be a good idea if they took a “break” for a few months.  She is not thrilled at the idea.

The wife rushes back to Lockton to warn Beryl about the poison before her husband has his coffee.  Beryl, as befits the tone of the episode, seems pretty cool with Marcia nearly MURDERING her.  Beryl tells Marcia she didn’t get here in time — that she just watched Charles drink his standard coffee with two spoons of sugar.  She is not too choked up over the attempted murder of her lover, either.  She says he left about an hour ago.

Marcia leaves, intending to confess to the police.  After she leaves, Charles comes strolling out of the bedroom where he had been hiding.   Beryl coldly offers him a cup of coffee — one for the road.

Great story, perfect plot for this series.  Acting was fine except for the odd acceptance of murder.  And refined white sugar.  I rate it a Venti.

Post-Post:

• AHP Proximity Alert:  For crying out loud, Mickey Kuhn was just in the previous episode!
• AHP Deathwatch:  As mentioned before, Mickey Kuhn (who was in Gone with the Wind) is still alive.  Georgeann Johnson is also hanging in there at 88, probably having finally gotten over her father clearly wanting a boy.  Here she is in Star Trek TNG 32 years post-AHP.