Outer Limits – Black Box (12/11/98)

44 minutes of Ron Perlman?  Pass.

Although not on a Pass / Fail grading system.

Instead, here are some pictures from a recent trip; that’s how tedious this Outer Limits episode was.

I’m pretty forgiving of ignorance, but hard-core, pre-planned stupidity gets me every time.  Most of this centers on the hotel, but before I even got there:

Delta Flight:  5 hours late.

Buffalo Wild Wings (ATL):  You bring me sloppy wings, 1 napkin, and disappear for 20 minutes?

Rental Car:  I really liked the car (Kia Soul), but WTF would Hertz have 2 rows of cars with the same parking space numbers?  I go to the assigned black Kia Soul in slot 30.  I use the remote to unlock the doors (or so I thought), throw my stuff in the back, and get in.  I try to start the car and nothing happens.  Turns out I was in the wrong #30 black Kia Soul.  Why, why, why?  They weren’t even next to, or across from each other.

Hotel TV:  You finally arrive after a long trip, what’s the 2nd thing you do?  Ya flops on the bed and turns on the TV.  I have never had a bed that was so far from the TV.

Hotel Room Design: This hallway is comically long.  This is like the telescoping hallway JoBeth Williams ran down in Poltergeist.  30% – 40% of this room’s floorplan is completely wasted spaced.  I’m offended by how stupid this design is.

I still haven’t figured this out.  The top switch must be on in order for the bathroom light to work.  However, the light by the bed is not controlled by the switch.  So if you get up to go to the bathroom at night, you have to walk allllll the way down that crazy hall, flip the switch on to enable the bathroom light, and walk allllll the way back to the bathroom.  I still have no idea what the 2nd switch is for.  If your lights were going on and off, that was me.

While we’re in the bathroom, why would you design the shower door to only swing out?  Between the streaming water and the condensation, it is impossible for the floor to not collect a pool of water after each shower.  I had a lovely inward-swinging door in Clearwater recently, but didn’t take a photo as I did not realize how revolutionary it was.

There is no break in this curtain.  If you don’t want to be awakened at sunrise, you have to feel around through the sheer curtain for the rod, scooch behind the sofa, and reach around the lamp to push the opaque curtain over the window.

They wasted 100+ square feet on that hallway, but could only spare 1 square foot for an end table.  Add the TV remote, my phone, and a charge cord on this table, and I defy you not to knock something off every goddamn time you need anything.

Nuff said.

Is this thing giving me the finger?

The first night, I was locked out of the hotel building because my room keycard stopped working.  Luckily I was able to flag down someone inside to let me in.  They said it was because I carried the card next to my phone.  Maybe that one is my fault; it is a first, though.

This was Marriott Courtyard.  I asked the desk guy what was different about the nearby Marriott Residence.  He said the Residence has a small kitchen . . . . like a residence.  So where was my Courtyard?  My view was a bloody parking lot.  Luckily I didn’t want to go through the daily calisthenics to fully open the curtain anyway.

But it was quiet, and they gave me clean drinking glasses each day.  Well, except for the clean glasses.

So, a bunch of first world problems.  But it does irk me that they don’t put a shred of thought into these things.

Someday in the future:  When the f*** is Panera Bread going to learn how to design a drink & condiments station?  They’ve only built about 2,000 and seem to have learned nothing.

Science Fiction Theatre – Friend of a Raven (11/26/55)

A couple of dicks — you’ll see in a second — are driving up to the Daniels Farm.  “An ideal place to bring up a child.  But also a place that is lonely and secluded, if there are secrets that one wishes to hide from the outside world.”

Jean Gordon and Frank Jenkins walk up to the Daniels’ front door.  Daniels’ son is deaf and mute.  These two want to see if Daniels would like his son to go to the clinic.  Jean rings the bell and a boy answers the door with a raven on his arm.

The bird flies away and Jean asks if he is Timmy.  C’mon, she knows he’s deaf and mute!  But the boy nods.  Jean asks, “How did you know to answer the door?”  Frank gruffly opines, “If you ask me, the kid’s faking.”

Jean asks, “You did hear that doorbell, didn’t you?”  Tim shakes his head no.  Frank gruffly says, “You can’t stand there and lie, boy!  Speak up when a teacher talks to you!”

Jean says, “I know you heard that bell.  Now just tell me where your father is.”  When the boy doesn’t respond, Frank says, “Now he’s trying to make us think he can’t talk too.  If he was my kid, I’d give him a lesson in manners!”

IDIOTS, YOU CAME UP HERE BECAUSE HE WAS DEAF AND MUTE!

SFT gets one great shot and it is blocked by trees.

Walter Daniels comes in from the field and Timmy runs to him. He asks these two yahoos who they are.   Jean says she is from the State Clinic for the Deaf and Mute, and introduces Frank as a truant officer.

Walter sends Timmy off to play and tries to explain his son’s condition to these chowderheads.  He says Timmy doesn’t use his ears, “he kind of reads your mind.”  Jean says, “Are you sure his speech and hearing are impaired?”  For the love of God, lady, give it up!

Walter says Timmy has been tested.  “He will never talk or hear. He’s hopeless.”  No wonder Timmy prefers talking to animals rather than people.

They see Timmy playing with a Raven and Collie,  He puts the Raven on the Collie’s back and they walk away.  It is a pretty amusing shot, although frustrating.  It is a great shot as the bird rides cowboy-style on the dog.  But they stupidly compose it so trees obscure them for 30% of the frame.  Then they repeat the same piece of film cropped a little differently.  My guess is that someone with a good eye perceptively realized they had accidentally caught an interesting shot — an intern or visitor to the set, the caterer maybe — and they wanted to give it a little more air time.  Maybe they couldn’t re-shoot because of budgetary constraints; or the fact that they had caught a bird riding a f***in’ Collie!

Jean sees Tommy’s gift as even more reason for him to be tested.  Walter is afraid of him being locked up in a laboratory.  They see Timmy run into the woods. Walter says it is because they were talking about taking him away.  Jean says he was too far away to hear them talking.  OMG, I think this women needs to be in a clinic.

While Frank goes back to work, Jean helps Walter look for Timmy.  When she is cornered by a snake, Timmy runs to her aid.  He picks the snake up and begins petting it.  Jean says, “He sensed I was in danger and saved my life.”  Suddenly she is on team-Timmy.

Some time later, Jean goes to see Dr. Hoster at the Speech Clinic. The State Department of Education has sent him the report she wrote about Jimmy.  He questions her crazy tales of ESP, but does not question why she is still wearing the same dress days later.

Three weeks later, Timmy has surgery at the clinic.  Naturally, the operation restores his speech and hearing.  However, it also robs him of his psychic abilities just like Ilsa in Mute.

More of the same.

I went looking for Talk to the Animals, but found this.

 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents – The Cuckoo Clock (04/17/60)

Dorothy and her mother Ida drive up to a General Store.  Wait, something’s not right here.  Dorothy is portrayed by frequent guest star Pat Hitchcock and she is not playing her usual  maidschoolmarmspinster, or office Nottie.  Kudos to Pat for persevering, pulling herself up by her bootstraps, and demanding more glamorous roles . . . from her father.

They go in to pick up some supplies.  Ida is going to clean up the family cabin so they can sell it.  The old proprietor tells them the big news about “the one that got away this morning.  One of them patients busted loose from the rest home.

Dorothy tries to persuade her mother to not stay alone at the cabin with a killer on the loose, but ma is adamant.  She will stay there alone, clean the cabin, show it to the realtor, and Dorothy will pick her up Sunday.  She buys enough groceries to feed the exodus and they go to the cabin for Ida’s two-day stay alone.

Dorothy, who I guess has been taking krav maga classes, wants to stay to protect her mother, but Ida throws her out.  Ida doesn’t have a watch, so Dorothy gives her the correct time to set the old Cuckoo Clock on the wall.  Her late husband gave it to her on their anniversary, although it was their 5th, so it might not have been the wood she was hoping for.  Ida sets it ahead a few minutes so the bird pops out and cuckoos.  Surely this time-jump will be important later . . . the whole episode probably depends on it!

Later that night, Ida gets chilly so puts on some coffee and decides to build a fire.  She goes out to the garage to get some wood.  When she returns to the cabin, I had an odd thought.  In these old shows, you never see that shot where a camera pans across the set to reveal an unobserved person just standing silently and motionless (as in The Strangers, Hereditary, etc).  It can be a very chilling shot.  Then, damn if they didn’t do it!  This show rules! [1]

Ida finally sees the person and understandably shrieks.  The woman says her name is Madeline.  Ida — formal to the end, which could be any second — identifies herself as Mrs. Blythe.  Madeline said she was out for a hike and got nervous after hearing about the man on the loose.  She wants to use the phone — sorry not connected yet.  Or get a ride back to town — sorry, my daughter took the car.

There is a knock at the door.  Madeline slaps her hand over Ida’s mouth and says, “Don’t answer that door!”  There are a few more knocks, then the person seems to go away.  OMG, what a shriek!  Oh, it is the tea kettle.

Well, everything’s OK now.  The gals sit down to have some chamomile tea.  Madeline begins crying because she is very worried . . . about the killer’s feelings.

He is “wandering around alone, out there in the darkness . . . with nowhere to go . . . nowhere in the whole world . . . because everybody’s against him.  No wonder he’s so full of hate.”  I think we can rule out Madeline being the escapee from the mental institution; she has more likely escaped from the local university.

Madeline says, “Haven’t you ever hurt so much that you want to hurt back?”  Ida says, “No, of course not.”  Madeline replies, “No, of course you haven’t” no doubt endowing Ida with multiple privileges.  Then, quite appropriately, the cuckoo pops out of the titular cuckoo clock and cuckoos.  Indeed.

Madeline looks at the perspicacious bird and tells Ida a story about her Aunt Dora who had a similar clock.  She says Ida reminds her of Dora — tall, lives alone, sensible, nice ass.  Dora had a canary and one day just cut its head off with her pinking shears.  Her point is “I just wanted to show you how it can happen.  Even to calm, sensible, ordinary people when they’re filled with hate.  And some of them don’t stop with canaries!”

Madeline jumps up to leave, afraid the man will return.  So she is going to run outside . . . just in case he returns to the locked and shuttered cabin?  Is this chick crazy?

Ida pleads with her to not leave.  She is equally afraid of Madeline being killed, and of herself being left alone.  Madeline admits she made up the story about the canary.  Ida inexplicably begs this nut to stay until the phone is connected.  Ida then asks if Madeline made up the canary story just to frighten her.  Madeline admits that was the reason and starts crying.  She says her doctor sent her away for “a rest” but that she was at a hotel, not the institution, because she’s not crazy.  That claim is called into question, however, when she reveals it is a Motel 6.  She was fine until she saw the man.

Ida screams, “There was no man!”  Immediately, there is a knock at the door and Ida is terrified it is the man . . . she does remember he knocked earlier, right?  She just has to see who it is, though, so she opens the door.  It’s OK, it has one of those chains with the paperclip-sized links.  It is a cop who tells her the escapee was actually a woman.

Blah blah.  Ida pushes Madeline down and she is left unconscious or dead.  Ida lets the man in, but he quickly reveals himself as the escapee.  The cuckoo clock goes off again, and he claims it is mocking him.  He tears it off the wall and throws it on the floor.  The canary is on the floor and its head has popped off.   The man stabs Ida, then — no kidding — stabs the little cardboard canary. [2]

Who am I to question Robert Bloch, the writer of this episode?  He is one of the greats and wrote for all of the major magazines and TV series of his era.  He even wrote the classic Psycho (although not the screenplay).  But this just doesn’t feel like a final draft.  The odd thing is, he made significant changes to the original story, so he could have tightened it up.

What exactly is the point of the Madeline character?  Are we supposed to think she is the real escapee?  Yes, in the beginning, with the jump scare.  And certainly at the end when Ida pushes her down.  But what of the time in between?  She is clearly a nut, but Ida alternates between protecting her and being afraid of her.  I never really got the sense until the end that Ida — standing in for the audience — thought she might really be the killer.

Ida seemed a little on edge for the whole episode.  I know she lost her husband, but that was a year ago.  She was going to a idyllic country cabin, but it was not for rest or recuperation.  She was going with a mission — to prepare it for sale.  Were we supposed to think she was an unreliable narrator or that her own anxieties were altering her perception of Madeline?  I don’t think so, but I am otherwise at a loss.

Why is the cuckoo clock so important that the episode was named after it?  It did not even appear in the original short story.  It plays no role here that I can see.  Early on, Dorothy notes that Ida set it ahead to hear the cuckoo sound.  I thought surely that would be important at the end.  But no.

The killer stabs Ida.  OK, killers gonna kill.  It was fun that the canary’s head came off just like in Dora’s story, but is there some meaning there that I’m missing?  And after stabbing Ida, why would he stab the little canary.  What is he, craz . . . oh.  All seriousness aside, though, what the hell? [2]

Beatrice Straight was a little off-key, but still great.  She is a tall, elegant, classy dame with piercing eyes.  I enjoyed her performance, but I think she needed to re-calibrate it a little bit.  She had done a lot of stage work, and she seemed to be projecting to the back row here.  In the beginning, I thought she was shouting at the store manager because he was old and deaf.  But her tone didn’t change much later.  Still, she is such a great presence that I’m surprised I did not remember her from Special Delivery.  Sadly, this is her last AHP appearance.

Enjoyable, but could have been better.

Other Stuff:

  • [1] It was preceded by a sweeping proscenium shot which I guess sub-consciously tipped me off.  Even if it was telegraphed, it still chilled me watching it a 2nd time.
  • [2] Your mileage may vary.  Others think she screams because she sees the canary being stabbed and knows she is next.  But he told her to “look at the clock” not to look at the canary, which had been ejected from its home. On the other hand, before he stabbed the canary, we did not hear Ida’s lithe, smokin’ body collapse to the floor.
  • Beatrice Straight was the head ghostbuster in Poltergeist.  No, the good one.
  • She also played Hippolyta a couple of times on the 1970s Wonder Woman.  The same character was played by Connie Neilsen in the recent movie.
  • “In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love.  They had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.” — The Third Man.
  • For more info and some great detective work on the episode, check out bare*bonez e-zine.
  • Also, read To Build a Fire; it really is great.

Twilight Zone – The Trunk (12/24/88)

Willy Gardener is the manager of the run-down Winchester Hotel.  When he opens the front desk this morning, there is already a bum flopped on the lobby sofa.  The seediness factor just increases when 1980’s gangsta Danny comes in with Candy, Rocco and Cap.  Candy asks if he would like to take a walk with her.  Yada yada, she humiliates him by screeching, “Sure if ya got $50!” and the gang howls with laughter.  Wait, Candy hangs out with losers, reveals herself to be a whore, and Willy is supposed to be humiliated?  I guess I just don’t get bullies.

Willy is hurt by this, but goes about his job which is more than those parasites ever do.  He goes room-to-room announcing check-out time is 12 o’clock.  Seems late, but check-in time might have been 11:00 at this joint.  The door of one room swings open to reveal an unoccupied room with a large trunk in the middle of the floor.  He opens it, but it is empty.  He says, “I wish I had a nickel for every old piece of luggage left in this hotel.”  When he tries to move it, it won’t budge.  He opens the lid again and the huge chest is filled with nickels.  Apparently, based on his wish, millions of pieces of luggage have been left in that hotel.

Like all fictional characters, he wastes his second wish.  He wishes for an “ice cold root beer, just like when I was a kid.”  He opens the lid and hoists out a mug of root beer.  Oddly, the prop department not only screwed up by not giving him a frosty mug; but the root beer is completely flat.  It looks like a mug of coffee.  He looks at the nickels he had been diligently rolling and says, “What do I need you guys for?”

We cut to some time later when Willy is dressed like a 1970s dandy and his shabby room has been transformed into a swinging bachelor pad.  Unfortunately, the only people he knows to invite over are the bums from the hotel and the idiots who bullied him earlier.  It would just be churlish of me to ask how he got this fancy stuff.  He said he didn’t need the money, but some of his new things would not have fit in the trunk.

At the party, a Winchester wino praises Willy’s free liquor and Candy the hooker still offers to be his girl if he buys her things.  I’m not sure the trunk was necessary for those two things to happen.

One of the gang asks if he can borrow Willy’s new TV to watch the game.  Willy tells him to just take it.  Seeing that, another jerk asks for the stereo.  Willy tells him to take it.  He tells the rest of his guests to take whatever they want.  So they loot every nice item from his apartment, down to the lamps and statues.

This isn’t enough for one of the gang; not sure which, let’s call him Rocco.  He’s the one who lacks the ambition to even be a skinhead.  He has short blonde hair and looks like a soccer hooligan.  Plus no sleeves — a pretty good indicator of douchebaggery.  He demands that Willy show him where all these swell new housewares came from.  What kind of gang is this?

He chases Willy through the hotel.  Willy ducks into the trunk room.  Rocco follows.  The trunk is the only place Willy could be hiding, so Rocco throws up the lid.  It is empty, so he leaves.  An interior shot in the closed trunk show Willy is in there, the trunk just hid him from Rocco.  Cool.

Unfortunately, when Willy tries to get out, the lid won’t open.

We cut to the apartment of a nice young woman.  She tells her mother that she just got dumped.  All she wants is to meet a nice guy.  The trunk is sitting in her living room.  How it got there, we have no idea, but she doesn’t seem surprised to see it.  She uses a butter knife to pry open the lock.  So she bought it not knowing what was inside?  Did it also hide his weight?

In response to her wish for a nice guy, Willy stands up in the trunk when she lifts the lid.  He is looking dapper, in a nice suit.  His hair is neatly groomed.  In fact this is actually the best I’ve ever seen Bud Cort look.  So I guess both their wishes came true.

Once again, a perfectly serviceable high concept is somewhat urinated away.  I’m cool with not knowing who was staying in the room where it was found (although Willy could have at least checked the register).  I assume the original owner found his own destiny the way Willy will.  But what really is the story?  Does Willy become greedy and conjure up big money?  No, he just creates some furniture, gives it away, and that’s about it.  Does Rocco lock Willy in the wish box to face some crazy shit?  Does Willy somehow trick Rocco into the box, trapping Rocco in the titular twilight zone?  No, Rocco just kind of gives up and walks away.  What a waste.

Another freakin’ TZ happy ending.  From the writers of Aqua Vita which I quite enjoyed.

Classic Bud Cort:

 

A Pinch of Snuff – Eric Taylor (1929)

Well this is a grim pinch of business.  After the breezy Perfect Crime, I was not expecting this.

Apparently Montreal had a seedy underbelly in 1922.  Since it is specified as “to the east”, Montreal must be lying on its side. [1]  In a single-room apartment, a family of five is sweltering despite it snowing outside.  I don’t know, crack a window maybe?  Did that technology not exist in 1922?

Paterfamilias Armand is chugging a beer, taking stock of his life and wanting to sell short.  He sees his “youngest brat”, who they can’t afford to name, has run out of milk the same time he ran out of gin.  He sees his wife Gabrielle “bony, hollow-chested with bent shoulders, reproachful eyes, and mute lips — a hag at 30.”  Daughter Irene, diagnosed as undernourished, is looking for crumbs in an empty breadbox.  Maybe he keeps the window shut to avoid being tempted to jump.

At 9 pm, Armand grabs his jacket and leaves.  He is going to rob the “wholesale provision warehouse.”  He is so poor that he has to “beg an empty sack” from the corner grocery store to carry the loot in.  Not only does this dolt instantly provide a direct evidence trail back to the clerk who can identify him — please, career criminals, for the sake of the environment, get a reusable bag.

Armand is not the first person to hit this warehouse so a patrolman spots him immediately.  Armand takes off running.  The officer pursues him, and shoots him in the leg.  Despite this injury, the cop is unable to catch up to him before he arrives back home 20 minutes later.  He collapses in the arms of his crying wife.  Finally the cop arrives and trips over a gin bottle.  Armand tries to choke him, but is interrupted by what seems to be a gas explosion.

The passage is so clumsily written, I’m not sure what happened.  There did not seem to be much damage, but it was enough to finish off Armand.  Gabrielle “crossed the floor to her man . . . and stood above him.”  So I guess she is OK.  No, wait, “she clutches her chest” and keels over dead, I guess with a heart attack.  A policeman carries out Armand’s two baby daughters, but Irene just slips away into the crowd

Irene manages to walk a few miles and “that night she fell in with a crippled beggar.”  Wow, that is doubly un-PC; lucky he was white or the description could have taken a really ugly turn.  Irene tells him her story.  Rather than, say, calling Child Protective Services, the man tells his own amusing anecdote to the child.  He had stolen some loot.  Running from the police, he fell on the train tracks where his legs were sliced off by a freight train.  Sadly this did not happen in the US where he could have sued for millions.  The bum offers to kill the cop who shot her father.  She says if he will find the name, she will kill him herself.

Irene hangs out with the legless homeless man for 3 years until she is 16 because who wouldn’t?  He taught her all manner of crime — shoplifting, purse-snatching, burglary — though her education is woefully deficient in the art of quick getaways.  And he gave her the name of the cop who shot her father — Jean Duret.  After the beggar’s death, she put together a gang and established a headquarters at the abandoned snuff factory.

One day, a friend of her fence shows up looking for a place to hide out.  Irene feels obligated to take him in.  Once he commits a murder, however, her hospitality wanes.  She goes to the crime scene and leaves a clue that will lead Detective Duret — her father’s killer — to the snuff factory.

Her plan gets bollixed up in a way that would make a pretty good movie.  There is even sort of a happy ending.

Although it started out depressing and grim, after Armand’s death, it got a lot more fun.

Footnotes:

  • [1] This made sense at 3 am.
  • First published in the June 1929 issue of Black Mask.