The Hitchhiker – Homebodies (03/17/87)

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The episode begins with a bit of German Expressionism; and I believe that expression is ausgezeichnet! [1]  It was an unexpected bit of black & white artistry in a frequently dreary series with rain, fog, shadows, odd angles, Kafkaesque police, and big-ass clocks just scary in their size and starkness.  I guess a whole episode in this style would have been too much, but what an awesome opening!  Alas, it was just a Traum.

Brainiacs Jimmy and Ron have just busted out of jail, but they aren’t exactly besties.  The older, tougher Ron is only tolerating Jimmy so he can help him find a house with a safe containing payroll cash.  They have stopped to hold up a gas station.  Since they are already on their way to a big payday, I assume they’re going to shake it down for some cheese nachos and Red Bull.

Jimmy keeps the elderly clerk occupied with some mindless small-talk while Ron cases the joint.  When he brings some beer to the register, the clerk asks him for ID despite him being 34 years old.  Panicky Jimmy pulls out a pistol, and the old guy awesomely pulls out one of his own.  Ron awesomely pulls the clerk over the counter and throws him into a display.  He takes the pistol from Jimmy and points it at the clerk.  The old man says, “Please, I got a wife and kid!”  I’m on your side, dude, but your kid must be in his fifties by now.

Left to Right: Ron, phallic symbol, Jimmy

The old clerk is again awesome as he turns over some shelves and makes a run for it.  Of course, circling the aisle in a 400 square foot gas station convenience store isn’t much of an escape plan, but he had guts.  Ron pumps him full of leaded.  Apparently his thorough casing of the joint overlooked the two monitors sitting prominently on the counter.  They flee, with Jimmy taking an awesome tumble out the door.

Jimmy leads them to a model home which they break into.  There is supposed to be a safe in the basement.  While Ron goes treasure-hunting, Jimmy checks out the house.  When he spots a creepy kid sitting on the stairs, he panics and tries to get Ron to leave.  In a struggle, they fall over the railing and a gunshot rings out — and you better remember it or nothing else will make any sense at all.  They are busted by the whole family — little Billy, his attractive parents and their hot 20 year old blonde daughter Denise.

Ron demands to know where the safe is, but they deny there is a safe.  Ron takes the daughter upstairs looking for a big score and also the loot, while Jimmy holds the gun on Mom, Dad and Billy.  When Mom & Dad hear Denise’s screams from upstairs, they beg Jimmy to go up and stop Ron or at least close the door.  Seeing the nice family, Jimmy feels a part of him is missing.  More than anything in the world, he longs to be part of a family like this.

Denise gets away from Ron and runs downstairs.  Wanting to help the family, Jimmy points the gun at Ron. That goes about as you expect — Ron takes the gun from him and murders the entire family.  Again, this is awesomely — sorry — executed.

The next morning, a car pulls up outside the model home.  A realtor shows the house to a woman. Inside, we see that Billy, Denise, Mom and Dad are actually mannequins being used as HomeFill to make the home seem more homely.  One is more homely than the others, though.  Among the beautiful, well-dressed family sits sleazy Ron, clearly a real human.

A happy, less-crazy, neatly-dressed Jimmy comes down stairs and speaks to the mannequins before leaving.  The realtor tells the woman Jimmy is on the construction crew.  The crew is around the mannequins so much, they treat them like people.  Especially Denise, I suspect.

The house-shopper sees that Ron has bloody shirt and runs screaming from the house like she has seen black mold.

The episode is just full of interesting compositions, cuts and tracking shots.

The craftsmanship on this episode blows away every other episode so far. The opening black & white scene, a lot of creative camera-work, and some good perform-ances make this one something special.  The ending seemed like a complete non-sequitur until I did a rewind.  I deduct points from myself for that, not from the episode.

Yeah, you could raise a lot of questions about the logic of the denouement, but why would ya?  Just enjoy it — nobody likes a nit-picking dumb-ass giving his . . . dopey . . . unsolicited . . . opinions . . . . or something.

Great stuff.

Post-Post:

  • [1] I originally wrote Scheiss, gratuitously showing off a dirty German word I learned in the gymnasium; no, not das Gymnasium, an actual gymnasium.  But the episode deserved better, even in jest. And also deserved a better jest.
  • What Morgan Reeves (Denise) did in the 1990s:  One Stormy Night . . . interesting; Night Sins . . . steamy; Winter Heat . . . yeah, baby; Half a Dozen Babies — d’oh!
  • This might be the first episode not available on YouTube.  And why does the DVD stick it the 8th track behind vastly inferior episodes (they are not chronological)? Why are they keeping this hidden, man?
  • Title Analysis:  Good job.  Simple, but relates to the mannequins in the house as well as Jimmy’s longing for a home and family.

Alfred Hitchcock Presents – A Night With the Boys (05/10/59)

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Irving Randall is in a poker game with 3 co-workers.  Well, 2 co-workers and his jerk of a boss.  His boss Smalley goads him into betting over his head, not with it.  He loses big. On the way home, he is stopped by a cop for walking alone at such a late hour.  The cop warns him this neighborhood is not safe at night.

This gives him a swell idea.  I often criticize AHP for its many shrewish wives, but the pusillanimous husband is just as much a stock character.  What really defies belief is why the lovely wives married these worms when everyone knows beautiful women prefer fat overbearing oafs.  Afraid to tell his wife Frances he blew a week’s salary in a poker game, Irving roughs himself up, tears his suit, rubs dirt all over himself, gives himself a nasty cut on the cheek, then tells his wife he was robbed by a teenager.

He says, “This big kid, 16 maybe 17 sneaked up behind me . . . he took my wallet, my whole week’s salary.”  They are still newlyweds, so Frances is genuinely more concerned about Irving’s well-being than the cash.  She does demand that he call the police to report the robbery.  To his dismay, the police call to say they caught the thief.

Irving goes to the police station.  He tells the detective he lost $96.  The kid was found with $92, so it seems like a good fit if the kid had the munchies for 21 McDonald’s cheeseburgers ($.19 in 1955).  Irving is very sheepish about the whole thing.  Actually, he was pretty sheep-like before this happened; he’s even wearing a wool suit. He asks, “How can I be sure the cash is mine?”  The detective says, “Because he was caught exactly 3 blocks from where you were mugged, running like the devil was chasing him.  That’s what I meant by real evidence.”  Well, that is pretty fishy, but not exactly conclusive.

While I absolutely love the premise, this episode is a hard sell because so far the PJ-clad Frances is the only likable character.  And even she is on thin ice with that 1950’s night gown that contains more fabric than I wear to work.  Otherwise:

  • Smalley is a loud-mouth bully.  The other two players were non-entities in their suits and vests, while he was a cigar-chomping jerk in a Hawaiian shirt.  He took pleasure in tormenting Irving.  As he is also Irving’s boss, we know it will just continue in the morning.
  • The uniform cop is unnecessarily hostile to Irving who was just walking down the street.  And to profile for a second, is a well-groomed guy in a suit & tie really a likely criminal unless he is in Reservoir Dogs, or Congress? [1]
  • The detective is a hard-ass very eager to connect dots that might put this kid in jail.
  • The kid does himself no favors with his insolence, arrogance, and especially offensive to me, hair — just a huge shock of tall, thick, upswept hair.  The bastard.
  • Finally, Irving is such a jittery specimen that it is hard to empathize with the corner he has put himself into.  And how he did he land Frances, although he is a pretty handsome guy.  The bastard.

Irving is also not helped by the make-up representing the scar he gave himself.  He cut himself with a rock which actually was probably a better choice than the tin can that was next to it.  Unfortunately, this is shown as a long 3/8-inch wide streak of jet-black greasepaint.  A wound that massive should have sent him to the hospital, and maybe the basement of the hospital.  It is just very distracting whenever it is on camera.

Irving says since he got the money back, he does not want to press charges against the kid — just to give him a break.  The detective is surprisingly receptive to that forgiving attitude.  Maybe I misjudged him.

When the kid is told Irving is not going to send him to the big house, he gives a great reading of “Thanks for the break” letting Irving know he knows this is BS and that Irving is up to something.  Maybe I misjudged him.

Irving brings home the cash and shows it to his wife.  Unfortunately, he can’t feel good knowing the truth about how he got it.  On the plus side, she is wearing a different gown and this one is much, much better.  Maybe I misjudged her.

The next morning, Irving has to stop by Smalley’s apartment to pick up some papers.  He finds Smalley roughed up with a band-aid on his chin.  He was robbed by some kid of $92.  Irving finally feels some relief with the confirmation that the kid was a crook after all, and he didn’t steal money from an innocent person to cover his own shame at losing the money in a card game.

Smalley grovels and asks Irving if he can borrow a few bucks.  Irving shows some backbone and confidently says with a smirk, “Sorry, you know how it is.  I’m a married man.”  So maybe I misjudged him. [3]

Well, Irving might feel better, but he isn’t really off the karmic hook.  To cover his own issues, he put the kid back on the street to continue his crime spree.[2]  Also, indirectly, Irving stole back the money that Smalley won fair and square in a poker game. And feels great about it because that big poopy-head Smalley was teasing him.

A great premise and a pretty good episode.

Post-Post:

  • AHP Deathwatch:  Joyce “I’m not Alice or Trixie” Meadows and Buzz Martin are still with us.  Sadly, as noted on a previous episode, Sam Buffington (Smalley) died at only 28, almost exactly a year after this episode aired.
  • AHP Proximity Alert:  William Kruse was just in an episode 2 weeks ago.  Give someone else a chance!
  • [1] Or a banker.  Or a lawyer.  Or a car salesman.  Or a pharmaceutical executive. Or a tobacco lobbyist.  OK, this profiling thing isn’t working out.
  • [2] Crime and spending — really the only two things where you can spree.
  • [3] When he first sees Smalley, Irving covers his scar to avoid questions.  After hearing Smalley’s story, he gains some confidence and stops hiding it even though, at that point, he has more reason to avoid explaining it.  The strangest thing is that Smalley never mentions the giant Harvey Dent-sized wound at all.
  • John Smith, who played Irving, was born Robert Errol Van Orden.  His name was changed by the same agent who rebranded Tab Hunter and Rock Hudson.  Clearly he was working on deadline when he came up with John Smith.
  • For a more in-depth look at the episode and its source material, check out bare*bonez e-zine.

Twilight Zone – Quarantine (02/07/86)

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Matthew Foreman (Scott Wilson) is awakened from suspended anim-ation.  In the future, it is apparently recommended to shine a flashlight directly into the eyes of people waking up after a coma. Sarah is evasive about how long he has been asleep.  He tells her to “cut to the chase” thus ensuring that idiotic phrase will survive another 324 years into the future.

They go outside and Foreman sees a pastoral, almost Amish, farming community. There is a horse, a pig, a bull and I swear I think I even see a monkey.  He asks why he was brought “way out here” and not taken to a city.  They take him in for a medical procedure.  Rather than getting an anesthetic, an empath feels his pain for him.  A remote viewer diagnoses his carcinomas.  Sarah performs psychic surgery, reaching into his stomach without an incision to remove the growths.  There is great synergy in this being a farming community because there’s a lot of horseshit here.

After he recovers (i.e. the next day), Sarah explains the new-agey philosophy that governs life now.  Foreman was an engineer who actually built things — planes, tanks, satellites.  He wonders what his role is in this society.  After the nuclear war, the earth’s population fell to 200,000.  They take him to their computer room which is hefty Hefty bags of primates wired up like the human battery farms in The Matrix, but hairier.  The monkeys are intelligent enough to choose life in the matrix where they have all the bananas they can eat and all the feces they can fling — which is efficiently circuitous.

Three weeks ago, the remote viewers spotted an asteroid heading toward earth.  That image is telepathically sent to Foreman.  Such a rock could pound the earth back to the stone age which is, granted, not as far as it used to be.  They hope Foreman can use his engineering skills to instruct satellites still in orbit to blast the asteroid into bits, and also get free HBO.

Foreman successfully reboots the old satellite and targets the asteroid.  As it comes into range, it slows down and alters its course as if it is slipping into orbit.  He suddenly realizes that with their psychic ability, they can make him see whatever they want him to see.  They allow him to see the truth — he has targeted a spacecraft with an American flag on it.   He is outraged, but they tell him the ship is “full of the military and politicians — the ones who started the war.”  Unfortunately he can’t just target the front of the ship because you know the politicians would be in first class.

He tries to stop the satellite, but Sarah sabotages the computer.  She says the ship is bringing nuclear weapons back and that can not be allowed.  The laser fires, destroying the ship and its 1,000 passengers.  Congratulations to TZ for going dark.

Wracked with guilt, Foreman sits on the porch and looks at the stars.  As a kid, he had gone into engineering hoping one day to go out there.  Now he feels unworthy.  The remote viewer offers to show him the universe.  He declines, but she does a quick mind-meld [1] and gives him a fly-by of Saturn.  The hell with the 1,000 people he killed five minutes ago, he excitedly decides to explore the galaxy from the front porch.

There was such a good premise here, but it was somewhat squandered.  Once again the squishiness of the 1980s TZ is at fault.  Much of the issue in this case is the totally inappropriate score.  This could have been a suspenseful, gut-wrenching episode. Think of the elements: Waking up after 324 years, a completely changed society, your life & career are obsolete, humans have harnessed spiritual powers, a killer asteroid, then the betrayal, then the crushing guilt of murdering 1,000 people, and the finally the ability to live his childhood dream of exploring the cosmos.  The episode just lacks an edge that I can imagine if it had been made in the 1960s.  For example, Foreman has a monologue that is greatly undercut by the score.  I can imagine Serling writing a monologue for that section — with no score — that would have nailed it.

The 1980s version just tries to be too nice.  I could have done without Fore-man’s exploration of the cosmos.  Ending on him as distraught as Nancy Pelosi at the SOTU speech would have been fine.  And, frankly, part of the problem is Charles Aidman’s narration. I’ve heard him praised in commentaries and in articles, but he’s too dang avuncular.  This isn’t a guy who would have left William Benteen behind.

Serling, in both his clenched-jaw speech and in his appearance had an edgy, slightly menacing vibe.  The black suits and skinny ties are even now are associated with Tarrantino-esque psychopaths — I think that is partially due to Serling.  Plus, he had a butt going half the time and he had the virtue of being the creator — he was The Twilight Zone — and that gave him even greater gravitas.

An OK episode that could have been great.

Post-Post:

  • [1] Appropriate as I believe this actress was was driving the ship when baby Spock was found on the Genesis planet in Star Trek III.  It seems to have dropped out of streaming, so I could be wrong.
  • Scott Wilson would do more time on a farm later as Herschel on The Walking Dead.  He’ll always be Scott Crossfield to me, though.

Twilight Zone – Welcome to Winfield (02/07/86)

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Matt is in critical condition.  He senses death coming, and I mean literal death on two legs.  He pulls himself up, ripping numerous tubes from numerous orifices.  When Death reaches Matt’s room, all he finds is an empty bed; Matt and girlfriend Lori have sped off.  And good for them — shouldn’t Mr. Death only show up when a person is about to die?  If Matt was able to get up, lose the tubes, make it to the car, and take a road-trip, Mr. Death was a tad pre-mature.

Lori turns down the dirt road to the titular Winfield with Matt shivering in the back seat. She soon arrives at a town that seems stuck in the 19th century.  Finally, three weeks later, Death takes the same turn off the main road.  To be fair, there was probably some low hanging fruit at the hospital keeping him busy — that’s like the Dollar Store to Mr. Death.

A couple of yokels are playing horseshoes when Death’s white Mercedes rolls into town. One of them says, “What do you think that is?”  Oddly the whole town saw Lori & Matt’s car three weeks earlier and seemed to get the whole car-thing.  The crowd is a little taken aback as am I — white is a terrible color for a Mercedes.

One of the hayseeds lets it slip — and by “let’s it slip”, I mean proudly exclaims — that he is 150 years old. Shafting another actor out of a speaking role, he also exposits that Matt is hiding out in town. Death calls his predecessor Chin Du Long for some advice. The townsfolk hope they can strike a deal with the new Mr. Death as they did with “The Chinaman.”

One of the hicks tells Death that Chin allowed them to live because “they wasn’t herting anyone.”  OK, he correctly pronounced it hurting, but I assume it was misspelled in his mind.  This raises a few questions.  Did Chin come to town to kill all of them at the same time?  Did a possum fall into the well?  Did he grant them immortality, or did they already have it?  What was the aforementioned deal?  What did Chin get out of it other than a racist nickname?

Matt gallantly gives himself up to save the town, but Death says he might have to take everyone.  His predecessor Chin was “too sentimental in an inscrutable kind of way.” You know, like all Chinese people.  Death tries to get Chin on the phone, but he is unavailable. Death says, “I don’t care if he’s dining with Mao, I want him on the line.” Because who else would a Chinese dude sit with at the cafeteria having only 10 billion dead souls to choose from.  And wouldn’t Mao be in Hell, anyway?

The mayor steps up and offers to sacrifice the town for the boy.  They are all over 100 years old, but Matt is just starting out.  Matt won’t hear of it. All three factions yell at Death to take them, me being the third.  Death inexplicably changes his mind and lets everyone live “for another century or so.”  He gets into his Mercedes and zooms into the sky like Doc Brown — although his rear window still shows him at ground level.

There’s a lot to like here, and any complaints were mostly to fill space.  The one small weakness is the ending — I would have really liked some motivation for Death’s change of heart.  The frontier street has a solid feel to it, and the score is appropriately banjo-y and twangy.  Matt and Lori [1] don’t have much gravitas, but the episode is well-carried by Death and the Mayor.  I initially thought Gerritt Graham was miscast as Death, but he won me over.  Henry Gibson as the Mayor was interesting as always.  Despite being great character actors, neither ever seemed to be appreciated by Hollywood.  I suspect Gibson was undervalued because of his work on Laugh-In.  That’s what did-in Nixon, as I recall.

Post-Post:

  • [1] Congratulations to JoAnn Willette on surviving that really awful 1980s hairdo.
  • Classic TZ Legacy:  Numerous embodiments of death.  I guess.  I can only think of two.  I’ll say this for them, it took more than an upset stomach for them to show up.

Frost Rides Alone – Horace McCoy (1930)

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Captain Jerry Frost of the Texas Air Rangers, like me, hears footsteps behind him.  He and his reporterette companion Helen Stevens duck into La Estrellita [1].  It is a smokey cafe along the border filled with hombres y mujeres. Since this is 1930, this means it is on the south side of the border.  He sees his pal Captain George Stuart and tells him, “Hell’s about to pop.”

Frost notices three Mexican men — or as they’re known there, men — follow them into the bar.  One of them pretends to trip over Frost’s feet, but Frost catches him with an upper-cut. Before Frost can draw his pistol, the man’s two amigos have already drawn on him.  Stuart knocks out one of the men and grabs the third.  Frost brains him with a bottle as five more men ran into the bar.

The lights go out — the economy of characters suggests Helen threw the switch — and Frost fights his way out.  Luckily “Mexican marksmanship is notoriously bad.  The first love is the blade.”  Frost and Stuart find each other and escape across the street.  They start heading back to El Norte, but Frost is worried about the woman, so they head back to La Estrellita.  They ask the proprietor if he has seen the American woman.  He gives Frost an envelope someone gave a waiter.  Inside, a letter says, “Thanks Captain for the woman”  and WTF is so hard about keeping an agua glass filled?

Four days later, the Governor and the Adjutant-General of the Rangers have joined the search.  It is their responsibility to find blonde American babes missing in foreign lands until Fox News is invented.  They get a break as a Coast Guard cutter spots a woman on board a rum-runner.  Like Jack Bauer, Frost says he is going alone to rescue Helen. The A-G says, “I’d hate like hell to have him after me!”

In the next few sentences, we meet Jimmy O’Neill, Hans Traub, Ox Clay and Oliver Roland in Corpus Christi.  What happened to that economy of characters?  O’Neill was the one who spotted Helen.  He provides Frost with a plane to search for Helen.  Frost finally spots the cutter.  He lands the plane on the water and climbs aboard.

After killing one crew-member, he forces another to tell him there are six people on board, two of them women.  They are going to pick-up illegal rum, or four more women. Frost manages to kill or subdue all of the dudes.  He finds Helen in a luxurious cabin. She even has a phone on the wall.[2]  I don’t understand how a phone on a ship worked in 1930, but I don’t understand how it would work in 2017 either.

Turns out this chick — the one from the cafe — was just pretending to be Helen.  The fight was a set-up to kill Frost.  The real Helen has been locked away for a week.  So I guess the spotter on the Cutter was so desperate to see a woman at sea that it was hard to differentiate.  I think that also explains why pirates wear earrings, but that’s just a theory.

Frost saves the day and calls in the Coast Guard to clear away the bodies and hose down the deck.  Speaking of getting hosed, after things are settled, Frost takes the real Helen — who he met about 2 minutes ago — down below to make out.

This is standard action hero stuff — Indiana Jones, Dirk Pitt, etc.  I must say, though, that the stories in this collection are more intricately plotted than those in the $.99 megapacks — lofty praise indeed.  Good stuff.

Post-Post:

  • [1] Spanish for Tom Cruise.
  • [2] C’mon, even I know it is called a bulkhead.
  • First published in Black Mask in March 1930.
  • Also that year: Steve McQueen born and DH Lawrence died.
  • Horace McCoy’s best known work is the novella They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? which was made into a great but very bleak movie.  Not only was it a dark allegory for the weariness and hopelessness of the Depression, it gave Jane Fonda her first Oscar nomination launching her to be a thorn in people’s sides for the next fifty years.  On the other hand, it also spawned They Shoot Gilmores, Don’t They? so we’ll call it even.