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.

The episode opens with the same type of pointlessly specific title cards that Hitchcock aficionados will recognize from Psycho.  Blackheath . . . near London . . . October 23, 1903 . . . 7:20 PM.

Inspector Brent is making a call on Major Cook-Finch.  Brent asks to see Cook’s dining room and to speak to his “man” Lane.  Brent’s plans are as meticulous as the title cards, as he dictates everything from the seating arrangement to the position of the gas valve. The Shakespearean actor Robert Stone arrives.  Before the actor can have an hysterical tantrum about leaving England if George V takes the throne, Brent explains the haps.

There was a murder 2 years ago in this house.  The suspected murderer, John Bedford, is the guest of honor.  He was the sole heir to his Aunt Mae’s estate, but had an alibi. Inspector Brent has devised a plan where an actress will appear to be the ghost of Aunt Mae.  She appears during the pheasant and Bedford blurts out a confession.  They read him the Miranda Warning ^[1] and haul him off to gaol.

This episode uses one of the oldest tropes on TV — the pseudo-supernatural event that is staged, and occurs despite the unexpected absence of the perpetrators.  Not only is this lazier than I expect from AHP, it breaks with their tradition of non-supernatural episodes.  I can think of only one previously.

And it was directed by Alfred Hitchcock?

Not only that, but it ran laughably short.  Hitchcock’s vignettes seemed longer than usual, but the closing credits really showed the padding.  My God, they just went on and on. The make-up and gaffer credits were on the screen so long their mothers were saying, “Get on with it already!”  The union called and said, “We’re satisfied, let’s move on!”.  The theme was repeated countless times.  Really an off week for AHP.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] I didn’t realize this was a thing outside the US, much less in 1903. Although, back then it referred to Carmen Miranda and was a warning to wash fruit before eating it.
• AHP Deathwatch:  According to IMDb, Kenneth Haigh (John Bedford) is listed as still alive at 88. But I have to wonder who notifies them in case of death.
• Banquo is a reference to a character in Macbeth, and not Spanish for Bank as I thought.
• For an in-depth look at the episode and the original work it was based on, check out bare*bonez e-zine.  Spoiler:  He liked it a lot more than me.

A couple are is dancing and discussing what a tramp the woman is (by 1959 standards, anyway).  There are 2 gunshots which are effective shocks even though (i.e. because) they are so unrealistically staged.  They are dancing very close and shown from just below the shoulders when the shots are heard.  It is almost comical what a non-sequitur they are. Before the shots, the woman’s arms do not move, so it is as if she was holding the gun between them the whole time.  As we hear the shots, there is absolutely no recoil.

The camera pulls so far back we can see the director — no wait this has been a scene filmed for a movie.  Stage-victim Oliver Matthews picks himself up and heads for his dressing room.  He opens up a bottle of hooch and unloads on his assistant, Miss Hall.  He hates the film, hates that he has been reduced to a small role, and hates having to act beside Myra Robbins.  But he’s not just a h8ter, he does love that booze.  Miss Hall gets him to put down the bottle by offering a sedative.

Her slavish devotion is repaid by Matthews telling her, “You ought to find yourself a man.  You’re drying up,  Pretty soon you’ll have fewer choices.”  He goes on a Serling-esque harangue of self-pity about himself and mockery of Miss Hall.  This a pretty pathetic pair.  Even as Matthews is cruelly taunting Miss Hall on the way out the door to Mexico, she is obsequiously fawning over him.

We are tricked as he actually goes home, not that the director gives us any clue — this could have been a place in Mexico.  However, the wardrobe lady from the film set  who Matthews had earlier pretended not to know walks in and is all smiles.  I was expecting that his previous ass-hattery was an act and that he would be charmingly in love with the lowly wardrobe lady, Grace Dolan.  Well cheers to them for fooling me, but jeers for them subjecting me to another depressing co-dependent train-wreck of a relationship.

In this pairing, Dolan is blackmailing Matthews to keep quiet about his role in her daughter’s murder.  Ya know, most parents might take such evidence to the police.  He insists that he is broke and can’t keep paying.  She nastily demands that he write the check anyway and damn well better find a way to cover it.  As she is leaving, he asks her to stay for a drink which is not at all suspicious.

As she is looking through his record collection, he dumps a bottle of his sedative in her glass and charmingly stirs it with his finger.  As a result of the drug or his grubby finger, Dolan passes out.  She is so disgusting that he isn’t tempted to do anything but kill her.  He loads her in the car, wraps her in chains and gives her a long shove off a short pier.

He returns home and finds Miss Hall there.  She knows what Matthews did, but will not tell the police as long as he will be her boyfriend.

This episode is a victim of its own success.  Franchot Tone is just great as Matthews.  And, by great, I mean repulsive.  Miss Hall is so needy, you go right past empathy into thinking “what’s wrong with this woman?”, and Grace Dolan is just as nasty as Matthews. There is just no one to root for or identify with.

Post-Post:

• AHP Deathwatch:  No survivors.

L to R: The Avon Emeralds, Waxwork.                 LotR: Lord of the Rings

1. This is the exact same establishing shot as opened The Avon Emeralds.
2. This episode aired in 1959.  Why was it so important to set it in 1955?  Not exactly a period piece.
3. Why was it necessary to set either episode in England?

Raymond Houston is quite the wild-man.  He heads off to the Marriner’s Wax Museum and buys both a guidebook and souvenir program.  He sneaks off the tour and up the stairs to find the owner.  He is a reporter with a great idea — he wants to report on politics without contempt or bias, and ask penetrating questions with insistent follow-ups. No wait, this isn’t The Twilight Zone; he just wants to spend the night in the museum.

Houston specifically wants wants to spend the night in the Murderer’s Den.  He has a bit of a gambling problem.  Writing this swell story will put a few bucks in his pocket.  After an interminable and unnecessary tour of the waxworks, Houston is locked away for the night.

He has a phobia about being locked up, so quickly becomes anxious.  Surrounded by the wax murderers, he stares longingly at the door.  Sweat pours off of his brow as he loosens his tie.  He types a few words:  This is no place for anyone with a weak heart . . . or weak nerves.

So far, this is the only remotely interesting thing about this episode.  Consider:  21 years later, Barry Nelson (Houston) would play the hotel manager in The Shining — a story about a writer trapped in a confined area for a pre-determined period of time who goes a little mad and types drivel on his typewriter.

It gets a little more interesting as we are treated to a POV shot which, like Charlotte McKinney, looks out over an impressive rack.  We witness the agitated Houston going from figure to figure in a panic.  Somehow the guillotine chops off a wax head.  Even more incredibly, he manages to get his hand caught in the afore-mentioned and afore-grounded rack.  Houston runs up the stairs to the door, but it is locked tight.

I’m getting a little restless myself.  Blah blah blah.  This episode had a lot of potential. Sadly it was torpedoed by too much unnecessary exposition, a very dull turn by Everett Sloane as the owner, and an unexceptional performance by Barry Nelson.

The Twilight Zone had a much better wax museum visit in The New Exhibit.

Post-Post:

• AHP Deathwatch:  One of the guards is still with us.
• Houston name-checks one of the murderous figures as Landru.  His waxy ass was also seen in The New Exhibit.

An AHP Christmas episode.  Unlike TZ, I expect AHP to stick to its charter and give me a watchable episode.

Alexander Gifford is coming home with no Christmas bonus.  He is just sick thinking about “the 4% it could have accumulated in the bank over the next few years.”  I am just sick thinking of the .00001% my money is getting.

After a good gag with a newspaper, the parsimonious Alexander chides his wife for leaving a light on.  He sees a gift on the table and wishes his wife a happy birthday.  He didn’t forget — he reminds her, “What about our understanding?  Didn’t we agree a long time ago that it wasn’t necessary to demonstrate our affection for one another by the extravagant exchange of unnecessary items?”  I can think of another way affection will not be demonstrated that night.

Jennifer got the gift for herself.  “Don’t, worry.  I’m not getting anything for you,”  she zings him in a pitch-perfect retort.  She then horrifies Alexander by sitting down to eat a nice steak while serving him “stewed soup meat.”  Hey, wait a minute, he remembers, her birthday was 2 months ago.

She explains today is her new birthday.  While cleaning the closet, she found hidden bank books showing a balance of $33,000 ^[1].  He explains that is for their old age.  She calls him a cheap, miserly, penny-pinching, money-grabbing . . .”  She can’t say asshole on TV, so she asks for a divorce.  Alexander is stunned. He thinks, “That would be a terrible thing.  I didn’t want to part with Jennifer . . . not in this community-property state.”  So he decides to kill her — Ho ho ho, AHP rules!

Alexander recruits a hitman.  The hitman tells him to go see his friend Arthur who will sell him some poison.  The Chemist has just the thing — a perfume that when dabbed behind each year goes pshhhhh.  I can’t figure out what this means.  He prides himself on his poisons being undetectable, but he makes a sound like this eats right through the skin into her brain.  Anyway, at $600 the price is a little steep for Alexander.

Alexander gets the better (i.e. cheaper) idea of giving his wife food-poisoning.  Since he can’t wait for Chipotle to be created, he visits a young scientist at the university and manages to steal some botulism by drawing it into his fountain pen.  He applies it to a ham in their refrigerator, then claims not to be hungry at dinner.

That night, Jennifer’s eyes roll back in her head and she keels over dead. Well, not quite.  Arthur calls the doctor who finds she is in very bad shape, but still alive.  The doctors says if she makes it through the night, she has a small chance to recover.  Not one to take risks, Alexander smothers her with a HOME SWEET HOME pillow.

The bad news keeps coming for Alexander.  The doctor tells him a funeral will cost $160.  Disgusted that Jennifer is still squandering his money even in death, he donates her body to medical science.  He counts up a cool $75 as he walks out the door of State University Medical School.

What the hell — they had the perfect ending and they uncharacteristically bungled it! Alexander had gotten the botulism sample at the university.  There was even BEAT TECH graffiti on the blackboard ^[3].  He could have disposed of the body properly for $160, but the cheap bastard handed her body over to the same institution where he purloined the poison in his Parker pen.  That same young scientist should have taught an autopsy class and discovered the botulism matched the strain in his lab.^[2]  Thus Alexander’s cheapness would have been his undoing.

This was such a good episode that the last minute fumble is not a deal-breaker.  The performances are uniformly great.  Dennis Day as Alexander was believably prim and parsimonious.  Alice Backes was almost too good as Jennifer.  She had a sly delivery, an interest-ing angular beauty and a smile that cut through the jokes.  She could have been the standard AHP cookie-cutter shrewish wife, but turned the part into a real person.  The thugs were appropriately menacing and even kind of textured characters.  Their mugs sold the menace, but their deeds and manners showed more depth.  The chemist was a dead-ringer for Bunsen Honeydew, and you can’t go wrong with that.

The script was also a winner.  There were actual jokes, not just a reveal followed by a jaunty musical stinger.  All in almost all, a most wonderful time-slot of the year.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] $270k in 2016 dollars.
• ^[2] As always, Alfred Hitchcock assures us in the epilogue that Alexander was caught.  He still never makes the connection to the university, though.
• ^[3] Home of the world renowned VISITORS.
• AHP Deathwatch:  No survivors.
• Title Analysis:  OK, we get it — he’s cheap.  I don’t really get the title.
• A rare bit of 1950’s meta:  The hitman refers to the famous Lamb to the Slaughter episode of AHP which is, naturally, unavailable on Hulu.
• OK, not really a Christmas episode, but it was mentioned.