Cheers to Dennis Weaver!  He is like the TV Gene Hackman — if he is in a show, you can trust it will probably be pretty good.  He was in a couple of a long-running series ^[1] and a ton of other stuff.  Somehow he managed to do it without overdosing, beating up his wife, or condescendingly mouthing off about issues he didn’t understand.  Best of all, at some point, he just went away.  Whatever happened to actors like that?  Oh yeah, they went away. ^[2]

Tonight at 3:50 am, Weaver is having trouble sleeping.  Sitting here typing at 12:50 am, I can tell him what has worked for me the past three years as long as you don’t mind being called a moron occasionally.  He is suffering from acute insomnia.  He turns on the light and reaches for a cigarette, neither of which seems like it would help.

Maybe his room is too cold.  He sits up, puts on his slippers for a 2-step journey, slips into his robe and sashes it, then walks to an old heater a few feet away.  Frankly, bundling up like the dude in To Build a Fire took more time than just going to the heater.  Unfortunately, when he lights the heater, it belches a yuge flame at him.  Frustrated and exhausted, he flops on the bed.  On the plus side, he is not on fire.

Weaver finally decides to see a psychiatrist.  He reveals that his wife died in a fire a year ago.  He tells the doctor of a recurring dream — wait, I thought he never slept.  He dreams of his wife Linda in their old house.

She is standing by the stairs, seemingly unaware of the fire approaching her rear from the rear.  Weaver screams to warn her, but he doesn’t actually, you know, make any effort to rescue her.  The flames engulf her.

Weaver is quick to point out this is not what happened.  They were in bed when the real fire reached their bedroom.  Blinded by the smoke, he screamed for Linda but she did not answer — in the bed might have been a good place to start feeling around (as it usually is).  He was able to get to the bathroom and jump out the window.  The doctor suggests guilt is keeping him awake, but Weaver disagrees.

He does admit to being bothered by the accusations of Linda’s brother Jack Fletcher that he did nothing to save her.  Oh, I guess Mr. Tough Guy would have run right into the fire to save her!  Easy to say, safely after-the-fact from some comfy . . . “military hospital in Maryland”.  Oh.

Weaver realizes that his insomnia did not begin until Fletcher was released from the military hospital in Maryland (oh why the hell can’t they just say Walter Reed?).  Despite making 20 years of progress in their first session, Weaver is not cured.  That night he is tossing and turning in bed again.  He picks up a paperback but the phone interrupts him.  It is Fletcher, saying he is in town.  He menacingly says, “You know why I’m here, don’t you Charlie?”

That night in his pajamas, Weaver calls the military hospital ^[3] to get Fletcher’s new address.  What the hospital lacks in HIPAA privacy rules, it makes up in 24-hour service.  They happily give him Fletcher’s new address in Manhattan.  Weaver goes to visit Fletcher.  BTW, Weaver pays Fletcher the respect of dressing up, but this is the 3rd day he has worn that same necktie.  Oh well, maybe his others were lost in the fire; and it is a snappy number.

When Fletcher opens the door, Weaver sees that he is in a wheelchair.  He begins threatening Weaver about letting his sister die.  They begin fighting — yeah, Weaver vs a guy in a wheelchair.  It’s a closer match than you would expect unless you’ve ever seen Weaver.  Fletcher pulls out a gun, evening the odds quite a bit.  Fletcher is no rocket scientist despite the resemblance to Stephen Hawking.  Weaver gets his hands on the gun and they struggle over it.  Weaver manages to point the barrel toward Fletcher’s noggin and shoots him in the face.

Weaver goes home, has a beer, kicks off his shoes, lights the heater and falls into the deepest sleep he has had in a year.  He even sleeps right through the sirens and roar of the fire engines.  Although, he was probably long dead by that time from the smoke the heater put out.

Despite the great performance by Weaver, I’m a little ambivalent on this one.  Despite him being so twitchy, I still didn’t think of him as a coward who abandoned his wife.  The first fire just seemed like a tough circumstance that he was lucky to live through himself. It even works out that his guilt and self-loathing were tied more to a fear of Fletcher than to his inability to save Linda.

Shooting his brother-in-law might have been extreme, and illegal in most states, but Fletcher really was a threatening dick.  Sure he was in a wheelchair, but he had pointed a pistol at Weaver and literally said, “Here’s my legs!”  It’s hard for me to get too upset about his murder.

Ultimately, it was a nice set-up and spike of brutal cosmic justice.  Ya hear that, yesterday’s Twilight Zone!

Other Stuff:

• [1] For example, he was in 290 episodes of Gunsmoke.  What amuses me is that isn’t even half the run of the series.  Maybe that was an early example of him knowing when to get out.
• [2] Actually, I see one reason he slowed down is that he died in 2006.  He still seems like a reg’lar guy, though.
• [3] Now referred to as Dover Veteran’s Hospital, but they’re not fooling anyone.
• Weaver was also in a sleep-centric episode of the original Twilight Zone one year and 3 days after this aired.  In that story, he was trying not to go to sleep.  It was remade into a 1986 TZ episode where I was trying not to go to sleep. ^[4]
• [4] To be fair, I think it was actually one of their better episodes.
• For more info on the episode head over to Bare*Bones Ezine.

Sir Richard Musgrave, Chairman of Consolidated Trust, is about to board a ship.  A photographer is eager to take his picture, so he must be a big shot.  He is going back to South Africa after a few years away.  The photographer says there must have been a lot of changes.  I don’t know about 1960 but I think now, yeah, he might detect some differences.

Musgrave believes he recognizes a man on deck.  He goes to the purser’s office to see if a Jan Vander Klaue is onboard.  Gopher says there is no one by that name in First Class as if Mugrave couldn’t possibly know any of the rabble down in steerage with Arte Johnson and Charo.  But there is no record of him anywhere on the ship.

Musgrave catches a glimpse of the man signing a bar tab.  Musgrave asks the bartender who the man was.  In a shocking breach of bartender / boozehound confidentiality, Isaac shows him it was signed only as Room 23.  He goes to the room, but decides not to enter.  Later in the bar, their paths cross again.  Musgrave has an officer introduce the man, but his name is Keyser.  After a mysterious trip to the Radio Shack, he has a steward give Keyser a note to come to his cabin around eleven.

Musgrave paces his cabin like it’s the Promenade Deck, waiting for the man.  He opens the door to see if the man is in the hall.  We see that Musgrave is in Cabin 25.  Wait, so the dude is right next door?  He also notices a newspaper article has been slipped under his door.  The article slows a picture of the man with a caption identifying him as Jan Vander Klaue.  The story says he was “a prospector beaten and left for dead in the veldt.”

The next day, Musgrave sees Keyser in the bar — if you ever need to find either of these two guys, that’s a good place to start looking.  Keyser says he was playing Bridge and could not come to see him last night.  Musgrave asks Keyser to have lunch with him, but Keyser says he is meeting his Bridge group, and leaves.

That night, Musgrave happens upon Keyser out on the Lido Deck.  How small is this ship?  The passengers of the Minnow didn’t cross paths this much.  Musgrave finally accuses him of being Jan Vander Klaue.  Twenty years ago they were partners.  They got into a fight and Musgrave thought he killed him.  Musgrave stole his money and built an empire from it.

Musgrave’s argument to JVK is that while he 1) beat him almost to death, 2) stole his money, 3) turned that cash into a fortune while never kicking anything back to JVK’s family, 4) married and had his own fine family, 5) outlasted the Statute of Limitations . . .  it would just be, well, embarrassing if JVK were to bring this up.  Oh my word, what would the other Lords and Ladies think?  How gauche!

He makes JVK several offers to remain silent.  At the end of Musgrave’s speech, the man says he has nearly as much money as Musgrave, and walks away . . . to a door marked — naturally — First Class Bar.

Later that night, Musgrave is nervously drinking in his room.  There is a knock at the door and he finds the man standing there.  He notices pictures of Musgrave’s wife and daughter on the dresser.  I know it takes a while to cruise to Africa, but do people really take along framed 8 x 10 photos?  The man says Musgrave’s confession puts him in a bad spot and must have also been painful for Musgrave.

He tells a story that just popped in his noggin about a similar circumstance he heard about.  A man was down to his last £75 pounds.  His business partner beat him almost to death and stole the money.  The man had set the £75 aside for a operation needed by his wife.  Lacking the cash, his wife died (or is stuck with her original boobs — the screenplay is unclear).

The next morning, Musgrave is so consumed by guilt and the liquor is so consumed by him, that he throws himself overboard.  There are several witnesses, though.  Lifesavers are thrown after the Skittles prove ineffective.  400 pound JVK / Keyser standing nearby even leaps in the water to save him.  There is a struggle, as often happens in rescuing a drowning victim.  They don’t usually put their foot on your head and drown you, though.  It is not clear who was doing the killing — I think they used some stunt-bellies to make it ambiguous.

When they arrive in Cape Town, Captain Stubing presents a trophy “to Mr. AJ Keyser for his heroism in attempting to save the life of a fellow passenger.”

Well done.  My expectations shifted a couple of times throughout.  One could ask why JVK kept that article for 20 years, or why he brought it on the trip, or why he changed his name, or why he was on the veldt when his wife was so near death, or why socialized medicine did not save his wife for free, but one would just be churlish.  Good stuff!

Other Stuff:

• Oskar Homolka came off as such a brutish dick in The Ikon of Elijah and Reward to Finder that he appeared to just be playing himself.  Here, he was totally credible as the accused businessman.  Acting!

We see the doors where Munro Dean has methodically visited every Private Investigator in the city.  Rather than maybe optimizing his time by doing it geographically, he apparently tackled this task alphabetically . . . Acme Detective Agency, Confidential Detective Agency, R.W. Harris Private Investigations, Wilson Detective Agency.  He fears he has tried every agency when he realizes William Tyre Investigations was not a place that fixes flats. ^[1]

Tyre recognizes Dean’s name due to “something with his wife”.  Dean recounts how his wife was killed in 1948 by a slim dark man with bushy black hair.  He saw the man run out the back door, but the killer was never caught.  He has had the titular 40 private detectives on the case, but they came up with nothing.  Tyre says he would probably do no better and shows Dean the door.  But Dean says he has identified the man; he just needs help proving it.

He randomly saw the man in a bookstore.  “It was one of those run-down shops on the north side of town.  You know the kind of thing.”  The guy was working behind the counter.  Dean wants Tyre to set up a meeting.

Tyre goes to the store and pretends, as all jazz-lovers do, to like jazz.  Otto the owner — the man Dean tracked down — is also a jazz-lover.  He tells Tyre he prefers the new hi-fi recordings to the scratchy old ones.  He has quite a collection, but is inexplicably eager to sell it.  I guess investment is one reason people pretend to like jazz.  Tyre asks Dean if he would bring a few of the records to his hotel room that night, which sounds like the other reason people pretend to like jazz.

Otto says it would take a truck to lug all his records over to the hotel.  Also I suspect most hotels in 1960 did not have a turntable among their amenities of a Coke machine, flypaper, multiple ashtrays, and segregated bathrooms.  The other boarders unwittingly dodge a bullet when Otto invites Tyre over to his house to listen to the dreadful caterwauling. ^[2]

Tyre later briefs Dean on his progress.  Dean, who had earlier said he just wanted to talk to Otto, tries to give Tyre a pistol.  He offers Tyre $3,000 “to avenge me.”  Tyre declines and Dean keep upping the offer until Tyre says, “Stop before you get to a figure that tempts me!”  which sounds like a joke by that old comedian Winston Churchill.  As Tyre leaves, he warns Dean not to take the law into his own hands.

At Otto’s place, Otto is showing off his hi-fi set, and his girlfriend Gloria is showing off her bongos (hee-hee).  Otto offers the records to Tyre for $250.  Tyre says he doesn’t have that kind of cash on him, and suggests Otto come back to his place the following night for the dough.  They agree and Otto writes down the address of the room where Dean will be waiting for him.

Before Tyre can leave, Otto insists they listen to his stereo recording of 2 trains crashing together.  Otto takes such joy in his records that Tyre regrets having to go through with his assignment.

He returns to Dean and tells him when Otto will be showing up at his door.  Dean pays Tyre, who takes the money but encourages Dean to call the police rather than handling it himself.  Dean tells him to butt out.

Tyre just can’t stay away though.  He barges into Dean’s room just as he shoots Otto, and shoves Dean against the wall.  In an uncharacteristically clumsy exposition:

• The wounded Otto scrambles to Dean’s dropped gun.
• Otto Shoots Dean.
• Otto then shoots at Tyre as “the fingerman”.
• Tyre hides behind one of those bullet-proof hotel chairs you always hear about.
• Otto is suddenly stone cold dead.  What?
• Tyre confirms that Dean is dead.
• Tyre goes back to Otto who is suddenly not quite dead.

Otto spills his guts, literally and figuratively, to Tyre.  In 1948, Dean had hired Otto to kill his wife.  12 years later, Dean was worried that this happy, chubby, jazz-loving business owner who has a girlfriend with big bongos might implicate himself in a murder for hire cold case.

It just seems a little thin.

Other Stuff:

• [1] Tyre would have made more sense if this were an England-based episode.  But then a guy who fixes flats would be a carpenter.
• [2] Not all jazz, by any means.  But, if there is coherent moment on Bitch’s Brew, please timestamp it in the comments.
• AHP Deathwatch:  James Franciscus (Tyre) lived to only 57.  All the other actors have passed away, and bookstores are next.
• I say this with an unbroken life-long streak of heterosexuality: That James Franciscus was one handsome guy.
• For an authoritative look at the source material and production, check out bare*bonez ezine.

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  maid, schoolmarm, spinster, 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.

At a coroner’s inquest, 29 year old John Crane, is recalling the first time he went away without his mother . . .

Mom, laughing:  You call this packing?  You really are hopeless.

John: Maybe it’s my artistic temperament.  Remember how mad that expression used to make dad?

William Shatner is playing this somewhat effeminately.  Are they trying to say something here?  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

He laments that his sister’s sick kid will prevent his mother from joining him on a vacation to Vermont.  He fixes a cocktail with the ice they have “left out from last night.”  He assures her she is not old as he puts his arms around her, nuzzles and kisses her neck.  Not that there’s . . . OK this is a little creepy. ^[1]

John puts on his big-boy pants and goes to Vermont where Mom will join him later.  On his 3rd day there, he meets Lottie in the gift shop.  He asks her for “3 or 4 rolls” of film.  This is the flimsiest of nit-picks, but why would it be scripted for him to ask for 3 or 4 rolls of film?  It’s not like asking the butcher for about a pound of turkey.  Rolls of film are clearly discrete, easily countable items.  Also, what is film?

She also shows him some slides of the area. ^[2]  Shots of a near-by waterfall catch his eye.  Lottie offers to take him to the location so he can take his own pictures.  They take the long hike there and John mentions it was rough on his bad leg which was damaged by polio when he was a child.  Lottie likes the spot because it is so beautiful; not like war-time Germany where she grew up.

John says he can’t wait for Lottie to meet his mother who will be coming soon.  He describes her as “so young and gay and pretty” — his mother, not Lottie.  They are having a great time, but John says he must get back to his room.  His mother calls him every night at 9:00.

The next night, Lottie and John are in the hotel dining room.  It has closed, but she is asking him to dance with her.  He uses the old I-had-polio excuse which that buttinski Jonas Salk ruined for all guys.  She convinces him to try, and it is a pretty nice moment.  He quickly but effortlessly becomes more agile, and they smoothly move closer together as they dance.  Then they even kiss.

They go back out to the waterfall and John begins talking about marriage.  He says he has never been in love like this before.  Things are heating up when suddenly he realizes he missed his mother’s nightly call 2 hours ago.  He panics, “I’ve missed Claire’s call!” He wants to bolt back to his room, but Lottie’s lips convince him to stay.

He does end up returning to his room . . . alone.  He grabs the phone, but is surprised when his mother walks into the room.  He throws his arms around her.  “Claire, darling!  What a wonderful surprise!”

The next morning at breakfast, his mother says, “I’ll have to thank Miss Rank (Lottie) for keeping you amused until I got here.”  While John goes to the train station to get the rest of his mother’s luggage, Mom goes to check out Lottie in the gift shop.  Mom is an undercover shopper and says she is looking for a gift for a man.  She dismisses Lottie’s first suggestion as gaudy.  Then she nails her for not yet being a citizen, and hints she might try to trap a man to fast-track citizenship.  “That’s the way most European girls manage it, isn’t it?”  She comments on the lack of anything tasteful in the shop and leaves. ^[3]

Left to Right: Lottie, worlds biggest cash register, John

John and his mother are later waiting for Lottie in the dining room.  There is tension when Lottie sees that the crabby old woman from the shop is John’s mother.  Mom gives a non-apology and thanks Lottie for looking after John until she arrived.  Mom says she won’t get in the way of the young couple.  It seems misplayed that this what finally causes Lottie to leave.  Even though it was passive-aggressive bullshit, it was actually the most decent thing Mom said since she arrived.  Naturally, John stays with his mother rather than going after Lottie.

Lottie and John go back to the waterfall that evening.  He accuses her, “You don’t like my mother, do you?”  She neither hems nor haws, “No.”  John is baffled how Lottie could not love his dear mother.  She says, “How little you know about women, John.”  She says she understands the situation now, and starts naming off the issues:

1. The telephone calls every night.
2. The number of times her name is used in conversation.
3. The fact that she joined you here.
4. That you still live with her.
5. “When I saw you together, I knew there was no chance for me.”

She doesn’t mention the creepy idea of him calling his mother Claire (or darling).  There is another little misstep when money is introduced in the conversation.  Lottie learns that all the family assets are in Mom’s name.  She says John will never be free until she dies and he inherits the loot.  I get that this is to put the idea of killing Mom on the table, but bringing up money just undermines the the whole Buster Bluth dynamic.

A couple of nice scenes follow.  John is literally sitting at his mother’s feet as she continues passively-aggressively chewing the scenery.  It really is good, cringe-worthy stuff.  She even gets to use Lottie’s same line to John, “How little you know of women!”  He then meets Lottie later in the dining room.  She insists that John tell Mom immediately of their marriage plans.  She even suggests they do it together at the waterfall.  John says in narration that he knew what Lottie had in mind, but it seems like a non-sequitur.

The three of them arrive at the waterfall.  Lottie and Mom go to the edge to look at it.  Seeing the two women leaning over the edge, John limps over and gives one of them a push (really more of a hammy punch in the back).  The shot that follows is so brutally comic that it is surprising it made it onto TV.  We see a lengthy shot of a body falling down the cliff, hitting every rock on the way down like Homer Simpson at Springfield Gorge.  There is an effort at suspense as the two women were dressed in white, similar to each other.  Not, however, similar to the dummy that went over the cliff wearing a darker top.  But c’mon, this is AHP; who do you think it’s going to be?

We return to the coroner’s inquest where the death is ruled an accident.  John seems a little dazed as he asks his mother, “Can we go home now?”  He seems debilitated, and not just in the leg.

Jessie Royce Landis (Mom) was so perfect that you wonder if she was acting.  The script and her delivery were just a feast of attitude and elbows.  With Shatner, as you would expect, it is an affected performance.  But is it due to his youth (6 years pre Star Trek)?  Or playing a momma’s-boy?  Or just his usual Shatnerisms?  It felt a little over-played, especially in the first scene.  Still, it worked for me.

More great stuff from AHP.

Other Stuff:

• [1] They made sure to maximize the CQ (Creepiness Quotient) by casting an actress who was 35 years older than Shatner.  The usual mother-son spread in Hollywood is about 5-10 years.  In North by Northwest, she played Cary Grant’s mother despite being only 7 years older.
• [2] I never got the appeal of slides.  You need to buy equipment to view them.  Instead of a small colorful photo, you get a washed-out blown-up version tainted by the color of whatever wall you point it at (unless you buy yet more equipment).  They are a pain to load into the viewer each time (unless you buy much, much more equipment).  Correction, I don’t get the appeal to the customer.  That’s why this guy is the best.
• [3] John never tells his mother that Lottie works in the gift shop.  But I guess not every conversation is on-screen.
• AHP Deathwatch:  The Shat — still with us, baby!  Sadly, Gia Scala (Lottie) OD’d at age 38.
• Title Analysis:  No idea, so as always, I went to bare*bonez e-zine for their great source material and production details.