Mitchell Chaplin has been found guilty of the crime of coldness — not opening up his emotions to his fellow citizens.  Frankly, with Jerry Springer, Dr. Phil, reality TV and dumb-bell bloggers, today I would give him a medal; but clearly this is meant to be a dystopia. ^[1]  Witnesses have described him as cold and uncaring, so he is sentenced to one year of invisibility.  Holy smoke do I love this premise — please don’t turn it into another sappy Hallmark segment!

The state puts a mark on his forehead which renders him invisible.  Because of his coldness, he defiantly exclaims, “This is nothing to me!”  Outside, a man is looking at some papers and walks into him.  Once he sees the mark, he disregards Chaplain.

It took me a while — in fact, stupidly, way past this point — to realize the invisibles are not literally invisible.  I had to delete a lot of, frankly, Nobel Prize-caliber bon mots.  When people see the mark, they are just required to ignore the markee.

Chaplain goes to a cafeteria.  He orders the roast, but the server can’t “see” him. Chaplin decides to make this a self-serve line as he leaps over the counter, steals the server’s hat, and begins serving himself.  When Chaplain sits down at a family’s table, their kid finally does acknowledge him.  His mother admonishes him.  Maybe this was when I realized he wasn’t truly invisible.

Later, he goes “shopping” at a liquor store.  As usual, government regulation has screwed small merchants who must watch their merchandise walk out the door with these misanthropes.  He encounters another invisible with the same mark.  There is a uncomfortable moment when they seem desperate to communicate, but do not when they see a drone monitoring them.  This is a busy location — he sees 3 women come out of a women’s spa and they completely ignore him.  I feel your pain, pal.

On the other hand — women’s spa! He goes in and heads for the sauna. Sadly this was not on Showtime because he finds 6 women naked in a Jacuzzi and many others sitting around in towels.

This is even more dickish than it seems as he is not literally invisible. Despite the dictates of the state, these women subtly acknowledge his presence.  It is not a cartoonish hysteria, but a quiet silence and humiliation as they group together and speak softly, supporting each other.  This is genuinely effective stuff.  I might never watch Porky’s every week the same way again.  Even Chaplain is ashamed of his violation, and backs out of the door.

After 105 days of this desolation, Chaplain finally communicates with someone.  A blind man in the cafeteria sits at his table and begins talking.  A waitress busts him and tells the blind man that he is an invisible.  There must be some stiff penalty because the blind man is very shaken and quickly leaves the table.

At the 6 month point, he goes to a comedy club.  The comedian immediately shuns him as an invisible.  That must be some brutal punishment for just acknowledging invisibles. Would he be tortured?  He leaves the club and sees an invisible woman.  He begs her to talk to him, but she refuses to risk lengthening her sentence.  Chaplain finally breaks down in tears.

At day 229, he is walking at night and sees a couple of guys stealing a car.  They ignore him when they see the invisibility mark — that law they seem to respect.  Boy, what could the punishment be for “seeing” him? Water-boarding?  I’ll bet it’s water-boarding.  The thugs steal the car, spin around and purposely pursue Chaplain to run him down.  Being an invisible, the hospital will not treat him.

Day 365 — the state comes and removes the invisibility mark. Chaplain is a changed man.  He is friendly and caring with his co-workers, even the homely ones.  Apparently the state also requires that you are re-hired after your sentence.

As he is leaving work, the same invisible woman from before, still under her sentence, approaches him.  She begs him for simple acknowledgement.  They have constructed this very well, and it is heart-breaking.  As she is pleading, however, I started thinking the actress really wasn’t selling the scene — it had the potential to be devastating.  This was curious; why wouldn’t she . . . then my heart kind of sank.

They just couldn’t let the story go where it wanted to go.  This could have been a masterpiece ending.  But no, TZ again retreated to the Lifetime-Hallmark industrial complex.  Rather than getting a gut-wrenching performance from the actress ^[2], and rather than allowing that Chaplain still had some basic human flaws (i.e. there was no magic solution), and rather than allowing that the bad guys sometimes win . . . it ends with a big ol’ hug.

Even worse, this undermines the entire premise.  The drones monitoring her issue a warning for him to back off, or at least get a room.  A warning?  That’s what has people scared to death of even making eye-contact?  A warning?  That’s your dystopia?

Still, the rest of the segment is so good, it gets a solid A.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] How is dystopia still not in spellcheck?  Did we learn nothing from Hunger Games?  Except to not make the head of a reality show the president.  So yeah, nothing.
• ^[2] I saw a slightly similar scene done right on the great underrated series Nowhere Man 20 years ago, and it still gives me chills to think about it.
• Classic TZ Connection:  Superficially similar to The Silence and A Kind of Stopwatch for the theme of isolation.
• Tortured Connection:  The previous segment was written by Ray Bradbury who wrote I Sing the Body Electric for the 1960s TZ.  This segment was directed by Noel Black who directed a TV movie based on I Sing the Body Electric.
• Rainbow Connection.

Michael Wright awakes to the sound of construction.  His lovely wife June ^[1] looks at the clock and it is 11:37. Michael’s watch, however, says 7:05. Realizing he has suddenly gained four hours and thirty-two minutes, he starts making out with June.  Her mind is probably on what she will do with her extra four hours and thirty minutes.  This temporal fantasizing is cut short as she hears a noise downstairs.

Michael grabs a bat and they go down to investigate.  In their living room, they see the blue man group working in their living room — men with blue featureless faces, blue skin and blue clothing.  They are rolling up carpets and moving furniture.  They are Borg-like, ignoring the Wrights until Michael swings the bat.  One of them just takes it, silently tosses it aside and continues his work.

They decide to go to a neighbor’s house.  Outside they see more blue men scurrying around, using blue tools and driving blue vans.  Inside the neighbor’s house, the find a white dimensionless void.  They wander downtown amid many more blue workers.  They notice the clock on the bank also says 11:37.  Luckily they run into a man in a yellow suit who seems to be the supervisor.

He explains that the couple have somehow stepped backstage in time to the minute 11:37.  This is the place where the world of 11:37 is constructed.  And on it goes with the expected beats . . . you can’t leave . . . will they get back . . . when the world catches up to 11:37, will they move along with it or be stuck in 11:37?  There isn’t much of a story, no twist after the premise, and no arc to the characters. So why is it one of the best segments yet?

It begins with a solid foundation — exploring the nature of time.  That is an immediately intriguing subject, especially to anyone who is watching The Twilight Zone.  I’m not sure even this incarnation of TZ is up to the task screwing up that subject.

They take that general topic and specifically explore the nature of reality, and how it is created one minute at a time.  It would be the worst kind of quibbling to suggest that a minute would be an eternity in this context.

Visually this is the most startling episode of the series so far and must rank high up for TV of any era.  The faceless blue men stand out in contrast to the reality they are constructing whether it is inside the house or downtown.  Outfitting them in red would have been too flashy; the cool blue is the perfect choice for these drones going quietly about their work.

They must have also burned through a lot of the season’s budget for this episode.  In addition to the workers — and there seem to be many — their tools are also the same color blue.  And this includes everything from a wrench to a wheel-barrow to the vehicles.  It is always perfectly clear who it is that does not belong and what they are doing (even if it is actually the Wrights that don’t belong).

Lastly, the performances are consistently interesting.  Of course, the blue men are silent and stoic going about their jobs.  Adam Arkin (Michael) is always an interesting choice. Karen Austin wasn’t given much to do, but is perfectly fine.  The stand-out is Adolph Caesar as the yellow-suited supervisor.  He has most of the dialog and exposition, and pulls it off flawlessly.  Given a brief running time, he does as well as possible grounding the episode, explaining the situation, and breaking the news that the Wrights can’t go back.

OK, this isn’t like forgetting to take off your watch for a battle scene in Braveheart.  How could this guy forget a mask that turns everything blue, and how could no one else have noticed it?

I would generally not care for a segment that didn’t do more with its basic premise ^[2]. However, A Matter of Minutes does everything else so well, that it is a complete success.

Great stuff.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] Karen Austin with a sultry sexy southern accent that I don’t remember her having on Night Court.
• ^[2] Of course, being based on a story by a guy who wrote about a killer bulldozer, what did I expect?
• With a point in time being constructed, this is the anti-Langoliers.

Toby Michaels and his Dad are horsing around with horror masks and toy ray guns.  Toby shouts, “Die Monster Die!”  His dad responds, “American International, 1967, starring Boris Karloff, Nick Adams, based on a story by HP Lovecraft.” Does anyone talk like this?  Does anyone give a shit what studio produced a movie? ^[1]  In the category of useless information, this is second only to TV hosts who insist on crediting the publisher of a book.  No one cares.

Toby’s best friend has moved away, but his father tells him someone is moving into the old house today.  Toby walks down the street.  Showing the brain-power that explains why you never see guys over 20 named Toby, he decides the best vantage point to check things out is from under the moving van. ^[2]

After a nice bit of cat and mouse, Toby is face to face with an old man.  He introduces himself as Emile Francis Bendictson.  Noticing Toby’s monster magazine, he confides that he is a monster, specifically a Vampire-American.  Toby protests that that can’t be true or he would be burning up in the sunlight.  So clearly Toby was lying earlier when he bragged about reading Dracula twice.  There is then a bit where a big deal is made over a vampire picture in Toby’s magazine.  It is not clear whether we are supposed to think the drawing is of Bendictson.

The next day, apparently agoraphobic Toby crawls into the space under Bendictson’s porch which he has been using as a clubhouse.  He drapes a wad of garlic around his neck, and pulls out a small cross.  He is spying on the old man washing his car, which is never going to be a Carl’s Jr. commercial.  Bendictson senses this and astounds Toby by lifting the car with one hand.  Bendictson busts him again.  Toby accuses him of “having the strength of the undead.”  Hey, you’re the one wearing the garlic necktie, pal!  The old man assures him there is nothing to worry about.

In fact, he says everything Toby knows about vampires is rubbish.  The cross has no effect on him.  He even grabs the garlic with no ill effects.  To prove the point, he takes young Toby out for garlic pizza . . . this is getting a little uncomfortable.  Just a few weeks ago, we had Peter Riegert wrestling with a young boy in One Life, Furnished in Early Poverty. Now we have this geezer taking Toby out to a lovely outdoor bistro without the knowledge of his parents. Shockingly, they are both eating al fresco, but he is not listed in the credits.

The next day Toby sneaks into Bendictson’s house.  He discovers a refrigerator full of blood bags, but doesn’t seem to think it is worth mentioning to anyone.  Instead we cut to Toby some indeterminate time later sick in bed. ^[3] It should be noted that there have been a few sneezes by Toby and others when they were near Bendictson.  Toby’s father also had a sore shoulder, and others in the neighborhood have flu-like symptoms.

Bendictson opens Toby’s window and says, “C’mon, walk with me into the night, you and I . . . step out into the night . . . step out and I’ll show you something you’ve never seen before.”  [REDACTED]  Bendictson and young PJ-clad Toby take a moonlight stroll to the local cemetery.  He points to a tombstone for the grave of “Emile Francis Bendictson 1828 – 1839.”  The epitaph says, “God save the child” which is exactly what I’ve been thinking for some time.

He explains to Toby that a vampire must stay on the move.  If he stays in one place too long, the real monsters come out.  The sneezes are just a symptom of a recessive human survival trait.  When they are near vampires, they turn into monsters and kill the vampire in their midst.  Later that night, Bendictson leaves his door open and allows himself to be taken.

The next morning, the neighbors gawk as Bendictson’s corpse is put into a hearse. Toby takes his dad to the cemetery and it somehow has become night in just a few minutes. Rather than show his dad Bendictson’s tombstone –the first one — which might be a nice conversation-starter, Toby shows him some fireflies which I’m sure are significant to someone smarter than me.  Then Toby’s dad sneezes, which seems to alarm Toby.  Maybe this also makes sense to someone smarter than me.

OK, we know the sneeze is a human reaction to vampires.  This tells us that Toby’s father is a human.  But does it mean Toby has become a vampire?  There was absolutely no indication that might be the case.  I hate to even imagine the old guy nibbling on Toby’s neck.  To be fair, Bendictson says that isn’t the only way to “turn” someone, but I saw no other options.  This ending feels right, but doesn’t make much sense.

Bruce Solomon (Toby’s father) had a great sense of how to play this material.  It wasn’t pure comedy, but there was a lightness and a fun vibe between him and Toby.  Ralph Bellamy (Bendictson) had the easy charm of his 150 years in show business.  Sadly, Toby and his mother were pretty poorly portrayed.  Kathleen Lloyd went on to a nice career, so maybe she just wasn’t given enough to do here.  Oliver Robins had a short career, but he can always say he was in one of the all-time great movies — Poltergeist. ^[3]

Overall, a pretty good segment.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] Much less the 14 companies that flash their logos before every movie.  It’s OK, your mother knows you’re in show business.  No one else cares.
• ^[2] To be fair, it was a moving van, but the van wasn’t moving.
• ^[3] Toby’s father’s diagnosis:  “The flu.  It’s one of those Asian things.  Payback for Viet Nam.”  Yeah, I’ll look for that line in the inevitable next TZ reboot.
• ^[4] He might be less forthcoming about being in Poltergeist 2.  On the other hand he and I both share the honor of not being in the dreadful remake.

Starring one of the top five worst actors ever to make a good living at it: Elliot Gould.

There is a TV on in the newspaper office where Gould works.  Even back in 1986, TV news was making the most of the medium’s miraculous ability to communicate and educate; in this case by broadcasting a review of a sandwich shop.

This incenses Gould who fancies himself a real journalist — he reviews restaurants.  We can tell he is a serious critic because, not only is he wearing an apron in the newsroom, he seems to have a little mini-kitchen and wine-rack in his cubicle.

The report continues on to rave about Mr. Lee’s Chinese Cuisine.  For reasons unknown, Gould decides to ruin the restaurant with a terrible review.  He types a terrible — in more ways than one — headline, then admits to his co-worker that he has never actually been there.  Thank God journalists had evolved past this kind of elite tunnel-vision, bias and arrogant presumption before the 2016 elections.

Gould is such a great journalist, he can use a keyboard without a screen.

To preserve the facade of his journalistic integrity, Gould goes to Mr. Lee’s for dinner the next day.  He orders several dishes which are beautiful and still steaming on his table when he asks for the check. Mr. Lee is an honorable man.  He says he can’t accept money for a meal that was not enjoyed.  He brings Gould a “very special fortune cookie.”  It reads, “A grand reward awaits you just around the corner”. Moments later he inadvertently causes a thief to drop a bag of diamonds and gets a reward.

He goes back to the restaurant the next morning — the morning his scathing review runs in the paper.  Mr. Lee says, “You are the man who wrote all those bad things about Mr. Lee in newspaper” because Chinese people don’t understand pronouns or articles.  He promises to write a great follow-up review, then orders another meal and fortune cookie. Again, he skips the meal and goes straight to the fortune cookie which reads, “April arrives today, brings romance.”  Just after leaving, he meets a woman named April and I don’t even want to imagine what happens later.

They go on a date to Mr. Lee’s Chinese Cuisine.  April chaus down, but Gould waits for the fortune cookie.  It’s not really worth the wait as it reads, “You’re going to die.”  He calls Mr. Lee out of the kitchen.  Lee says you get the fortune you deserve.  Gould storms out, but after a few steps all those skipped meals catch up with him.  He is acutely, ravishingly starving.

He looks down the street and all of the restaurants are Chinese.  He enters one and begins stuffing his face.  Two seconds later he is hungry again.  He eats and eats and eats but is never satisfied.  The marching Chinese bring dish after dish to his table. Yada yada, he’s dead and in hell — but one of those TZ hells where you get too much of a good thing.  He is sentenced to having Chinese food brought to him, which is a deal a lot of Chinese people would take.

Gould was surprisingly good in this.  Most weeks this segment might have grated a little bit.  The first two segments in this episode built up considerable goodwill, though.  It would just be churlish to point out he was damned to hell for a fake news story.  Even Brian Williams got another chance.

I rate it #18.

Post-Post:

• Classic TZ Roots:  A Nice Place to Visit also had a very hospitable hell.
• Trivia:  Note in the beginning when Gould’s co-worker says the word “exposes” something flies out of his mouth.  Note also that when Gould begins typing his review, he has a keyboard, but no screen.
• Gould’s tombstone at the end charitably trims 10 years off his age.
• The ending narration says he is a man “for whom the phrase Dim Sum is not merely a description, but a damnation.”  I have no idea what they were going for there.