Horace Ford is sitting at his drafting table where a mouse is running in circles.  I’m not sure if we’re supposed to see the little string, but I love it.  Phillip Pine walks in and Horace shoots him with a cap pistol. Horace is a toy designer and seems never to have grown up.  It’s one thing to toss out great ideas like Tom Hanks in Big; it is another to actually have put together budgets, put them into production and hire union thugs to make them.

Horace’s boss brings in his design for a new robot (pronounce robe-it in 1963).  It is just too expensive with the eyes lighting up and other features.  Horace is irate, pouting, screaming, throwing a tantrum.  Grow up, for God’s sake!  You’re making toys, not running for President!

At home, he stomps around like a big baby with interminable stories about when he was 10 years old.  He goes back to see his old childhood home on Randolph Street.  Clothes seem to be sold on the sidewalk, the Dept of Sanitation hoses down the street, “Wienees” are $.03 each.  He sees some bullies stealing melons and recognizes them as kids from his childhood.  One of the urchins actually follows Horace home and hands over a watch that Horace dropped to his wife.

He tells a friend at work about the kids he saw and about a Mickey Mouse watch he had 20 years earlier.  It’s close, but damn if they weren’t introduced exactly 20 years before this aired. At dinner that night, he tries to tell the same old stories to his wife and mother.  He goes on and on about his childhood and a friend who used to say “Shakespeare, sock in the ear,” then tweaks his wife’s ear.  She is horrified, but not as much as if he had tried the old “Titty Twister.”  His wife and mother are aghast at his childish shenanigans.

His wife tells him that it is impossible that he saw his old friends on Randolph street, but he bellows on and on about these goddamn kids.  Christ what a blowhard!  He runs out again to see his little pals on Randolph Street.  He sees exactly the same people and events that he saw on that street earlier.  Again that night, one of the kids brings a a watch to Horace’s wife.

Horace gets fired for neglecting his job.  His mother reacts by yelling at him about her needs.  At least his wife tells her to beat it.  Jesus Christ, he just won’t stop his infantile whining about having to go to work to support his wife and mother while his little friends are playing.

He goes back to Randolph Street. He sees the same water truck and hot dog vendor.  His little friends are still stealing melons off the cart.  He follows the boys, but unlike the other people on Randolph Street, they don’t seem to see him.  Then he transforms into his 10 year old self, and there is something about a birthday party.  Little Horace seems like a bit of a dandy as he is wearing a tie (not even the same one he was wearing as an adult), and suddenly has long blonde hair while his friends are dressed in ragged t-shirts and sweatshirts.  So his “pals” kick his ass.

The kid brings back his watch again, but this time it is a Mickey Mouse watch.  His wife goes to Randolph Street to find him.  When she gets there, it is a vacant city street. She finds 10-year old Horace in an alley.  She looks away, and he becomes overgrown baby Horace again.  She tells him that we all block out bad memories and just remember the good times.

Really, they couldn’t find one kid with black hair to cast?

This is easily the worst episode of season 4, and a low-point of the series.  Not only has the past-is-better thing been done to death on TZ, Pat Hingle’s performance is just unbearable. The sole redeeming bit of the episode is that as Horace and his wife walk away, one of the kids is straddling a street lamp watching them.  It makes no sense in the context of the episode, but it is a fun visual.

Post-Post:

• This turd just won’t flush.  It aired in 1955 as part of Studio One, in 1960 as part of Encounter, in 1963 as part of The Twilight Zone and in 1969 as Cudesan Svet Horasa.  For the viewers’ sake, I can only hope that Art Carney, Alan Young or Pavle Bogatincevic was not as awful as Pat Hingle.
• Nan Martin (Laura) is almost Zelig-like in how she shows up in small but memorable roles.  She was Freddy Krueger’s mother, the owner of Drew Carey’s store, Tom Hanks’ almost-mother-in-law in Cast Away, Deanna Troi’s almost-mother-in-law in Star Trek TNG, and the hot nurse’s evil doppelganger in Shallow Hal.  To be fair, she was pretty great here.
• Vaughn Taylor (Judson) was in 5 episodes of TZ — no credited actor had more.  Sadly he had none in season 2 and doubled up in season 3, so did not act for the cycle.  He was just in Tales of Tomorrow yesterday.
• Pat Hingle (Horace) was Commissioner Gordon in the 1980’s Batman movies.
• Written by Reginald Rose, author of the revered 12 Angry Men where Henry Fonda convinces 11 other jurors to allow a murderer to go free to terrorize his neighborhood and those who testified against him.

Industrialist — and has anyone outside of a Hollywood production ever been called that? And have they ever once been the economy-driving, job-creating, philanthropic good guy? — Deidrich walks down a long hallway filled with secretaries who will soon be replaced by computers, Mr. Coffees and younger, hotter secretaries.  He is going to see his former protege William Feathersmith.

Both of the men are immediately unlikable.  Deidrich checks his watch and insists “I’m a busy man.”  Feathersmith bites the tip off his cigar and spits it across the room; plus he’s bald.  To his credit, Deidrich is appalled by this — the cigar thing, I mean.

Deidrich had hired Feathersmith many years ago when they were both young men, despite his appalling manners.  He soon found Feathersmith to be “a predatory, grasping, conniving, acquisitive animal of a man.  Without heart, without conscience, without compassion, without even a subtle hint of common decency.”  Maybe Feathersmith is just getting even for a bad reference when they parted ways.

Feathersmith has called Deidrich in to tell him that he has bought Deidrich’s bank note which is payable upon demand; and that he is demanding it.  He takes great pleasure in stealing the company from Deidrich, destroying everything he has worked for. Feathersmith cackles boorishly as the crushed man walks from his office.

Having ruthlessly achieved every-thing he ever wanted, he tells the janitor he is thinking about his youth in Cliffordville.  By coincidence, the janitor also grew up in Cliffordville. They apparently had a pretty good school system because he tells Feathersmith he is like Alexander the Great who wept because he had no more worlds to conquer.  Though a janitor, like Hans Gruber, he clearly had the “benefits of a classical education”.  Feathersmith wishes he could go back to Cliffordville and do it all over again. And this being a zone with twilightish qualities . . .

As he is leaving, he accidentally exits the elevator on the 13th floor.  He is unable to recall either the elevator, or the nearby Devlin Travel Services owned by the lovely Julie Newmar.  Serling is working from the Cruella DeVille book of villain names here. This isn’t intended for 7-year olds, but let’s not quibble.

She offers to send Feathersmith back to 1910 Cliffordville.  All for the low, low price of oh, say, everything he has except $1,400.  He regrets not having the time to bang the banker’s hot daughter because he was so busy working.  He wants to experience the excitement of rebuilding his fortune and ruining the lives of countless men.  He agrees to give up $36 million because he knows the future and this time will bet on Harry Truman, the 1969 Mets, Pet Rocks, Japanese Cars, Microsoft then Apple then Microsoft then Apple, VHS, Blu-Ray, and take a short position on Hillary Clinton.  Both times.

Of course, being TZ, things don’t work out the way he planned.  He blows the $1,400 immediately on land that turns out to be worthless at the time.  He woos the banker’s daughter and finds that she is er, not the beauty that he remembered.  Everywhere he turns he just misses opportunities, misremembers details, and realizes that he doesn’t know how anything works so he can’t preemptively invent anything.  He tells people repeatedly that he is “not a crummy draftsman, or a two-bit blue-print man.  I’m a promoter, a financier.”

The Devil gets the last laugh.  She mocks Feathersmith for being “a wheeler and a dealer, a financier, a pusher, a manipulator, a raider.  Because you are a taker instead of a builder, a conniver instead of a designer, a user instead of a bringer.”  In other words, “You didn’t build that.”

Feathersmith begs Ms. Devlin to send him back to the future.  His last act before leaving 1910 starts the wheels in motion for another well-played twist.  The execution is slightly bungled, but it is still very satisfying.  Unfortunately, Serling is not finished typing.  He has to insert one last jab at capitalism.  In his world, it is impossible to have money without being an asshole (although, I suspect, he excepted himself).

I could point out that it has some similarities to an episode just 3 weeks earlier.  The aging make-up and bald-caps were sometimes too obvious, but this was not filmed for HD; it is actually kind of charming in a high-school production sort of way.  The main negative is that Feathersmith is so obnoxious and so grating that it isn’t even fun to watch him; not even as his own arrogance dooms him.

Nonetheless, Another good episode in the much-maligned (sometimes by me) 4th season.

Post-Post:

• Julie Newmar went on to be Catwoman in the 1960s.  She excelled at roles that required pointy things on her head.
• It seems impossible that Albert Salmi (Featherstone) could have been in this episode and also in Caddyshack.  It’s one of them things that shatters your perception of time.

A couple of antique store hustlers spot George Hanley at the door immediately after mentioning an “unsuspecting sucker.”  They manage to high-pressure the rube Hanley into buying a brass lamp for $20 which is worth millions if properly used.

Of course Hanley, like every other character in a story like this, does not use the lamp to its fullest potential.  He plans to give the lamp to Ann, a floozy in his office, for her birthday.

Oxymoronic alpha-bookkeeper Roger beats Hanley to the punch by giving Ann his present first.  It is an entirely inappropriate gift of lingerie which one of the beta-bookkeepers suggests she try on in the office.  This being the 60’s, it is all in good fun and not the basis for a lawsuit.  Ann rewards Roger with a big ol’ kiss on the lips.  Hanley is embarrassed at his gift, so takes it home.

He is greeted at home by his motley (or muttley) dog Attila.  He opens up the brass lamp he bought for Ann. As he begins rubbing it white stuff suddenly shoots out of the tip causing a Genie to appear.  This is a different kind of Genie.  He is wearing contemporary clothing (although, that of a contemporary used car salesman) except for the velveteen Tinkerbell shoes.  Also, sadly, he is not a hot blonde.  The Genie also reduced the number of wishes from three to one as the 3-hour Twilight Zone has mercifully not been suggested yet.

The Genie offers Hanley his wish, but warns him against wishing for love, riches or a 10-inch pianist.  He advises Hanley to sleep on it and let him know his decision the next day.

Hanley considers being the first man on the moon, a scientist, a general, or . . . what if Ann was a movie actress ^[1] and they were married!  He fantasizes about them being America’s sweethearts.  Unfortunately, Ann is so busy with her career, that she has put off their honeymoon for 6 months.  I think we are supposed to believe this includes any sort of romance beyond a kiss on the forehead.  Strangely, in this scenario, Attila has become a frou-frou little poodle.

Hanley sits at a piano and mopes. He spots a girl hiding beneath the piano who claims she is too young too drink.  “In the years, I am a child.  But I think I am mature.” This potentially interesting — and felonious — interlude is cut short when the girl discovers that Hanley is not a producer, just a stage-husband.  Hanley discovers Ann is having an affair with her leading man Unable to get the girl even in a fantasy, he is yanked back to reality.

Further ignoring the Genie, his next fantasy is to be a rich bastard.  I don’t know what kind of dog Attila has morphed into in this scenario, but the son-of-a-bitch is about 5 feet tall on his hind legs.  He slips a newspaper urchin $100 for a paper and later donates $1.2 Million to a college.  He is criticized by the ingrate college president for being ostentatious in his generosity.  He finds having money is no fun once he can easily buy everything he wants.  This insane fantasy also crumbles before the urchin has a chance to berate him for his $99.95 tip.^[2]

He snaps back to reality to find that Roger has gotten a promotion that Hanley had hoped for.  He decides that maybe power is what would really make him happy.  He imagines himself as the president, being feted with a ticker-tape parade.  This time Attila is a Scottish Terrier which seems a little un-American.  Hanley gets to make all sorts of humanitarian gestures — meeting with scouts, giving electricity to the masses, pardoning a young soldier from the firing squad.  It’s all fun and games until the earth is attacked by aliens and Hanley is faced with the destruction of humanity.

Back in reality, Hanley finally comes to a decision about what to wish for. We next see the brass lamp being retrieved from the garbage by a hobo-American.  When he rubs it, out comes the Genie formally known as George Hanley.  He has not only increased the Genie unemployment figures by one, he has diluted the wish-value by going back to three, and has embraced the Genie stereotype by dressing like Sinbad and wearing a turban.

The estimable Twilight Zone Companion takes a rare misstep on this episode.  It suggests the episode is a failure partly because the Genie had already warned George that his dreams of riches and love would end badly.  I think that is predicted, or at least 100% anticipated, every time we see a tale such as this, from The Monkey’s Paw to No Time Like the Past.  Knowing things will end badly is not a weakness.  Exhibit A:

Taylor:  A planet where apes evolved from men?  There’s got to be an answer.

Dr. Zaius:  Don’t look for it, Taylor.  You might not like what you find.

Then, POW, the best ending in movie history . . . you know, if it had not been spoiled a thousand times before anyone ever sees the movie as a kid by pop culture, The Simpsons, or the bloody movie poster and DVD case.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] Ouch, kind of a shot at mere TV actress Patricia Berry portraying Ann.
• ^[2] The real horror is that Hanley was in a 90% tax bracket at the time.
• I enjoyed the way people from Hanley’s life portray different characters in his various fantasies.
• Writer John Furia has 2 movie credits.  Oddly, both are stories about nuns — Change of Habit and The Singing Nun.
• One month later, Howard Morris would make his first appearance as Ernest T. Bass.

In the most underwhelming opening in Twilight Zone history, Helen Gaines gets a call informing her that her husband Major Bob will be launching in a few hours.  That’s about it — no menace, no mystery, no switcheroo, no paranormal.  Oh, and she makes cocoa for their daughter.

This seems to be a Mercury mission.  In a TZ rarity, contemporaneous figures are mentioned.  It is stated that this mission will last a week, and that this is progress “after the orbital groundwork set by Grissom, Glenn and Schirra” ^[1].  This episode did indeed air after Schirra’s flight, but before Gordo Cooper flew higher, farther and faster than any other American.  I suspect any 3rd grader at the time could have told them that Grissom did not fly an orbital flight, but I suppose the statement is correct as his flight contributed to the understanding of orbital mechanics.  During this expository scene, Gaines is strapped into a chair, on his back with his legs up.  I have no idea what they were going for here.  It is a reasonable launch position for a TV astronaut to be in, but he is clearly in an locker room, not the capsule.

Helen is watching the count-down with their daughter.  As soon as the count-down gets to zero, she walks to the TV and turns it off.  There is unintended comedy as we cut to the rocket taking off.  For a split second, the shot remains on the TV as we hear the engines exploding to life.  Happily, however, the rocket launches safely.

Hey, stirrups! Look at me, I’m a cowboy, I’m a cowboy!

Gaines reports being in zero-G as the rocket is still accelerating through the atmosphere.  Really, does no one on the set ever speak up when TZ makes these kind of simple mistakes?  You would think this was when people might catch a simple mistake like this, being the era when people still gave a shit about space.

Gaines loses communication with earth, and is then hit with a blinding light.  His capsule is later found intact on land and he remembers nothing.

He begins noticing subtle changes — his house now has a white picket fence, his daughter thinks he’s different, he is wearing a Colonel’s uniform.  When he kisses his wife, it is clear that she detects a difference, and not in a good way.  He voluntarily goes to see a psychiatrist and baffles them by referring to a President Kennedy.

While a Kennedyless planet is certainly good news for Marilyn and Mary Jo, it is curious.  By having Gaines know Kennedy and the others not know him, that means that he didn’t change, and that he didn’t slip into another dimension . . . everyone else did.  i.e., we followed the “real” Gaines to this titular parallel world while the other Gaines is in the “real world” stunning Helen with his new-found girth and stamina.

In the mean time, NASA engineers have determined that the capsule Gaines came down in was not the same capsule he went up in. Gaines is brought in to examine the capsule. He begins hearing voices and finds himself suddenly back in the capsule and in orbit.  He stuns Cape Canaveral by asking who the president is.

Due to radio interference, his question is not answered until he is recovered and in the hospital.  The colonel answers, “You were only gone 2 days, major; not 2 years.”  Sadly, that presumed no 2nd term.  More sadlyer, Kennedy only live eight months after this aired.

Gaines conveys his theory of what happened during his flight.  Turns out he was only out of contact for 6 hours despite having lived a week on the other earth.  No Gaines doppelganger visited our earth.  He then goes back to his white picket fence-less home to disappoint his wife.

Post-Post:

• ^[1] Where’s the love for Scott Carpenter?
• The first Mercury capsule was retrieved by the USS Lake Champlain.  Seems strange to name a ship after a body of water.  The function of a ship is to defeat water — water is the enemy.
• Strange performance by Gaines’ daughter.  She was either very good or very bad  I just can’t decide which.