Lonely Norman Blaine worries that no one loves him and that when he dies, no one will mourn.  He returns home to wallow in his isolation and seclusion.

He dumps out some food for his only companion, a parakeet . . . which he keeps in a cage . . . away from any other parakeet . . . which will someday be flushed down the porcelain graveyard unmourned.  Not much room for self-awareness in this studio apartment.

He cooks up a Swanson Lonely-Man TV Dinner in an oven that is suspiciously clean for a single dude.  He falls asleep watching TV and wakes up at midnight to a loud infomercial, though, sadly not for Girls Gone Wild.  The announcer is hawking classical records ^[1], which interests Norman.  He grabs a pencil to jot down the phone number 555-4221 (this must be a local infomercial) ^[2].  He is so addle that not only can’t he remember this easy number, he even writes it down wrong.

He calls the number and an American woman answers which should have been his first sign that something was amiss.  He immediately realizes he has dialed the wrong number and apologizes for waking her.  She says she was just sitting around and heard the phone ring.  The two lonely people decide to have a little chat.  Her name is Mary-Ann like the cute girl on Gilligan’s Island; his is Norman like the psycho killer.

The next day at work he is telling his obnoxious office-mate Richard about the 90 minute conversation he had last night with a girl,  It was unusual for him because 1) it was so comfortable, 2) it was like they were old friends, and 3) it wasn’t $6.00 for the first 5 minutes.  Richard misses Norman’s more customary silence, but advises him to ask Mary-Ann out.

The next night, Norman calls Mary-Ann again.  This time they talk for 3 1/2 hours.  Mercifully, we hear only the last few seconds.  Mary-Ann says how much she enjoys their talks.  He asks to meet her somewhere, but she refuses.  She wants to keep the NATO strategy of No Action Talk Only.  That would be swell, he lies.  He agrees to call her again the next night.

This goes on for five nights.  He complains to Richard about her refusal to meet him.  Richard helpfully explains how to determine the address of her phone number without waiting 20 years for Google to be invented.  Apparently Norman takes his advice because we next see him walking into the Civic Art Gallery and asking for Mary-Ann.  The receptionist doesn’t know a Mary-Ann but suggests Norman stick around to ask the Director.

Norman wanders around.  He picks up a white courtesy phone and dials Mary-Ann’s number.  To his surprise, he hears a phone ringing nearby.  He doesn’t hang up the receiver, but goes to the other phone and picks it up.  He seems surprised no one is on the line, but what did he expect?  He hangs up and looks at a sculpture nearby of a girl on a bench.  Another art-lover tells him it is a self-portrait, the last work the artist ever completed before killing herself.  And her name was Mary-Ann Lindeby.

That night, Norman calls her again.  Mary-Ann says, “I saw you come by today.  You were standing right in front of me talking to that woman.”  Before she can say, “Did you think she was pretty?” Norman says “That’s impossible” and hangs up on her.

Facing the prospect of moving on to the Swanson Horny-Man TV Dinner, he quickly calls her back.  She apologizes to him, saying she never should have answered the phone.  She was just so lonely, and it was so dark.  She says goodbye and hangs up.

Norman thinks about her all the next day.  That night he stares at the phone.  He finally calls her, but gets no answer.  The next day, he goes back to the gallery.  He tells her he felt like he was nothing and that he had nothing until they met on the phone.  For the first time he feels like he is in love.  He moves to kiss the sculpture, but a security guard busts him.  Oh the humiliation!

That night, Mary-Ann calls him — this script really could have used some tightening up.  Rod Serling loved his long-winded speeches, but I’ll say this for him — it padded out an episode without so much repitition.  She says she heard what he said and it reminded her of herself just before she committed suicide.  “Come to me now,” she says.  “Tonight.”

He goes to the closed gallery and finds her sculpture.  He hears her voice, “It’s been so long since anyone said they loved me.”  He sits on the bench.  She says, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.  Stay with me.”  He says, “Forever.”

The security guard comes around again and now there are two bronze figures sitting in the exhibit about to kiss.  His flashlight stops briefly on them, but continues on.  Whaddya want for $12 an hour?

Seem like they could have done more with this.  Why is she trapped in the sculpture?  Is it punishment for the “sin” of suicide?  Is she really better off dragging Norman to the same fate?  Is he happier?  Sure, they are together, but they are both trapped in this hellish “locked-in” existence.  Even worse, they are in a permanent, not-quite embrace which must be frustrating.  Now that they are together, will they begin making Jerky Boys type calls?  What will happen to Norman’s parakeet?

Still, I liked the premise and it has left me thinking.

Other Stuff:

• [1] Sadly the great commercial with Basil Rathbone hawking classical records does not seem to be on You Tube.  Found it.
• [2] At first it seems like an error to have this be a local number, but it is actually necessary.  They couldn’t have him mis-dialing a long-distance number, then making repeated trips to The Louvre.  First, there was no budget to go to France, and second, that Mona Lisa . . . not a looker.
• Classic TZ Connection: Long Distance Call, Night Call, really any episode with “call” in the title.  Miniature has been mentioned elsewhere.
• I didn’t know how to work it in above, but nice rack on that sculpture!  And some fine detail work on the nipples.
• If the phone were in the Picasso Gallery . . .
• If the phone were in the Rubens Gallery . . .