"Night Gallery" (1970-1973) - Horror Anthology Hosted by Rod Serling on NBC for Three Seasons

[DonRocks]

Listen Up! I'm writing this comment two weeks after beginning this post (on December 7, 2014). If anyone has any ambition to go through the entire series of "Night Gallery," do yourselves a favor and buy "Rod Serling's Night Gallery: An After-Hours Tour" by Scott Skelton and Jim Benson before you start - I'm ordering my copy today after having already gone through more than an entire season (I didn't know it existed before), and I can pretty much tell that it is indispensable, and *the definitive* reference guide - this is nearly an exact parallel to what I wrote about "The Twilight Zone Companion" (so much so that I cut-and-paste the paragraph from that link, and made only slight modifications to write this). I wouldn't have stumbled upon this book had they not had a sample review of "Class of 99" online (scroll down to Season 2, Episode 3c for more information). Buy this book before beginning. Cheers, Rocks

Night Gallery - Season One

I know, I know, but I crave cheap escapism. Note that for other series that I've gone through, the primary link (for the title) was for the Wikipedia entry; for "Night Gallery," Wikipedia's entries are inadequate, so I'm linking to the writer David Juhl who also went through the entire series, and wrote much more detailed reviews than I will be attempting - I suggest you turn to his blog for your supplemental material, and also purchase his Kindle Edition as your second reference (if you're going to traverse the entire series, you'll want both - I've never used Kindle, so I got my information from his website). David and I have written each other several times, and from what I've gleaned, I think quite highly of him, both as a reviewer of Night Gallery, and as a nice guy in general.

*** (Spoilers Abound, Of Course, Throughout The Discussions. For All Seasons - Please Watch The Episodes Before Reading Anything) ***

1a. "The Dead Man" - Dec 16, 1970: 

[Notes: Written and Directed by Douglas Heyes (for each episode, I'll be listing the Writer and the Director. For those numerous cases where someone (often Rod Serling) wrote a teleplay based on an original story, I'm citing the author of the story).There is already a clear difference between "Night Gallery" and "Twilight Zone," as Night Gallery is going for straight horror, and Twilight Zone is clearly more of the science fiction genre with "cosmic-revenge" style plot twists. After only one episode, this is scarier (in terms of sheer horror) than anything The Twilight Zone ever put out. Still, it's nice to see Rod Serling give his narrations before the episodes, this time in the setting of a macabre art gallery (the "Night Gallery"). I have little doubt that, although the quality of episodes might be more consistent in Night Gallery, Serling's heart probably belonged to the Zone. Each of these episodes - at least for now - is one hour, divided into two thirty-minute shorts, so I will be labeling them 1a, 1b, 2a, 2b, etc. with the production dates being the same for both the "a" and the "b" episodes. I saw the ending of "The Dead Man" coming well in advance, and it wasn't nearly as difficult to watch as I feared it might have been - it could have been *really* tough to swallow, but it might not have gotten past the television censors. The stunningly beautiful Louise Sorel (as the doctor's much younger wife) gives us a fine moment with an expression of genuine horror (Sorel playes Methuselah's mate as Rayna Kapec in "Star Trek's" "Requiem for Methselah" in which she was constructed to be the most beautiful possible woman - and makes a very credible case for being so.) Michael Blodgett, the handsome gentleman who portrays the condemned patient, does so in convincing fashion. Indeed, these are two very lovely people.

1b. "The Housekeeper" - Dec 16, 1970: 

[Notes: Written by Matthew Howard (a pseudonum for Douglas Heyes (2) <--- these numbers, going forward, will be how many episodes the person wrote or directed up until this point), directed by John Meredyth Lucas. Unlike The Twilight Zone, Night Gallery had many writers and directors (it's not nearly as Serling-concentrated), and I plan to credit them all in these Notes - such is the level of importance I place upon writing and direction, ergo the level of greatness - despite all its silliness and shortcomings - that I place on The Twilight Zone and Rod Serling. Larry Hagman (playing homeowner Cedric Acton) looks odd but somehow quite natural and even distinguished in a  beard - I rather like it on him, perhaps because it helps to mask all the innocent, All-American, comic roles he's played over the years. Hagman is married to a beautiful shrew, and brings on a housekeeper who is her exact opposite - lovely on the inside, not so much on the outside. You can probably see where this is going, especially given that Hagman experiements with "personality transfer" ... or not: As many times as I've seen "this ending," I was not expecting it here, at all (and if you deconstruct it, it logically doesn't work).]

2a. "Room With A View" - Dec 23, 1970: 

[Notes: Written by Hal Dresner, directed by Jerrold Freedman. The extended, opening dialogue between Joseph Wiseman (who, by the way, played Dr. No) and Diane Keaton is wonderful, never looking more lovely. This twenty-minute short was simple, straightforward, and made by the interplay between Wiseman and the unwitting Keaton - it was great fun, in the most diabolical of ways. Think how clever this is: The viewer likes both of the perpetrators, and dislikes both of the victims.]

2b. "The Little Black Bag" - Dec 23, 1970: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling, directed by Jeannot Szwarc. A marvelous episode, clearly Rod Serling at his best, involving time travel, heros, plot twists, and an unexpected ending. It's amazing Burgess Meridith and Chill WIlls, both in fantastic performances, could have done so much in just twenty short minutes. Highly recommended for both Twilight Zone and Night Gallery fans - this is a terrific little vignette that doesn't seem so little.]

2c. "The Nature Of The Enemy" - Dec 23, 1970:  

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (2), directed by Allen Reisner. After two such fine tales in this episode, they're entitled to a clunker for the third, right? Right? Well, maybe "clunker" isn't a strong enough word - how about disaster? Catastrophe? Pick whichever term you like, and it won't be adequate to describe how laughably *bad* the ending of "The Nature Of The Enemy" is - seriously, you can scarcely believe it. I could have written this when I was five years old, and if you see it, you might just agree with me, or at least understand why I say this.]

3a. "The House" - Dec 30, 1970: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (3), directed by John Astin (Gomez on The Addams Family!). This was a good, deeply reaching episode for the first 90%, but then ended with something of a fizzle - a fizzle because the ending just doesn't make that much sense no matter how you slice or dice it. Still, the overall dreaminess of the direction was enchanting, and really drew the viewer in. So, are you okay with a long, enjoyable ride, only to have it end with a shoulder shrug? If so, then "The House" won't bother you at all; if you need a *finish*, then think twice about watching it.]

3b. "Certain Shadows On The Wall" - Dec 30, 1970: 

[Notes: Written by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, directed by Jeff Corey. Although I didn't remember the details of this tale, I remember being *very* creeped out by it as a child; much less so as an adult now that I've seen many a 1970s British horror piece (which this follows in spirit). Agnes Moorehead, bless her heart, is excellent at playing a soul in torment - probably one of the reasons I was so frightened by this as a child. The shadow is very scary for a child, but the adults' reaction to it makes it a whole lot less scary as an adult.]

4a. "Make Me Laugh" - Jan 6, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (4), directed by Steven Spielberg. I knew ten minutes into this that it "felt" like a Twilight Zone, so I figured it might have been written by Rod Serling, but wow, I was surprised to see it was directed by Steven Spielberg - not because it was bad, mind you; just because I was surprised. Godfrey Cambridge is a talentless comedian with Tom Bosley as his agent who runs into miracle-worker Jackie Vernon in a bar, and all Cambridge wants is to make people laugh. Given that this is Night Gallery, you can probably guess at least part of the rest. A typical episode for Serling, although I thought it could have - and should have - ended immediately after the first changeover, before any of the aftereffects were seen, but something of a letdown for Spielberg, even early Spielberg, as this episode was merely average as a whole and Cambridge's annoying aspects were equal to his pathos - it didn't have to be that way.]

4b. "Clean Kills And Other Trophies" - Jan 6, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (5), directed by Walter Doniger. Very much of Serling's signature is on "Clean Kills And Other Trophies," as he strongly believed against sport hunting, i.e., hunting merely for "trophies" instead of for actual food. Raymond Massey is excellent as Colonel Archie Dittman, a macho trophy collector holding an inheritance over his mild-mannered son, Archie Jr. (Barry Brown), until he kills an animal with a gun (when he clearly doesn't wish to) - this, over the protests of the lawyer, Pierce, played by Tom Troupe. Dittman will be receiving fitting justice for his attitudes about a lifetime of trophy collecting, and for forcing his son, a meek young man, to follow in his footsteps against his will - all this, thanks to the house servant, Tom Mboya, expertly played by Herb Jefferson, Jr.]

5a. "Pamela's Voice" - Jan 13, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (6), directed by Richard Benedict. Wow! This episode was only 8 1/2-minutes long, but what an unsettling moment in time it was. Shot in one setting, and featuring only two people: John Astin (who directed episode 3a) and Phyllis Diller. For anyone who doesn't want to invest much time in a "starter" Night Gallery episode, this is a good choice, and most guys will have nightmares after seeing it. Take a close look at the painting (all paintings were done by Thomas J. Wright): While many of Night Gallery's paintings are obviously dashed off (well, I suppose they all were), this is one example where the painting matches the episode just about perfectly, with minimal thought required by the viewer.]

5b. "Lone Survivor" - Jan 13, 1971: 

[Notes; Written by Rod Serling (7), directed by Gene Levitt (creator of Fantasy Island). I remember loving this as a child, and I still love it as an adult - I'd like to say it's because I have a broader, deeper sense of history, but the reason is that this story is just good, creepy fun. A bit overacted by John Colicos (pictured) as the survivor, but then again, how should you expect him to act, having a foreknowledge of his fate?]

5c. "The Doll" - Jan 13, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Algernon Blackwood, directed by Rudi Dorn. This completes a trilogy that comprised an entire three-part episode of quality - "The Doll" is flat-out scary: Compared to the two ventriloquist episodes, and the "Talking Tina" episode on "The Twilight Zone," *this* doll is truly something from the bowels of Hell. It's an interesting story involving revenge, mistaken identity, a plot twist at the end, horror, and a fair amount of complexity, and makes Season 1, Episode 5, an excellent introductory Night Gallery hour for the first-time viewer. How can a doll be so scary? This episode starred John Williams (pictured) who played William Shakespeare in Twilight Zone's "The Bard," and also a few episodes as Nigel French (Mr. French's brother) in "Family Affair."]

6a. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" - Jan 20, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (8), directed by Don Taylor (who directed "Escape From The Planet Of The Apes" and "Damien: Omen II", as well as co-starred in "Stalag 17" and "Father Of The Bride"). This is a rather shameful admission, but it's the truth. I first began writing that this was a long, ponderous episode - it's about 40 minutes long, I watched it late at night when I was exhausted, and I was hoping for some cheap escapism (refer to "Pamela's Voice"). When I was about three sentences into my writing, I got even more tired, and didn't feel like writing, so I looked up some other reviews of the episode online. To a person, people raved about it, and in fact, it was nominated for a 1971 Emmy Award - either I was right in my late-night fatigue and the rest of the world was wrong, or the rest of the world was right and I was wrong. No doubt about it: I needed to watch this through again on a fresh mind, so the next day I watched it a second time, and I'm glad I did because I was wrong, wrong, wrong, due in large part to my previous fatigue and impatience. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" is an excellent episode, and I'm embarrassed to say I was "talked into" liking it by reading other critics - but like it I do, very much. The acting is impeccable across the board, and the story - while very un-Night Gallery like, is fine drama and a wonderful exploration of humanity. I was dead wrong, and I had my eyes opened by the opinions of others. One other, very important thing: They sing, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" to Randy Lane (William Windom) in this episode, and that's *exactly* the song they sing to Windom in "All in the Family" in the episode, "Success Story," which aired about six months later."]

6b. "The Last Laurel" - Jan 20, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Davis Grubb, directed by Daryl Duke. Now this is what I had in mind the first time I saw "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" - about a ten minute episode with minimal complexity. Jack Cassidy plays a jealous man who has lost the use of his legs, and finds himself in a situation where his lovely wife and his handsome doctor are both spending the night in his house. Naturally he expects the worst, and he has developed the skill to "leave his body" (and in this case commit a murder). The lights go out, and he enters the wrong room and kills the wrong person ... himself. Nothing too complex here, and the perfect episode for late-night, tired TV watching at 1:15 AM. This would never win any awards, but it was good, cheap melodrama bordering on horror.]

[DonRocks]

Night Gallery - Season Two

 

"‹1a. "The Boy Who Predicted Earthquakes" - Sep 15, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Margaret St. Clair, directed by John M. Badham (who directed "Saturday Night Fever"). This is also an episode where the gist was emblazoned into my mind as a child, so it's hard to give an accurate reading as an adult - what was most interesting to me (this time around) was Michael Constantine's character portraying network-television greed which I was completely unaware of the last time I saw it. Clint Howard (pictured) gives an extremely powerful performance for an eleven-year-old child, and I had no idea until this very minute that he is Ron Howard's younger brother which would certainly explain his precocious ease in front of a camera. What strikes me the most about this episode is how I only remembered the denouement, and essentially Nothing Else (*), but nothing else matters all *that* much, save for the character development of the likable boy and his grandfather. This surely inspired the film "Knowing." (*) As opposed to Everything Else.]
 
1b. "Miss Lovecraft Sent Me" - Sep 15, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (the Producer), directed by Gene R. Kearney. This 3-4 minute farce was attached to the ending of "The Boy Who Could Predict Earthquakes," and was unbelievably silly, to the point of being eye-rolling. It serves no purpose except for a little comic relief. Once Sue Lyon hears the vampire for whom she's babysitting put a third shoe on his son (after seeing a book on the bookshelf called "Men Into Wolf"), she hauls ass. That's it, that's the episode. And I hate to say this, but I'm making it sound funnier than it actually is. However, one thing I learned about was the author H.P. Lovecraft - not being a horror-literature buff, Lovecraft's name was completely new to me, but he is a 20th-century legend in the genre. So there's something to be gained from everything.]

 
1c. "The Hand Of Borgus Weems" - Sep 15, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by George Langelaan, directed by John Meredyth Lucas (2). There are some similarities between this excellent episode and "The Housekeeper," also directed by Lucas - I'm not sure I can actually name them; it's more of an overall feel. Ray Milland was outstanding playing the stoic, professional Dr. Archibald Ravdon whereas our protagonist, George Maharis (playing Peter Lacland (the man with the uncontrollable hand) was merely good, but he had a tough role, needing to contort his body in various different ways depending on which part was taking over. I like the bouncing back-and-forth between time in this plot which has not been standard fare for Night Gallery, but it worked well here, leaving the viewer to fill in the gaps once the big picture has been revealed early on. Given that this was shown along with "The Boy Who Predicted Earthquakes" in the same hour, this was a very strong start to the second season.]
 
1d. "Phantom Of What Opera?" - Sep 15, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Gene R. Kearney (who directed "Miss Lovecraft Sent Me"), directed by Gene R. Kearney (2). This was a 3-4 minute comic vignette, and I absolutely loved it. Call me a sap, but if the ending had been slightly more drawn out, it might have brought a tear to my eye (as it is, it's just too brief to be anything other than a moment of comedy). But this is, at its core, a heartwarming love story, and a darned good one, too. I have a feeling I'm not going to like these short little comic stories, but I really, really liked this one. Believe it or not, that's Leslie Nielsen in the photo. Note also that he couldn't put out the lighting stick (he couldn't blow through his mask) - this scene was ad-libbed, and adds to the comedic spirit of the piece.]
 
2a. "A Death In The Family" - Sep 22, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Miriam Allen DeFord, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (2). When it comes to "creepy," this is about the creepiest episode yet, and it was extremely well-acted by both E.G. Marshall and Desi Arnaz, Jr., (both pictured, and) both of whom, especially Marshall, play absolutely critical roles to this episode's success. (incidentally, you'll notice I use the word "episode" interchangeably here to mean both "a short film inside the hour" and "the hour itself" - my apologies for the ambiguity, but I don't feel like saying "short" or "short film" or "story" over and over. This is a kindhearted version of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," if you will, yet this is so very much unlike that film that you'll need to pause for a moment to make the connection (but you'll see it). The policeman at the end will have nightmares long after the viewer - can you imagine stumbling onto that scene? This is one of the great Night Gallery episodes, one that you should not miss.]
 
2b. "The Merciful" - Sep 22, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Charles L. Sweeney, Jr., directed by Jeannot Szwarc (3). I can now see that we'll be having a lot of short, dark-comedy vignettes, and so far I rather enjoy them ("Miss Lovecraft Sent Me" notwithstanding) because they're such silly fun, but this one did have sad overtones, and even though I "guessed the ending," (as I suspect most people will), it's still more sad than funny. Imogene Coca plays the bricklayer, and does so very well although it's something of an easy role to play; King Donovan has the tougher role as her long-faithful husband. What I like about these vignettes is that (at least so far) they know not to make themselves any longer than a few minutes - if they did, they would fail.]
 
2c. "The Class of 99" - Sep 22, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (9), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (4). A terrific episode, vividly directed (in one single room) by Jeannot Szwarc, and with Vincent Price as a stabilizing figure. Serling's disdain for racism boils to the surface in this remarkably gutsy tale of a dystopian, institutionalized, condoning of prejudices both racist and elitist. In just three episodes, this season has been chock full of excellent segments, and makes me remember how good a series Night Gallery was - I can't say it was as "good" as The Twilight Zone, and it's certainly darker by nature (horror vs. sci-fi), but it didn't have the low lows that the Zone featured on too many occasions. And, as a bonus, I discovered the Night Gallery equivalent of "The Twilight Zone Companion" (read my first sentence in The Twilight Zone thread). "Rod Serling's Night Gallery: An After-Hours Tour" is available on Amazon.com, and is the "Night Gallery" equivalent to that indispensable "Twilight Zone" companion - both are "must-haves" if you're going to traverse the entire series, and well-worth buying before you start watching (with Amazon's speedy delivery, it will arrive in just a couple of days). Don't do one without the other.]

2d(1). Satisfaction Guaranteed" - Mar 2, 1972: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (2) directed by Jeannot Szwarc (5). This odd-man-out episode originally aired on March 2, 1972, but as a substitute for "Witches' Feast" during a re-run, so it's technically part of episode 2 in season 2. "Witches' Feast" is much harder to find, as "Satisfaction Guaranteed" is also the segment that's included on DVDs and places like Amazon, so I'm placing them side-by-side and calling them both "2d." Victor Buono (who you probably recognize from lots of roles, such as "King Tut" on "Batman.") stars in an episode that's perhaps even sillier than "Witches' Feast," if such a thing is possible. Be glad it's short - the majority of these "short, comedic" Night Gallery episodes are generally so bad that they qualify as tragedies.]

2d(2). "Witches' Feast" - Sep 22, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Gene R. Kearney (2), directed by Jerrold Freeman (2). Agnes Moorehead, Ruth Buzzi, Fran Ryan, and Alision McKay are four witches cooking little nasties in a bubbling cauldron, and could have been out of a performance of Shakespeare's "Macbeth" ("Double, double, toil and trouble"), except that when they "ham" it up, they *literally* "ham" it up - you'll see what I mean if you ever watch it. The good Lord help you if you do because you've just wasted a portion of your life suffering through a "comic" Night Gallery, although it may be worth it just to resolve my "'ham' it up" quibble; otherwise, do steer clear if you get the chance because other than, quite literally, about five seconds, it's just not that funny. This, and the "preceding" episode, "Satisfaction Guaranteed," are the only two segments in the series that were swapped out, one for another - neither being the better of the two. Harmless, yes, but also not worth your time. If you see the entire 2nd episode, you'll see one or the other (depending on which network you're watching), but not both. Count your blessings.]

 
3a. "Since Aunt Ada Came To Stay" - Sep 29, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by A.E. van Vogt, directed by William Hale. I'm not much of a "witch person" in that I don't get into older ladies cackling, and druids, and such-and-such. Nevertheless, Jeanette Nolan was so good at her extensive role, that she won me over, she creeped me out, and she even scared me at times. For me (the non-witch person), this segment went from "somewhat annoying" to "acceptable" to "pretty darned good" over the course of about forty minutes, and it was the interplay between Aunt Ada Quigley (the witch) and Craig Lowell (played by James Farentino) that did it for me - it was a cat-and-mouse classic race against the clock, and although I hate to tell you this, you're not going to be sure who won. I can easily see fans thinking this is one of the best Night Gallery episodes, and while I may not be willing to go that far, I can easily understand that line of thinking.]
 
3b. "With Apologies To Mr. Hyde" - Sep 29, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (3), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (6). Okay, I've come to terms with these comic vignettes - I understand them now, and I'm not going to be busting on them every time I see one. This one hinges on a single, somewhat funny, one-liner, and that's it. They're worth a minute of time, just like someone telling a mediocre joke, but no more than that, so the shorter they are, the better. That's Adam West (yes, Batman) in the foreground, and Jack Laird (the Producer) in the background who actually plays a fine role here as an Igor-like character.]
 
3c. "The Flip Side Of Satan" - Sep 29, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Hal Dresner (2), directed by Jerrold Freeman (3). This is the second episode written by Dresner and directed by Freedman ("Room With A View" being the first), and this is not nearly as successful - in fact, it's pretty mundane, in large part due to the miscasting of Artie Johnson. The episode is poorly written, and the script is neither grabbing nor fun - it's just sort of "there," and leaves you wondering why (and how) Dresner thought to write such a thing. This is much longer than one of the comic vignettes (albeit shorter than most main segments), so it's pretty painful to sit through. Although not the worst "Night Gallery" piece, it's below average - if it weren't for the "comeuppance" aspect (which is gradually revealed), "The Flip Side Of Satan" would be entirely worthless (that said, if everyone who ever canoodled with another person's significant other was treated similarly, there wouldn't be very many people left in the world).]
 
4a. "A Fear Of Spiders" - Oct 6, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Elizabeth Walter, directed by John Astin (2). As a child, I was creeped out to the max by "A Fear Of Spiders"; as an adult, I was equally creeped out (I hate spiders), but also had a secondary level of freak-out by connecting the spider to the fantastic Broadway actress Kim Stanley who played a scorned Elizabeth Croft - hell hath no fury. This plays very well off human fears of spiders, and even though Big Daddy isn't the most realistic-looking thing I've seen, they only show it for a split-second, and wisely choose not to show it at all in the end, leaving the story with a more elegant, more imaginative closing. A Night Gallery for teens and adults alike, but probably not for little kids because they could easily have nightmares. Hell, I'll probably have nightmares.]
 
4b. "Junior" - Oct 6, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Gene R. Kearney (3), directed by Theodore J. Flicker. I tried for quite awhile, but couldn't find a still photo that wouldn't be a spoiler, so I used the equally amusing painting instead of the spoiler. Another short vignette with Wally Cox as a very tired parent who needs to get out of bed to give "his" adorably voiced son a glass of water. As much as I'm biased against the comic vignettes, this silly thing scared me, and also charmed me - a well-set-up joke with a punchline that works, and a segment worth watching for the comedic value.]
 
4c. "Marmalade Wine" - Oct 6, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Joan Aiken, directed by Jerrold Freedman (4). A very bizarre, fake-looking set adds to the macabre atmosphere in this medium-short tale with a grim, bizarre twist-ending which should remind you of a famous scene from a Stephen King movie that had the entire audience squirming in their seats. The development of the exposition is odd, but it's all a means to get to an end, and it works in that way. Rudy Vallée is rock solid in his role as the famous surgeon, Dr. Francis Deeking, and the interplay between him and Robert Morse as the lost, cold, wet Roger Blacker is a strong one. I thought after this episode ended there would be more to it, but it was indeed over - it works, although not as well as some of the other reviews I've read imply.]
 
4d. "The Academy" - Oct 6, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by David Ely, directed by Jeff Corey (2). Pat Boone stars as Mr. Holston (right in photo), a young, concerned, understandably protective father coming to visit a potential academy he may want his son to attend. His son has had some trama - when he was 10 years old, he was out on a canoe with his mom which had an accident - the son made it, but the mom didn't. The academy, at first appearing quite normal, slowly reveals itself to be a bit more, shall we say, "harsh" than the average, along the way, Mr. Holston met some cadets who had been in the academy - seemingly happily - for *40* years. By the time Holston drove away from his meeting with the no-BS director (played adoitly by Leif Ericson, left in photo), he was convinced this was the right place to "stick his son" while he went off to Europe and did business - this is just as much a referendum on parental responsibilities as it is a tense tale. "The Academy" completes a good, solid hour of Night Gallery, one of the best so far.]
 
5a. "The Phantom Farmhouse" - Oct 20, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Seabury Quinn, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (7). David Juhl says it well when he writes that it's odd to wedge a 1920's story into a hippy-ish 1970's backdrop. David Carradine (one year pre-Kung Fu) in particular is an odd egg in this episode, strumming (and smashing) his guitar to the tune of $39,000 annually which is what his parents pay to keep him inside this junkie farm, but he's not at all unappealing in the role. This segment is a disjoint melange of conflicting symbolism and motifs, and I'm convinced I have a higher standard of criticism for the weekly grind of network television than most critics - it's often just not all that wonderful, and seems rushed and forced. Yet, I'm not watching "Night Gallery" to enhance my intellect; I'm watching it to journal my need for cheap escapist fun, and so this mixture of lava lamps and werewolves is strangely appealing in its own way - I especially liked the scene of the white dog chasing the two black dogs, coming to the rescue of protagonist Dr. Joel Winter (played by David McCallum (pictured)). If this sounds like a twisted, bungled encapsulation of the episode, then I've done my job.]
 
5b. "Silent Snow, Secret Snow" - Oct 20, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Conrad Aiken, directed by Gene R. Kearney (3). I like how Serling (or whomever the decision makers were) paid tribute to authors (such as Conrad Aiken) born in the late 1800s - I've always had genuine respect for my elders (amplified now that I'm getting older myself!) because there's so much genius, brainpower, and brilliant output that was produced before our time, sometimes we forget this. "Silent Snow, Secret Snow" is narrated by Orson Welles which I also like very, very much - one of the reasons the NBA (yes, *that* NBA) and MLB are so successful cross-generation is because they pay loving tribute to important figures from their past (the NFL doesn't do this - think about how they're relatively reviled compared to the other two organizations). If I wanted to write a full, thoughtful, original analysis of this segment, I could easily write 2,000-3,000 words, but that's not what I'm doing here, so instead, I'll say, briefly, that this is a sore-thumb example of Night Gallery's inconsistency, not that inconsistency is necessarily bad, but this subtle, introspective episode is a gross mismatch to the vast majority of other, more crude, episodes with which the series is laced. Interestingly (coincidentally?), Radames Pera, who plays the young Paul, also plays the young Kwai Chang Caine in "Kung Fu" - what are the odds against randomly featuring David Carradine (the adult Kwai Chang Caine) and Radames Pera (the child Kwai Chang Caine) in back-to-back segments in the same hour of Night Gallery? That seems downright ... Night Gallery-esque. I hope that you, the reader, love this episode, just as so many critics did; for me, it was "too good for its own good," and outpaced the series in sophistication - or, if not sophistication (I'm not as convinced this is as sophisticated as everyone else seems to think), than quiet, introspective subtlety.]
 
6a. "A Question Of Fear" - Oct 27, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Bryan Lewis, directed by Jack Laird (the Producer). This segment caught me totally off-guard. I watched it in the middle of the day, to pass thirty minutes of time, and then, something magical happened: it drew me in, and lo and behold, it emerged as my favorite, and perhaps the very best, segment of Night Gallery ever produced, and it was directed by no less than Jack Laird. Ironically, the writer, Bryan Lewis, is almost unfindable on internet search engines, and has no Wikipedia entry. Luring me into thinking it was a (very scary, but somewhat hackneyed) "haunted house story," it sucker punched me with its twists, and its sheer greatness. This episode was so good that if I were to recommend only one segment for a Night Gallery neophyte to watch, it would be this one. It was masterful in every way - plot, music, acting (with an absolutely outstanding performance by Leslie Nielsen (who shined in "Phantom Of What Opera?"), and a pretty darned good one by Fritz Weaver), and just about everything else I can think of. Do yourself a favor, and watch this before reading any more about it, especially this next sentence: The only knock I have is that it seems far-fetched for the extremely strong-willed Colonel Denny Malloy (Leslie Nielsen) to buy into the final story as easily as he did, after experiencing what he experienced over the course of the night - he wouldn't have done what he did. Regardless of this major flaw, this episode isn't good; it's great - one of the best things I've ever seen on TV (and I don't consider "Night Gallery" to be masterful TV in general). Watch this! And run, do not walk, to do it. Bravo!]
 
6b. "The Devil Is Not Mocked" - Oct 27, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by (the awesomely named) Manly Wade Wellman, directed by Gene R. Kearney (4). "The Devil Is Not Mocked" is the second and final segment in the best episode yet of Night Gallery - it's very good while not being outstanding, portraying Nazi bastards in a way that you're rooting for their demise (and believe me, you'll be very satisfied at the end). This segment ingeniously makes an evil monster come across as an effective, likable protagonist, even going so far as to portray him as a loving grandfather in a mildly (but not overly) surprising ending. Since "A Question Of Fear" took up a good 40 minutes, that only left a little over 10 to portray this shorter segment, with never a dull moment. If it didn't have it's formidable big brother preceding it, I might be even more praiseworthy; but since it does, it can only be thought of as a strong companion piece - one which, taken on its own, is a better-than-average Night Gallery segment. What an hour this was!]
 
7a. "Midnight Never Ends" - Nov 3, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (10), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (8). What appeared to be a "Groundhog Day" type of plot turned out to have an interesting twist at the end, leaving the viewer with a Fatalistic outlook on the characters (there is no other outlook to take). The segment itself is rather dull (if you watch it, and think about all that transpires, only the plot twist is interesting; the rest is methodical and somewhat tedious. That said, the twist is almost enough to support the entire segment - almost, but not quite (you'll remember the twist long after you remember anything else about the story). It doesn't surprise me at all that this was written by Rod Serling since so many of his episodes hinge on one big "moment." The characters are fairly likable if a bit monotonous, and even the sheriff (who "pulls the trigger," so to speak) comes across as a fairly amiable guy. I kept waiting for "I Got You Babe" to start playing in the background, but since "Groundhog Day" hadn't been written yet, I had a feeling that probably wasn't going to happen - actually, now that I think about it, the fact that it hadn't been written yet makes "Midnight Never Ends" all the better in terms of originality.]

 
7b. "Brenda" - Nov 3, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Margaret St. Clair (2), directed by Allen Reisner (2). Similar to "Silent Snow, Secret Snow," this segment didn't resonate with me as much as it "should have." Props to Laurie Prange for her role as Brenda, aka, Super-Bitch, who alternated between "mean little girl" and "nut case" - I'm still not sure at what point Brenda's imagination turned to reality, if it ever turned to reality at all, or if it was ever imagination to begin with. The "Thing" was creepy for a few seconds, but then it became painfully obvious that it was just really low-rent special effects. There's an obvious correlation here between Brenda and her (imaginary?) friend in terms of loneliness, but why is Brenda so lonely to begin with? There needs to be a little more back story here, even if it's just a couple lines of dialog, and the ending leaves any rational viewer asking, "So where do we go from here?" And if The Thing actually existed, what sane family would return to the island? Why didn't they phone The World Wildlife Federation at some point after they got home? Etc.]
 
8a. "The Diary" - Nov 10, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (11), directed by William Hale (2). "The Diary" was a very professionally written episode; the main problem being that I *still* don't know what in the hell happened at the end. I mean, I know what "happened," but I don't know what *H*appened, and when. The successful socialite TV-meanie was Patty Duke (now insisting on using her real first name Anna, in order to distinguish herself in speaking about bipolar syndrome which she has been diagnosed with for over 35 years). Her cruel TV commentary on the aging, perhaps talentless glamour-girl Carrie Crane (portrayed by a close-to-character Virginia Mayo) pushed Crane over the edge - almost literally, and resulted in Holly Schaefer (played by Duke) receiving a "gift" - if you can call it that - by Crane, at her wits' end, and out for some good old-fashioned vengeance. This was a classic Serling twist-ending that leaves one guessing, but there's no guessing the wit and cleverness that went into this episode's plot twist - even though you might not completely feel comfortable explaining it, you'll love it nevertheless.]
 
8b. "A Matter Of Semantics" - Nov 10, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Gene R. Kearney (4), directed by Jack Laird (2). If you're looking for an example of why I (and every other Night Gallery commenter who ever existed) poison pen these "comic vignettes," start right here with "A Matter Of Semantics" - a 2-3 minute segment that's truly about as bad as it gets. There are things that are so dumb that they're funny; this is dumber than that. It's just a ridiculously silly little bit that's not funny *at all* - you might think it's funny that they went to so much trouble to film the thing, but that's as far as you're going to get. When it ends, you'll say to yourself, out loud, "That's *it*?!" Tragic. Not despicable because it was at least trying to be funny. But tragic. That's Cesar Romero as Count Dracula.]
 
8c. "The Big Surprise" - Nov 10, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Richard Matheson, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (9). Like "The Diary," this is an episode I really enjoyed, and has an ending that - although I enjoyed it, too - I can't explain it logically. Why would it happen? The cowering early teen in the picture is VInce Van Patten (who incidentally was a fine tennis player, borderline professional level). This was a cross between "To Kill A Mockingbird" (with John Carradine giving a fine, wickedly fun performance as a scary Boo Radley-type recluse) and "Stand By Me" (but instead of having to pull a leech off his penis, one of the boys most likely ends up with stained underwear - you'll see why). Back to the ending: I don't know *why* I liked it because I sure as heck can't explain it, but I thought it was great fun, and let me tell you: I actually stopped the video to take a breather because I was scared. Did I just admit that?]
 
8d. "Mr. Peabody's Last Lecture" - Nov 10, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (4), directed by Jerrold Freedman (5). There was something about this episode I didn't like, and I couldn't figure out what it was. At some point after each episode, I'll read both David Juhl's blog entry, and the "After-Hours Tour Book" entry - I can't remember which one said this, but it's absolutely true: Carl Reiner (pictured) would have been much more effective as a dry, almost laconic character (wrist slap for Jerrold Freedman) and the dialog would have been much more effective if it wasn't so contemptuous (to the point of mockery) of ancient religious beliefs (wrist slap for Jack Laird). And finally, the ending would have been much better if it hadn't shifted over to humor when it could have been truly frightful (another wrist slap for Jack Laird). Gee, as I'm typing this, I'm wondering why I even liked this episode, and come to think of it, I didn't love it, but darn it, it had potential, and was even getting pretty scary at times. For fans of H.P. Lovecraft, there's a real treat embedded in this episode - don't miss it.]
 
9a "House - With Ghost" - Nov 17, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by August Derleth, directed by Gene R. Kearney (5). Before I forget, allow me to mention that this is, I believe, the third episode where Rod Serling is so obviously reading from either a cue card or a teleprompter that it's painful to watch. Usually, the eye contact is a bit off, but in these several instances, it was as though he was looking at something other than the camera entirely - is weekly television really in *that* much of a rush where they can't even check these things? (Which reminds me: I need to watch "Network" again - it's only been once, and it's been entirely too long, but I'm *really* digressing now - sorry y'all: I had a long day, I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore! <--- *That* is about as funny as a Night Gallery comic vignette.) Starring the fascinating, bizarre combination of Bob Crane and Jo Anne Worley, Ugh, this episode was a stinker despite the attempt at cosmic payback at the end - nothing was developed properly, and things kept occurring out of the blue which needed much more explaining for the viewer to care anything at all about them. I haven't read any critiques about this, but I can't imagine other writers liked it very much. Why do people create things that are so obviously bad? Honestly, I'm trying to think of anything I really liked about it, and I can't - I guess it's one of my least-favorite non-comic-vignette segments to date.]
 
9b. "A Midnight Visit To The Neighborhood Blood Bank" - Nov 17, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (5), directed by William Hale (3). A comic vignette, painfully bad - as bad as they get, starring Victor Buono as - guess what? - a vampire. Not funny, and just not worthy of any analysis - *maybe* it falls into the "so bad it's good" category if you want a good chuckle at how bad television can be.]
 
9c. "Dr. Stringfellow's Rejuvenator" - Nov 17, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (12), directed by Jerrold Freedman (6). A serious attempt at a quality show, thank goodness - this episode needed one. This is a fairly complex story involving multiple facts of humanity, and I was *so* glad to see a gentleman of color play a somewhat heroic role (although his final line discounted the fact that an innocent girl laid inside the funeral home - that made me cringe a bit although I knew it was just an oversight). The traveling potion salesman seems to be a favorite theme of Serling - this one, although he seems to have some semblance of conscience, get his in the end regardless. There are several sympathetic characters in "Dr. Stringfellow's Rejuvenator" - the assistant, the drunken physician, the poor girl, and certainly her father. This is a good segment well-worth your time, and you can chalk one up for Rod Serling in the success column here.]
 
9d. "Hell's Bells" - Nov 17, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Harry Turner, directed by Theodore J. Flicker. Okay, okay - mildly amusing. Interestingly, there's virtually nothing to be found about Harry Turner as a writer (and if this segment is representative, I can see why). It was essentially an extended comic vignette, but of slightly higher quality and slightly better humor content. I enjoyed it (for my cheap escapism). This won't make a Night Gallery Fan out of anyone, but seasoned viewers won't be repelled by it either.]
 
10a.  "The Dark Boy"- Nov 24, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by August Derleth (2), directed by John Astin (3). A fine, nuanced, tale of ghosts, love, and redemption, the entire story pulled together by the wonderful acting of the schoolmarm, Judith Timm, played by Elizabeth Hartman - if only all teachers were this loving, what a wonderful place the world would be. The viewer genuinely hopes for happiness for poor Mr. Tom Robb (Michael Baseleon)  who has lost both his wife and oldest son in two separate accidents - the two (Mr. Robb and Ms. Timm appear to be forming a budding romance, and their deceased son Joel appears to have found peace, so "The Dark Boy" appears to have a happy ending, and a fine, satisfying ending it is, too. Between this and the next segment, this is perhaps the most dramatic hour of Night Gallery to date, and it would be an hour of your time well-invested.]
 
10b. "Keep In Touch - We'll Think Of Something" - Nov 24, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Gene R. Kearney (5), directed by Gene R. Kearney (6). This story starts off as an interesting police drama where it remains for almost half the segment. The police sergeant (Joe Brice, expertly played by Richard O'Brien) is pragmatic, and the pianist (Erik Sutton, played by Alex Cord - you might know him from "Airwolf") is reasonable in his demands (assuming he's telling the truth, of course - the segment opens with a crank phone call about a kangaroo meowing in someone's front yard made by a ten-year-old with a deep voice, thus lending an opening air of foreshadowing and deep cynicism in the Sergeant Brice). Nevertheless, Sutton is convincing enough where he talks the police into drawing a sketch after failing to identify the woman of interest after going through the mug-shot books, A motorcycle cop finds a perfect match, brings a beautiful woman into the station, and has five women stand in the police lineup. To everyone's complete surprise, Sutton denies anyone is involved, despite having a clear reaction when he saw the magnetic suspect - this was the first sign that anything might be paranormal. I'm finding myself in the trap of the vast majority of movie and TV critics which I detest - one of simply regurgitating the plot - when I try to make my write-ups interesting for people *after* they watch the episodes (as well as giving an overall impression about whether they should bother to watch the episode in the first place). So let me stop recapitulating the plot here, and just say that beginning in the bar scene, things got really interesting, really quickly. This is an excellent episode that doesn't rely on ghosts or things that go bump in the night, and Joanna Petet is excellent as the beautiful Claire Foster.
 
11a. "Pickman's Model" - Dec 1, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by H.P. Lovecraft, directed by Jack Laird (3). I wonder about H.P. Lovecraft - could this "undiscovered genius," previously known only to a select few who read his works in pulp-fiction horror magazines, be as great as they're saying he is? Well, after this one episode (and two other Night Gallery homages), I don't know. This was fairly deep by Night Gallery standards, but it's hard to get over the (dare I say objective fact?) that the painting in question was itself a piece of pulp? It's like pretending a *really* bad special effect that's there, haunting you for an entire episode, isn't really all that bad - you really have to suspend belief to get through this segment in one piece. I was doubly surprised by how extended the ending was, long after "the reveal" about the ghouls, the story kept going, and going, and going. I'm willing to give "Pickman's Model" some credit for complexity, but I'd need to see (or read) more by Lovecraft before passing any sort of judgment about the man, who is obviously revered by at least a few horror-genre enthusiasts.]
 
11b. "The Dear Departed" - Dec 1, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Alice-Mary Schnirring, directed by Jeff Corey (3). Schnirring is another writer I could find virtually nothing about on the internet. The opening of "The Dear Departed" has a really well-portrayed seance scene (not scary; just what you'd expect from an expert hoax-master in the form of being filmed by a competent director). One thing that's a real chuckle is when the medium says, "Let no one break the circle" (the table is holding hands in a circle). Then, the child "appears" and the mother has both her hands up to her face in disbelief (this is less than ten seconds after the medium's demand) - well, so much for that unbroken circle. Nevertheless, the seance, and the "company meeting" after the seance breaks up, are both superbly done (this makes three solid episodes directed by Jeff Corey - a name I hope to see going forward in the show). The tension in this episode is quite high, and it has nothing to do with the supernatural (well, at least not at its most tense moments) - you just know what's going to happen, in a very Hitchcockian way, before it happens, and that's what takes "The Dear Departed" over the hump from good to very good - one of the better Night Gallery segments despite an ending that's far too abrupt and unsubtle - like a pianist botching the final chord of a 20-minute piece, that's all the audience will remember.]
 
11c. "An Act Of Chivalry" - Dec 1, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (6), directed by Jack Laird (4). I admit it. I laughed out loud. There. I said it. About one-minute long, so bad it's good, and I have nothing else to add.]
 
12a. "Cool Air" - Dec 8, 1971: 
 
[Notes: Written by H.P. Lovecraft (2), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (10). Well, here's an interesting combination of writer and director (Serling did the teleplay adaption, so this is sort of an all-star team). In terms of pure ambition, it gets an A+ considering it was written for a weekly anthology - this was even made into a movie in 2013: "H.P. Lovecraft's 'Cool Air.'" Yet, this is another example of a show that was "too good for its own good" in that it tried to out-do the series - it's odd that I'm sitting here claiming that there's some sort of "upper bound" of how good (or, more accurately, "how ambitious") these episodes are allowed to be, but I feel like a college basketball player has just tried to wedge himself into the NBA, and Night Gallery is NCAA all the way - it's low rent, done on a weekly timetable, and becomes almost childlike when it tries to be ... too too. Did I like "Cool Air?" Yes, I did. But this is not the medium in which I wish to be intellectually challenged - kind of makes watching the entire series seem to be a waste of time, doesn't it? What can I say? I enjoy it (while also recognizing its limitations). "Cool Air" is ably acted by its two co-stars, Barbara Rush (pictured) as the curiously lovestruck Agatha Howard (trivia: Rush's first husband, with whom she had a child, was Jeffrey Hunter, Captain Pike on Star Trek), and Henry Darrow as the focal character, Dr. Juan Muí±oz.]
 
12b. "Camera Obscura" - Dec 8, 1971: 

Directed by John M. Badham (2), Written by Basil Copper
[Trivia, courtesy of David Juhl: Director John M. Badham is the older brother of Mary Badham, who played Jean Louis "Scout" Finch in "To Kill A Mockingbird." A first-time writer and a second-time director produce a brilliantly absorbing tète-à-tète - just when I complain about Night Gallery episodes being "too good for their own good," "Camera Obscura" comes along, giving us drama, dialog, intensity of plot, a meaningful use of "camera obscura" (a term everyone has heard of, but few have taken the time to learn about), character development, gravitas, and a "A Christmas Carol-esque" tale of damnation without redemption, and therein lies my only fault with the segment: and it's a personal one. I believe strongly in redemption, and William Sharsted, Jr. (brilliant played by René Auberjonois) didn't get the second chance that Ebenezer Scrooge did, despite the "swift kick in the rear" he got *and deserved* from Mr. Gingold (also brilliantly played by Ross Martin) - he was sent straight to Hell, without the possibility of redemption, and I'm not saying he didn't deserve it; merely that I'm a softie who believes in second chances whenever it's possible to give them - there was no second chance for Sharsted. But this criticism is honing in on one, single issue, and that, in and of itself, is about as high a level of praise that I can possibly give a Night Gallery episode. It's like going to a Michelin three-star restaurant, having an eight-course meal, and spending three sentences criticizing the only flaw you could find in the entire meal - a potato that wasn't quite prepared to your standards, for whatever personal reason you might have. "Camera Obscura," while not perfect, has raised the bar for me in terms of Night Gallery - it is, I believe, my favorite segment to date (I'd have to go back and check, but I don't think there's any segment that I liked this much). I don't want to overdo my praise, but this is the segment that proved me wrong about not being "intellectually stimulated" by Night Gallery. Yes, it still must be judged "within its own genre" as opposed to "against the greatest things ever filmed," but within its own genre, it stands tall and proud. Bravo! ... [Edit made on Dec 18, 2016 - I rewatched this episode, and I was too soft in assessing Sharsted's fate - this is, after all, "Night Gallery," and Gingold did offer Sharsted one, last chance to redeem himself, and Sharsted thumbed his nose at the chance, so Hell is what he got. Have I hardened? Or, was I in a particularly soft mood when I wrote the previous sentences?]]

12c. "Quote The Raven" - Dec 8, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (7), directed by Jeff Corey (4). Oh my goodness this was bad. The raven was voiced by Mel Blanc. The only time I'd ever seen Jack Laird was in "With Apologies To Mr. Hyde," and when Rod Serling moved out of the way of the painting to show the face at the bottom-left, I had a sneaking suspicion they were punking Laird, who doesn't look much like the "star," Marty Allen. Then Laird's name came up as the director. Then, I verified it in Scott Skelton and Jim Benson's "After-Hours Tour" book (which I again urge you to purchase if you watch this series). Yep, it was Laird, and that's *easily* the funniest thing about this segment. By a lot (and that's why I show the painting here instead of the fairly famous Allen).]

13a. "The Messiah On Mott Street" - Dec 15, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (13), directed by Don Taylor (2). This good-hearted attempt at portraying life's beauty collapses under its own weight for the first thirty minutes - "The Messiah On Mott Street" just drags on for too long. For the second time, I watched a segment late at night when I was exhausted, didn't like it, and gave it a second full watching the next day; unlike with "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" (also written by Serling), I just could not give this one my head, although I certainly give it my heart (how do you not at least try to love an episode about a 77-year-old, poverty-stricken Jewish grandpa (the legendary Edward G. Robinson) who lives for the happiness of his 9-year-old grandson (Ricky Powell, who acts well, but not strongly enough to carry the episode which is exactly what he needs to do), and who discovers a "Messiah" - a gentleman of color (Yaphet Kotto (whom you may recognize from "Alien")) in a role of goodness and philanthropy?) The kind doctor (Tony Roberts) adds a fourth solid role which is rare for a single Night Gallery segment. Yet, this segment dragged, and no matter how much I wanted to jump into the screen and become a part of the story, it was just too long and too slow. And for the doctor and the messiah to abruptly shut the door and leave the grandchild in the room with the grandpa, who has presumably just died, is ridiculous. But then? A miracle happens, and the final 5-6 minutes knits everything together. Another high grade for effort and sentiment, but this one is work to stay with - you have to be in a patient, quietly reflective mood to enjoy it, but if you are, you might enjoy it very much, and the feel-good ending is lovely and gentle.]

13b. "The Painted Mirror" - Dec 15, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Donald Wandrei, directed by Gene R. Kearney (7). For those of you who've bitten the bullet and bought the "After-Hours Tour" book of Night Gallery, do you think a not-so-subtle take-down was made of Zsa-Zsa Gabor? 'Dahhh-lings, eetz so nice to play a role where for vunz zee voman eez a beetch.' The first of two consecutive episodes which had already been done, in various forms, this one a somewhat crude example (for late 1971) of a time portal, but wonderfully satisfying to see the Hungarian Hag Herself, Zsa-Zsa Gabor done in as if she were Leona Helmsley (which she is on a small scale). Well, back to the Cretaceous with you, saucy wench, and there ye shall rot after being torn to shreds and devoured by those more powerful than even you. On a cosmic scale, revenge can *really* be nasty, and so it is here. The viewer actually feels more sorry for the dog, who hopefully has enough wits about him to evade danger, but that's not the point. Both Arthur O'Connel and Rosemary DeCamp play off each other in a fine chemistry, largely relying on the unspoken word to send the shrew to Shrell, or whatever they call it for shrews.]

14a "The Different Ones" - Dec 22, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (14), directed by John Meredyth Lucas (3). I adamantly disagree with "The After-Hours Tour" compendium (which doesn't lessen my respect for it one jot). Reading their pan, you'd think this was schlap, schlep, and schlup, paling in comparison with The Twilight Zone's "Eye Of The Beholder." I stand alone in saying that "The Different Ones" - a parallel to "Eye Of The Beholder" - is not only comparable, but (and this is where I stand alone) better and more enjoyable. Yes, it's derivative, of course it is, but to make "Eye Of The Beholder" into some type of masterpiece is just silly - *anyone* watching who had a shred of experience knew what was going to happen - you didn't even see anyone's face for the first 90% of the episode unlike here, when they got it over-and-done with early on (mercifully). The pas-de-deux betwen father (Dana Andrews) and son (John Korkes)  was beautiful, if a bit stylized and formalized, and it was painfully (literally, painfully) obvious how much the father cared about his son as the rocket ship was ascending. Call me dim, but I didn't guess the ending because I didn't let my mind drift that far ahead, whereas in the Twilight Zone Episode, I couldn't help but do it. When the two astronauts crossed each other and chatted, everything became obvious, and sheer joy came over me, not just for Korkes, but also for Boreon's "freak," Dennis Rucker - both of whom, who, if you'll forgive me, are going to be getting laid until the cows come home on their respective new planets (you could tell this by the giggling greeting committee on Boreon, lusting after their new arrival), and God Love 'Em for enjoying their new-found sex-status after enduring so many harsh years of torment - could you possibly be happier for anyone being in "sudden demand?" Of the two comparative episodes, I liked this more - a lot more - because it seems so much more plausible (okay, that's a stretch, but we're all from the same Big Bang); regardless, I'm glad we have both - both being not-so-subtle reminders that we humans are ugly and judgmental people. One can only hope (and I grant that this is a stretch) that the good-looking actors took lessons away in both of these episodes, although given both the human race and especially Hollywood, it's unlikely - it probably affected them that afternoon after their first Singapore Sling, and then they quickly forgot about it.]

14b. "Tell David" - Dec 22, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by Penelope Wallace, directed by Jeff Corey (5). "Tell David" is a really good level of Night Gallery for me - elevated, but not *too* elevated, complex, with plot twists, drama, humanity, and the supernatural. This is my "cheap escapism" which really isn't all that cheap - some of the 1970s' looks into the future were flat-out remarkable: witness the GPS mapping system, and bear in mind this is *43 years ago* - size of the machine aside, this is almost *exactly* what current mapping systems are doing. As a grizzled software veteran with nearly 30 years of experience, I can tell you that it isn't the software that has changed all that much; it's the hardware that it's run on - orders of magnitude faster which make it possible to write software that simply couldn't have run forty years ago, but the software itself really has not changed, despite what you may think. Yes, the internet has given it a different platform, but it's still just a variation of the same thing. Jared Martin gives a fine, two-headed performance here, just different enough so that you think it's him but you're not sure. The thinly veiled reference to "the swinging seventies" was, for me, the most remarkable aspect about the plot. Writing about this, I'm thinking back, and enjoying the episode even more in afterthought - it's one of my favorite Night Gallery segments despite its intangible, dream-like, somewhat ungraspable sequences which take place in the future, echoed beautifully by Sandra Dee in the closing scene.

14c. "Logoda's Heads" - Dec 22, 1971: 

[Notes: Written by August Derleth (3), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (11). I had terrible writer's block trying to come up with something to say about "Logoda's Heads," and didn't know why. So I put down my pencil, and turned to David Juhl for some inspiration - and I found it. As a rule, I don't read any reviews before writing my own; this time, it was to my benefit. I didn't hate Logoda's Heads, but for some reason, I couldn't think of anything to write about! Juhl, who in turn refers to "An After-Hours Tour," gave me my answers: Taking a multiple choice test is easier than fill-in-the-blank. In restaurant-critic terms, it's *much* easier (for me, anyway) to evaluate the work of another critic than it is to start with a blank page and write a critique of my own. And the thing is: The end product is every bit as good, every bit as useful, despite it being an absolute short-cut cheat. I have a gift at being meta, and I don't know why that is, but it has been a good, long, while since that manifested itself like it did here. Anyway! Juhl simply points out what I was struggling with admitting: this segment is lousy. (Ah! That's the word I was missing!) Juhl then refers to "An After-Hours Tour" which quotes Tim Matheson (yes, Otter in Animal House) as saying, "I was awful. It was a bad script, but that's not the point. I just stunk... Even my mother didn't like it! 'Logoda's Heads' is one of the things that made me decide I'd better learn what I was doing." Juhl then proceeds to make me saucer-eyed by pointing out that the older tribal woman was Zara Cully - yes, Mother Jefferson on The Jefferson's. I knew she looked familiar, and at the same time strangely unique, but there was no way I would have pegged as the irascible Mother Jefferson. Well, there you have my critique of David Juhl, Scott Skelton, and Jim Benson. Thanks, guys! The most ironic thing is that now, after having written this, I feel like I have a *much* better overall view of "Logoda's Heads.]

15a. Green Fingers - Jan 5, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by R.C. Cook, directed by John M. Badham (3). "Green Fingers" is a classic episode, well-liked both by youngsters (due to its creepiness) and critics (due to its morality). Lydia Bowen (played by Elsa Lanchester ("The Bride of Frankenstein" herself) is a widow living smack dab in the middle of a zone being developed by a ruthless man who will stop at nothing to acquire her property, Michael J. Saunders (played by Cameron Mitchell (Uncle Buck in "The High Chapparal")), but money means little to Bowen who merely wants to live out her life in peace, gardening (the Universal backlot not providing her with much in the way of a lush garden, so you have to use your imagination). At one point, Bowen tells Saunders that anything she plants grows, and that she has "green fingers" in what seems like a throwaway line at the time; it's anything but. Saunders hires a heavy to intimidate her into selling who, on the first visit, cuts off one of her fingers. The rest you can either guess or watch, but *this* is the episode where the guy's hair instantly turns white (as he goes insane and breaks the fourth wall); I had mistakently thought, from my youth, that it was Season 2, Episode 6, Segment 1, "A Question Of Fear," and was surprised when it didn't happen there. This is a good, solid segment that's terribly overacted at the end, but is a fine example of "revenge: Night Gallery style." Saunders gets his comeuppance, all right.]

15b. "The Funeral" - Jan 5, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Richard Matheson (2), directed by John Meredyth Lucas (4). Oh Richard, Richard Matheson, how *could* you have? A painfully extended comic vignette, which would have been relatively inert had it not been for its length. Here's the plot: Colonel Klink, here a vampire, arranges for a no-expenses-spared funeral (for himself) from Captain Binghamton, and invites all his ghoulish friends, including a lame (literally and figuratively) Jack Laird, who trash the place. But Klink pays extremely well, and a space alien shows up at the end having gotten a referral for a job well-done. If this sounds like it will appeal to you, by all means enjoy it.]

15c. "The Tune In Dan's Cafe" - Jan 5, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Shamus Frazer, directed by David Rawlins. This is the episode where I break off with both Scott Skelton and Jim Benson ("Red Serling's 'Night Gallery': An After-Hours Tour"), and also David Juhl (who wrote his fine synopsis blog). Of the three extant Night Gallery complete reviews, I proudly take honors as diverging from the other critics with this episode, completely, totally, irrevocably, as I take the path of correctness: the 'After-Hours Tour' gives this three stars, David Juhl (who had virtually no precedent) had the guts to take it down to two. You've probably noticed by now that I don't issue stars - I could write a 20,000-word Master's Thesis on why I disagree with the concept of "rating" shows, just like I disagree with rating "art" or "Beethoven Sonatas" or, most applicable of all in my case: "restaurants." It's wrong. It's simply wrong, and more so for restaurants than either art (which is static) or Beethoven Sonatas (which is static *except for the performance*); restaurants change every single time you go, without exception - unless you reduce the argument to extremely trivial cases such as McDonald's. I will not use stars in my comments or reviews because I'm better than that, and the readers deserve more than that, and *all* critics that do are wrong - they're trying to make a name for themselves by performing a little performance of their own. Well, If I *were* assigning stars - which I'm not - "The Tune in Dan's Cafe" would get zero - it is the worst Night Gallery episode that's not a comic vignette, and anyone who thinks otherwise is just plain wrong. It's stupid, incoherent, disjoint, nonsensical, and unworthy of inclusion in this serious (in which the entry point is not necessarily terribly high to begin with). I defy any viewer to watch the episode, and tell me where I'm wrong - they'll either agree with me, or *they'll* be wrong. "The Tune in Dan's Cabin" is horrible, just horrible. The ending makes no sense, and even if it did, so what? There's no character development on the original redhead so why should you care for her any more than any random cancer patient? This was the episode that forced me to take a couple of weeks off from Night Gallery, through no fault of Rod Serling's; the fault is entirely on the back of Jack Laird - the untalented Producer who was involved with each and every episode. Laird might have had some positive attributes, but I know of none, and his production of Night Gallery was a long-term disaster - please give me credit for waiting a long, long time to say that, and I'm happy to discuss my reasons why with anyone who has made it this far. Rod Serling proved himself in the past, and the grind-house nature of this series was not his fault in the least. I'm sure I'll find more good episodes to come, but this was rock bottom. Horrible. As bad as it gets. And if I stand alone in my opinion, then so be it.]

16a. "Lindemann's Catch" - Jan 12, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (15), directed by Jeff Corey (6). Boy, I thought sure that Abner Suggs' (played by Harry Townes) potion would create a whole fish; when the feet were uncovered, only then did I know for sure. Does anyone think there was an execution that took place underwater, with the maidmer pulling an alligator-styled hold-him-under maneuver on Captain Hendrick Lindemann (effectively portrayed by Stuart Whitman)? According to "An After-Hours Tour," The Nipple Police were on double-duty and high-guard for this segment, not so much allowing the glimmer of a freckle to be shown to the lens, fearing that the American public would barnstorm NBC should a nipple be seen. Boy, it was hard to feel sorry for Lindemann, but I did nonetheless - loneliness drives a man to do terrible things, and even when it's clear this poor female creature *needs* to go back into the depths, you feel terrible that Lindemann is about to lose the love of his life (the fact that he never does, however, makes him a good deal less-likable) - the mermaid, who was essentially drowning for the majority of this segment, went through the roughest trials of all, and her labored breathing made me cringe. A very effective setting, even though it was only a back-lot shot for much of "Lindemann's Catch" - it sure captured the spirit of an early-20th century New England fishing village. What's that, you say? I'm throwing out random comments? Indeed, I am. A fine segment, with good acting, direction, writing, and a downer (literally, a downer) of a finish.]

16b. "The Late Mr. Peddington" - Jan 12, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Frank Sisk, directed by Jeff Corey (7). This segment caught me entirely off-guard, to the point where I feel like an idiot, but a happy idiot - if you experience what I experienced, you'll *love* "The Late Mr. Peddington." Sometimes it pays in spades to just sit there, and watch things, with your mind on, but not *too* on - where you can absorb what you've seen, but you don't try to outguess the writer. This is one of those times. Harry Morgan (M*A*S*H) and Kim Hunter (Stellllaaa!) have a lilting, slowly growing, skippingly light conversation about the darkest of all topics, and at a minimum, the viewer begins to realize that she's not all that sad that her husband is gone. Both actors were pitch-perfect in their roles, in which the ability to deliver absurd dialog in a simultaneously realistic (Morgan) and ethereal (Hunter) manner is crucial. The ending solidifies this, firmly, as being in the realm of dark comedy; it scared me half to death, and I watched it about ten times.]

16c. "A Feast Of Blood" - Jan 12, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Dulcie Gray, directed by Jeannot Szwarc.(12). What is a "vo-do," you ask? The rogue, Henry Mallory (played by Norman Lloyd) will soon let you know, as he does with two other beautiful women. A psychopath, his clever serial killing strategy can't possibly last much longer, but the thirsty little vo-do is probably good for another one or two rounds of "meals," shall we say. The crime does not fit the punishment, and just because a woman is a bitch doesn't mean she should die a horrible death for it (although I can think of a couple exceptions, in jest). This is broadcast as a dark comedy, but it really is, in its own way, as serious in nature as the gruesome, "Henry: Portrait Of A Serial Killer." You may feel an empathy for the lonely Mallory, but again, you must ultimately come to terms with the stark fact that the punishment does not fit the crime, and he should have gone back to finding women more his own speed rather than turning to a life of murder. But this is the Night Gallery, with its ghoulish fiends, and rational justice does not come into play, at least as not as often as we'd like.]

17a. "The Miracle At Camafeo" - Jan 19, 1972: 

[Notes Written by C.B. Gilford, directed by Ralph Senensky. I'm going to come right out and speak the unspeakable: "The Miracle at Camafeo" was the Christian equivalent to the Jewish "The Messiah On Mott Street," the latter being widely heralded as a classic Night Gallery episode, while the former is generally considered merely "good." Perhaps because the Jewish/Yiddish repertoire was lacking in which case it's perfectly understandable (and God love 'em for wanting a tale they could call their own), but in my Protestant-upbrought eyes, "The Miracle at Camafeo" was every bit as good, and it didn't even particularly resonate with me, religiously. But, oh my was it satisfying to see God fixate his vengeance on that rat-bastard Charlie Rogan (played by Harry Guardino). Coupled with the fact that the sweet little blind boy (played by Thomas Trujillo) regained his sight? What a no-brainer this was. To me, "The Messiah on Mott Street" was too long, and overwrought, whereas "The Miracle at Camafeo" fit more into the Night Gallery mold, but there was room - lots of room - for both, and I'm very happy that Jewish people - so long denied the material they deserved - all because of the fear of Hollywood to sculpt their scripts and actors into their own Jewishness - finally got a holiday script they could remember, and it's beautiful, too. If only every major religion had such scripts representing every holiday whether it's their own or not. Sorry for being such a softy, but in the immortal words of Rodney King, "Can't we all just get along?]

17b. "The Ghost Of Sorworth Place" - Jan 19, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Russell Kirk, directed by Ralph Senensky (2). This is the longest I've gone between watching an episode, and writing some tidbits about it (thanks to "The Tune in Dan's Cafe," which sent me on an unscheduled hiatus. "The Ghost of Sorworth Place" seemed like a very long episode to me - it meandered, and had aspect of a daytime soap opera; yet, overall it was an above-average episode of Night Gallery, and it wasn't at all bad until the end. Looking back towards the beginning, I wonder why the directional sign was uprooted, leaving Ralph Burke (played by RIchard Kiley) confused as to which way to go - it wasn't the ghost (who absolutely didn't want him there), so that only leaves Ann Loring (played by Jill Ireland), or, I suppose, chance. It also makes little sense why the persnickety housekeeper, Mrs. Ducker (played by Mavis Neal Palmer) stayed on so long if she thought she was working for a murderess, knew there was a ghost, was afraid to stay after dark, etc. - talk about being "needing a job." I'm criticizing, so let me say that the pas de deux between Burke and Loring made this episode - it was believable, the damsel was obviously in distress, Burke was lonely and clearly interested in the widow, so all the reasons were there, and they clearly both showed an interest in each other - to a point. It got a bit creepy when Loring said her late husband had drained the ability to love any living thing out of her; it got a bit silly when Burke - who had just died by falling down the staircase (as did her husband), said, "In a year. In a year, I'll come back for you, my dear Ann" (which brings up the possibility of an annual occurrence-type of situation). Burke must have been miserable as well as fully confident that he'd win over Loring once the ghost was removed from the situation (which he may not have been - are they both going to be haunting her now?) She seems to at once dread and enjoy the dueling attention from the dead men which makes the ending downright weird. Yes, it was an above-average episode, bur it sure had a lot of flaws.]

18a. "The Waiting Room" - Jan 26, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (16), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (13). I'm writing this one sentence before watching the episode: I haven't watched this series in a couple of weeks now, and am about to watch "The Waiting Room" - with the combination of Serling as writer and Szwarc as director, I'm very much looking forward to at least a "good" episode... see you in thirty minutes or so. First, a word about Thomas J. Wright, the painter of all the Night Gallery paintings. Wright was a director by trade (so why didn't he direct any episodes?), and I believe only an artist as a hobby, so I don't feel bad in saying that his paintings are nothing you'd study getting an Art degree; yet, he really was able to crank them out, and they did their job for the series just fine, so kudos to the unheralded Mr. Wright and his thankless job - I hope he was able to make some money from it. Perhaps just owning a "Night Gallery painting" is worth something these days, although I suspect the studio owned the paintings. Onward to the show.Well, there's something creepy going on inside the saloon, and the ticking of the grandfather clock doesn't help matters, lending a sense of urgency and tension. It also became very clear early on that the five toughs were paying some sort of penance for their past deeds, but the newest arrival Sam Dichter (played by Steve Forrest) is slow to catch on that something is off. Albert Salmi (playing Joe Bristol) reinforces his stereotype as a Night Gallery meanie - this makes three now, I believe, and these gunmen all seem to be rooted (and perhaps "led") by guest star Buddy Ebsen as Doc Soames - a little star power does "The Waiting Room" some good, and Doc Soames is a perfect character for this part. "The Waiting Room" is obvious early on, so it becomes ponderous (just because Sam Dichter is slow to catch on doesn't mean we are) - patience is needed, although you have to give props to the grandfather clock for ringing the hour seemingly every few minutes - perhaps it felt our pain. And yes, as feared, an infinite time-loop of cosmic vengeance is revealed at the end - clever the first couple of times I've encountered one; painful at this point. Ouch, Mr. Serling, I know I'm a bit late in asking, but please change up your scripts - I was wrong about hoping for at least a "good" episode. I feel like I'm in an infinite loop of watching infinite loops - what did I do wrong in life?]

18b. "Last Rites For A Dead Druid" - Jan 26, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Alvin T. Sapinsley, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (14). "The After-Hours Tour" tells us Sapinsley based his story on Hazel Heald's "Out Of The Aeons."  Sapinsley said, "I forgot who wrote it, but my final version was so far removed from the original short story as to be unrecognizable." I'm merely passing along what I read here, as did David Juhl in his fine blog. (Sometimes I feel like a tagalong on David's back, who tagged along on Scott and Jim's backs - such is what happens when you're first out of the gate (Scott and Jim), and when you revive things in the future (David and me) - the more that's written about a TV series, or, for example, a set of plays (e.g., William Shakespeare), the more classic the original plays become, and the more revered the original criticisms become - it is the moral obligation of people like me to accredit the originals whenever possible in order to provide the reader with a fair and fertile basis for evaluation. "Last Rights For A Dead Druid" does very little for me. It features a skeptical yet frightened Bruce Tarraday (played by Bill Bixby) whose wife, Jenny (played by Carol Linley), bought him an ugly, Greek-looking "pre-Druid" yard statue that she thinks looks like him, even though he insists it doesn't and blames her best friend, Mildred McVane (played by the recently late Donna Douglas (Elly May on "The Beverly Hillbillies," making this episode a double Beverly Hillbillies feature because of Buddy Epson). Well, the statue has a mind of its own, of course, and decides to "change places" with Bixby. Need I go on? Several episodes have come across to me lately as downright bad, when in fact I may just have "Night Gallery burnout" - calling a spade a spade, this is a mediocre series, intended for the unsophisticated viewer, and it's becoming work to get through. Oh, I'm glad I've watched it - it's a part of my youth, and a horror TV classic - but I'm also glad I'm beginning to approach the end.]

19a. "Deliveries In The Rear" - Feb 9, 1972:

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (17), directed by Jeff Corey (8). Jeff Corey did a fine job establishing atmosphere here (although, granted, it wasn't the biggest of all challenges). This turns out to be very much of a morality play, with the good Dr. John Fletcher (played by Cornel Wilde) "knowing" that the corpses he was receiving were sometimes a little too old (dug up), or a little too young (freshly killed). Fletcher has no outward qualms about not questioning the source of his cadavers (despite the two deliverymen looking like they just rolled out of a 19th-century London gutter), whereas Mr. Bennett (well-played by Kent Smith) - Fletcher's father-in-law to be - is the strong voice of humanity in this pas de deux. Despite the atmosphere, this episode comes across as topical and not at all dated. Furthermore, poetic justice is served in a large dose (if you watch the episode with a skeptical eye, it will be obvious what's going to happen), and, I might add, that justice is well-served on a cold slab of a plate.]

19b. "Stop Killing Me" - Feb 9, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Hal Dresner (3), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (15). You need to stick with this one for awhile, but if you do, it becomes teasingly amusing, and slowly builds - or more accurately, continues - towards something of a subtle climax which, thankfully, doesn't insult the viewer by coming right out and stating the obvious - this ultimate non-condescension is what saves the episode which is somewhat ponderous and unending despite its relatively short length. This is a dialog episode - a pas de deux between Sergeant Bevelow (James Gregory - another Star Trek character, who played evil genius Dr. Tristan Adams in "Dagger Of The Mind") and Frances Turchin (Geraldine Page - 1985 Academy Award winner for Best Actress in "The Trip To Bountiful"). The dialog moments of interest, but really not much other than the notoriety of the two actors talking, so you need to make a conscious effort to stick with it - you'll nod your head and smile at the end, but that's about all. You also won't regret watching it, but it's unlikely you'll watch it twice.]

19c. "Dead Weight" - Feb 9, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Jeffry Scott, directed by Timothy Galfas..Count me as a fan of "Dead Weight," another dialog episode featuring essentially only two actors: the bank robber (who committed multiple murders during the robbery) Landau (Bobby Darin, perhaps best known for his 1958 best-selling song, "Splish Splash") and the exporter Bullivant (Jack Albertson, who played Manny Rosen in "The Poseidon Adventure" also in 1972). Unlike "Stop Killing Me," this dialog is interesting, and builds towards a wonderful, very darkly comedic, finish. This is absolutely a comedy, but it's also one that will make you shudder with a smile, and it's by far superior to the segment before it. "Dead Weight" is well-worth your time, and is one of the very best comic Night Gallery segments. Trivia - I just read in "The After-Hours Tour" that the water bottle gurgling during the semi-climactic scene was unintentional (but it was also fortuitous timing).]

20a. "I'll Never Leave You: Ever" - Feb 16, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Rene Morris, directed by Daniel Haller. A classic tale of a lovers' triangle cloaked in a horror format, with the husband on his deathbed but clinging to life, the wife impatient for him to die, and the lover keeping his cool and biding his time. What struck me early on in this segment was how realistic the wife's disgust was with the sick husband - when he asks, no, demands that she kiss him, she is absolutely revolted. I'm sure this happens all the time in real life, and it's very, very sad to all parties involved. That said, the wife takes her disgust a step further by assuring her lover he'll soon be rich, and worse still, turning to witchcraft to buy a voodoo doll to hasten her husband's death. Moragh, the wife (Lois Nettleton) does not hate Owen, her husband (Royal Dano); she's merely so caught up in her disgust with his illness, coupled with her selfish desires to further her love affair with Ianto (John Saxon), that she's willing to turn to the dark side to escape - this is *not* a good thing to do in Night Gallery because once you cross the line into becoming a bad person, cosmic payback is generally on the horizon. For pure horror, this is one of the top handful of segments, and some moments are difficult to watch.]

20b. "There Aren't Any More Macbanes" - Feb 16, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Stephen Hall, directed by John Newland. Let me come right out and say it: Both of "the other" Night Gallery complete-series sources, David Juhl (linked to in the title), and "An After-Hours Tour" both gave this 3.5 stars; this is where I draw a line in the sand: I thought it was lousy. If you love this episode, turn to them for your guidance; if you hate this episode, turn to me. Either way, both of those sources are excellent, so you should really be turning to us all, especially because your choices are limited - Juhl is the best online by far, and the book itself will probably never be equalled in terms of being thorough with details. Compliments over! This segment was laughably bad, and I can't believe Joel Grey took the starring role *after* his success with the Broadway smash "Caberet" which came earlier the very same year. Night Gallery does not do "old witchcraft" stories well at all, and this is about the silliest example of that. The best acting in the segment came from Andrew Macbane's (Joel Grey's) uncle, Arthur Porter (Howard Duff, offering up a perfectly credible performance of a "Get-a-job-or-I'm-going-to-cut-you-off uncle.") The first incarnation of the monster (red eyes) was vague enough; the second incarnation - when she ripped the iron window grating - was ridiculous. The third and final incarnation arguably worse still. I'm outnumbered by the critics, 2-1, so the only way you're going to believe me is to watch it for yourself. This is a prime example of Night Gallery taking itself *way* too seriously, and yes, I watched it a second time to see if I was missing anything (I wasn't). This is why you can never have too many intelligent, thoughtful opinions about a subject - you can count this one as the first-ever negative review written about "There Aren't Any More Macbanes." Fun trivia: The messenger in front of the apartment was a young Marc Hamill - I missed it the first time I saw it.]

21a. "The Sins Of The Fathers" - Feb 23, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Christianna Brand, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (16). All else aside, it was fascinating to see Richard Thomas (John-Boy Walton) playing the role of a "Sin-Eater" of all things, and watching him gag as he pilfers food from a decaying corpse - the juxtaposition of rabid hunger and sheer disgust plassying off one another as the poor young man plays his role. "The Sins Of The Fathers" is an *excellent* episode despite it being a period piece; it's a human drama, with character development as its primary asset, and cruel indecision as its formidable motor. The (somewhat) twist ending makes it even better, and this is one of the very greatest Night Gallery episodes - fantastic on so many levels, with not a boring, eye-rolling moment at all. Terrific acting all around, and a plot with horribly serious consequences - what a great segment this was. As good as any I've seen in terms of complexity. One more thing: Unlike "There Aren't Any More Macabanes" in which "the other" two reviewers gave it 3.5 stars, they both gave this one 4 stars (out of 4), and although I don't issue stars, I don't disagree with them at all. This is a first-rate, top-notch, good-as-it-gets Night Gallery episode, and here you have all three reviewers raving about it in the highest possible terms. A triumph on every level, and I haven't even mentioned Mrs. Evans (Geraldine Page) whose final scene with her son, Ian Evans (Richard Thomas), was otherworldly. The widow (Barbara Steele) was both subtle and excellent in her supporting position. And the excellent role of the servant (Michael Dunn) - there's just so much here. Aside from being one of my personal favorite escapism-Night Gallery segments, it was one of the very best on absolute terms - art-house, or otherwise. If this wasn't considered for any Emmy Awards, something was terribly amiss. Bravi!]

21b. "You Can't Get Help Like That Anymore" - Feb 23, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (18), directed by Jeff Corey (9). While not as good as "The Sins Of The Fathers" (previous) or "The Caterpillar" (next), this is a fine episode that tells me this period is the "tenderloin" of Night Gallery - the series has hit its peak, and is as good as it will ever be. Consistent excellence can be found in other, surrounding segments, and I suspect they knew it, as there aren't any silly comic fillers by Jack Laird. *This* level of sophisticated horror - TV or otherwise - is what I remember the show for, and it makes me glad I took on the entire series even if it will have an eventual downfall. In a "Terminator-like" future dystopian world, this lesson was lifted directly from another ... Twilight Zone? Night Gallery? segment that had a similar "androids on display and for rent" store (for the life of me I can't remember which segment it was, but something tell me that there has been almost exactly the same basic premise played before, and I can't recall which one it is). No matter, because the great acting of Mr. and Mrs. Fulton (Broderick Crawford and Cloris Leachman, respectively) take this one into the next level, and make it one of earliest examples of "robots taking over mankind." If this were just a random segment, it might not stand out so much, but it's placed in the middle of some of the greatest segments Night Gallery ever made, so it's yet another example of the show's "Great Period." The ending is somewhat unsatisfying, and not entirely explainable, but the viewer wil get the general point - full-turnabout has occurred, and I wouldn't want to be the humans.]

2.22a - "The Caterpillar" - Feb 30, 1972 - 
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc (17), Written by: Teleplay, Rod Serling (xx) - Story, Oscar Cook as "Boomerang" (Author of "Borneo: The Stealer of Hearts")
Featuring Lawrence Harvey

[This is it: The single scariest Night Gallery ever written. It scared me to death as a child, and it's just as horrifying as an adult. Lawrence Harvey achieves something close to perfection in playing a cruelly realistic sequence of physical agony - it's so life-like that the viewer, being forced to sit through it, almost surely wishes Harvey would die so that his pain would end. Well, end it does, but not in the way you think - in fact, it's about to get a lot worse, and it's left entirely up to the viewer's imagination what kind of suffering this poor bastard will have to endure before (obviously) ending his own life. This is one of the scariest things ever put on television, and many people agree with me: Stephen King, for example, said as much. Note also that there's not a moment of gore or things jumping out into the night - just sheer terror playing into every person's worst nightmare. This should have won an Emmy Award for acting for Lawrence Harvey - how could it not have? If you only watch one Night Gallery episode in your life, make it this one, and be prepared for it.]

22b. "Little Girl Lost" - Feb 30, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by E.C. Tubb, directed by Timothy Galfas. Oh, how do you end a season with "Little Girl Lost" *after* "The Caterpillar?" This episode was an inherent flop due to the writing - why they chose it, is beyond me; why they chose it to end a season with *after* the greatest segment ever written is sheer folly. The two grown men doting over the "Little Girl Lost" are simply awkward, and the premise behind Doter Number Two is just too much, and the ending is even more too much - and the ending is where the directing is equally inept to the writing because it's just silly. In a way, Season #2 is sandwiched by two segments very much alike (which is, I suppose, what they had in mind), but "The Boy Who Predicted Earthquakes" is at least palatable, even enjoyable and thought-provoking; this is just a flop. While not the worst "serious" Night Gallery segment by any means, it's in the bottom half, and William Windom (who has been just fine in a couple of other roles here) just does't work in this role at all (Ed Nelson is certainly more successful, but he's not enough to save the segment from collapsing beneath the weight of its own mediocrity). Not to be confused with "The Twilight Zone" episode of the same name which is every bit as bad.]

---

Here, season 2 is a wrap, my friends, and at almost 14,000 words, this post - out of over a quarter-million posts written since 2005 - is the single longest post ever written on donrockwell.com - the equivalent of a year's worth of columns I wrote as Washngtonian's Wine Columnist. 14,000 words for which I was paid five figures (when I was paid), all for ... a labor of love, and an obligation to our readers. Has it been worth it? Of course not, but has that ever stopped me before? No. I'm writing for the long term.

In this one post, 22 episodes consisting of 62 segments, each averaging over 200 words in length - it's been a long slog, and I'm one of only three known people in history to make an attempt at reviewing the entire Night Gallery series (with one season to go), and I'm the only one who's not summarizing the plots because I feel that's a waste of time (you're going to watch them anyway, right? Why do you need me to summarize them for you?) With genuine respect to both David Juhl and the authors of the book "An After-Hours tour," both sources having given me inspiration and meaningful information to keep the engine chugging along. This post alone has taken about 22 hours of watching the series, coupled without about 28 hours of writing (just to give it a nice round number of about 50 hours total - it could be more). You know what? In a strange way, I'm actually proud of myself. I hope that in the future, people get something out of this. Because if they don't? I've completely wasted my time.  And with that, I'll see you in season 3.

[DonRocks]

Night Gallery - Season Three (30-Minute Episodes)

 

1. "The Return Of The Sorcerer" - Sep 24, 1972: 
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc (18), Written by - Teleplay: Halsted Welles, Story: Clark Ashton Smith
Featuring Vincent Price, Patricia Sterling, Bill Bixby 
 
[I have a prejudice against Night Gallery episodes dealing with witches and sorcerers - I have yet to remember one that I've liked, and in general, I have a strong dislike for them. For whatever reason, nobody associated with this series - not even the great Szwarc - can work with this genre in a decent fashion. Vincent Price was fine in his role as John Carnby (trying to conjure up his brother), but Bill Bixby was marginal at best as Noel Evans, Carnby's new employee, and Tisha Sterling was just awful as Carnby's sidekick, Fern. The first dinner party had a goat (yes, a goat) sitting at the dinner table - Price forgets his manners momentarily ("Oh, I beg your pardon, I forgot to introduce you two (referring to Evans and the goat). Mr Evans, this is my father who built this house ...."), and a short time after dinner, Fern produces a frog and says, "Are you going to give mommy a kiss?" This is followed by Carnby pulling a gun on Evans, forcing him to translate a text. Yes, my friends, all three of these scenes transpire within five minutes of the episode. Then, after translating a horrible curse, Evans goes up to Fern and asks her, "Fern, don't you think there's some hidden horror in this house?" At this point, you may want to watch the episode because I suspect you don't believe me, but you'll see it's all true, and it is every bit as stupid and insulting as I'm saying it is. When the disembodied foot and hand start to crawl around the house, you'll know it's time to reconsider the quality of this episode. Somehow - and I don't know,  how - Vincent Price has the ability to prevent "The Return Of The Sorcerer" from being midnight-movie laughable, but when I summarize it here, I have no idea how he does it - it's is a howler in every way other than Price. One last thing: as one of the incandations, Fern repeatedly uses the term "Abracadabra" and my only reamaning question: Is this the worst Night Gallery Episode I've ever seen?" and I don't see how it isn't - cringe-worthy television at its absolute finest. I just now looked, and hate to say it, but this - like the previous segment ending Season Two - "Little Girl Lost" - are good benchmarks on whom you should choose as your Night Gallery consultants: I unabashedly disagree with both David Juhl and "The After-Hours Tour" who give this terrible segment 3, and 3.5 stars, respectively - I just don't see how. And yet, I'm outnumbered, so there it is.]
 
2. "The Girl With The Hungry Eyes" - Oct 1, 1972: 
 
[Notes: Written by Fritz Leiber, directed by John Badham (4). This episode is obviously an allegory for something (either that, or I'm out-thinking it) - the problem is, I don't know for what. Well, wow - I had written that first sentence about ten minutes into the segment, and now that I'm finished with it (about twenty minutes later), I get the entire premise, and it has a *lot* of personal meaning to me. There may indeed some universal truth to the harpie-siren motif that the undeniably alluring Joanna Pettet represents, but to me, it's a truth that resides on a very individual level. You see - in the world of restaurants, for whatever reason, the world of PR is loaded with young females - in particular young females who find themselves very attractive, and sometimes are. However, they very often aren't; yet they use, or try to use, their feminine "charms" to sell their clients and products, and not once have I ever bought into their attempts, but boy do I have to suffer through their insincere bullshit on a regular basis. God help the wealthy, homely, restaurateurs who these shrews successfully woo with their mediocrity, and thank God I'm not one of them - no matter how old, decrepit, hideous, decayed I become, or how far I fall, I will never succumb to the blatant bullshit that these terrible people try to pawn. And to me, Pettet represents them - as soon as she gets you in her clutches, you die. An I wrong? Almost surely, but they say that great literature can appeal to different people in different ways, and this is how "The Girl With The Hungry Eyes" tries to penetrate me - in the same way that these sea-hags have been trying for ten years or longer without success. I apologize profusely to the handful of honest, hardworking, public relations consultants in the DC restaurant industry because I'm not talking about you - but you darned good and well know who I *am* talking about, and they are a pathetic form of life - nematodes and parasites. Note: Before writing "Well, wow" on the second line, I'd developed writer's block; afterwards, it became very clear what needed to be written, and everything wrote itself just as fast as I could type - two, maybe three minutes including going back and correcting typos.]
 
3.3 - "Rare Objects" - Oct 22, 1972 - 
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc (19), Written by Rod Serling (19)
Featuring Mickey Rooney, Raymond Massey (2) Fay Spain (Mrs. Marcia Roth in "The Godfather, Part II")
 
[Well, nuts. At nineteen episodes apiece, writer Serling and director Szwarc are running neck-and-neck for "most episodes," and since I generally like the combination, I was hoping "Rare Objects" would be stronger, especially since it starred Mickey Rooney who did well in the past for "Twilight Zone." - it was not to be. Playing mobster August Kolodney, Rooney realizes his life has reached a point where his life is about to be taken out due to a hit, and can trust no one - he wants out, and is prepared to pay heavily for the privilege. One unscrupulous doctor (after Kolodney gets shot) refers him to another who can supposedly offer him a long, safe life - for a high price. Here I go repeating the plot again - watch it for yourselves, and let's discuss it! My problem is that given the famous people portrayed at the end, the mobster Kolodney - unless he's Al Capone (and the names *do* have a similar sound) - doesn't fit in the group because he's just not famous enough, and nothing in the episode betrayed that he was. It's absurd to have him take up residence next to the cast of (zoo) characters where his final "residence" is located. Other than that, the mobster bit is a MacGuffin, and could have been anything. It would have been a much more satisfying episode with some further background on the character. David Juhl also makes a valid point in that the life-extending doctor has no obvious means to get at Kolodney's wealth, so what's in it for him, financially, and how? Imagine how creepy it would be knowing who your cell-block mate is for such a long time! And, what happens to these people if something happens to the good doctor? Too many open ends, or maybe I'm just being too skeptical and should enjoy it for what it is. The essential plot of this episode goes all the way back to Season One of The Twilight Zone in "People Are Alike All Over."] 
 
4. "Spectre In Tap Shoes" - Oct 29, 1972: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (8), directed by Jeannot Szwarc (20). This is the first segment I can remember which was written by Jack Laird, but had the teleplay written by someone else (Gene R. Kearney). Sandra Dee gets to play two roles (one a twin sister, haunted by her tap-dancing sibling's suicide), and the catch here is: imagination, or haunting? And, of course, you won't know until the very end. The penultimate ending is very clever, especially in how it resolves itself, but does the segment work? Well, it works decently enough as a plot, although it plods along the way. Thinking back over the nearly 30-minute segment, I'm wondering exactly how they filled in all the time. The "slow decline into insanity" doesn't really work here although there's no good reason that it doesn't. Dee is pretty good in her role, and her supporting cast is also - the episode lacks pacing, and even though 26 minutes isn't very long, it can seem like an eternity when you're trying to push it along to the finish line. "Spectre In Tap Shoes" is arguably in the top half of all Night Gallery segments, but certainly not one of the top ones. And the entire tap-dancing motif is a bit weird - then again, this is Night Gallery, so why *not* tap dancing? In retrospect, there's a certain sad appeal that I suspect will call out to most sets of twins in real life, leaving them nodding their heads in knowing recognition. Real estate developer William Jason (played by Dane Clark) deserves a bit of recognition for playing his part with such subtlety.]
 
5a. "You Can Come Up Now, Mrs. Millikan" - Nov 12, 1972: 
 
[Notes: Written by J. Wesley Rosenquist, directed by John M. Badham (4). Well, I sort of guessed the ending of this one (there were one too-many clues leading up to it), but it was still a good story (I'm talking "cheap escapism" here). Starring the entirely inappropriate Ozzie and Harriet Nelson as "mad scientist / quack" Henry Millikan and his wife Melina - inappropriate because it hurts so much to see what happens to the lovable Harriet here. The rock exploding was a lot of fun, and a good, B-movie scare, and the plot builds rather well towards its ending, but my goodness - Ozzie and Harriet? No! No!! Don't let anything bad happen to them! Roger Davis plays a good role as nephew George Beaumont - a rational, concerned, likable character who does all the right things to no avail. However, one thing that occurred to me (spoiler coming) is that, unless Henry dies from blood loss (slitting his wrists, etc.), could his solution not also work on himself? Did he not, in essence, pretty much save mankind with his quackish invention? Who knows? He could turn out to be the most important human being who ever lived! But, oh, my dear friends: Not Ozzie and Harriet - that's like seeing something terrible happen to your grandmother. Again, this is an above-average episode, but not one of the best - people play their parts well, the story is decent and moves along nicely, and the finish provides for an interesting twist - it's really everything you could ask for from this series. Just not Ozzie and Harriet - as I type this, I'm waiting for Richie Cunningham to come walking through my bedroom door with horns, red skin, a goatee, a tail, and a pitchfork.]
 
5b. "Smile, Please" - Nov 12, 1972: 
 
[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (9), directed by Jack Laird (5). Spare me, please. Not even the fair Lindsay Wagner can salvage this one. She almost surely dies within seconds after this segment ends, and richly deserves it for having accepted the part. Cesare Denova said all that needs to be said in the final word of the episode: "Cheese.]

6. "The Other Way Out" - Nov 19, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Kurt van Elting, directed by Gene R. Kearney (8). Burl Ives - he of Frosty The Snowman, and Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, annual rituals of my youth - breaks down my childhood image in "The Other Way Out," starring in the cruelest casting since, well, Ozzie and Harriet. I loved this episode *for what Night Gallery is in my mind* - not great film, not great television, not great literature, but at its best, something *more* than "cheap entertainment," and that's exactly what this was - a very well-done, entertaining, yet suspenseful piece of network television that provided me with nearly thirty minutes of happiness and fulfillment, with Ives playing "Old Man Doubleday," a conspiracist in his grandson "Sonny's" vengeful plot against Bradley Meredith, decently, but inconsistently-played by Ross Martin, masterfully coerced out into a rural area by the torment of his own mind used against him. Ives was excellent, borderline outstanding, in this role, whereas Martin was merely "good enough" to make everything work. Suspending reality is required to make this segment effective, as it's very unlikely that a man of Ives' means and wits could do everything needed to pull this off, but just roll with it - suspend your skepticism and reality, and have fun. If you're able to do that, you'll really enjoy this story, and you'll also be more than just a little scared. This is Night Gallery the way *I* picture Night Gallery being - not a work of high art; just good, solid TV that both entertains you, and makes you a better person for watching. Very highly recommended for the occasional watcher, and an absolute must for anyone wanting to ferret out the "Best Of" because this deserves to be on such a list. Episodes such as "The Other Way Out" make watching, and writing about, Night Gallery, a pleasure for me.]

7. "Fright Night" - Dec 10, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Kurt van Elting (2), directed by Jeff Corey (10). Is it possible for a segment to be scary, but not very good? "Fright Night" was an odd bird, using many different horror motifs, but none of them knitting together. The haunted house, the locked trunk moving around by itself, the crickets which stop chirping, the ancient prophecy which starts to come true (that would be Stuart Whitman about to pour scalding milk into Barbara Anderson's mouth, pictured), two terrifying figures at the front door, the unknown visitor in the wife's bed, the creaky floors, the couple who inexplicably choose to stay at a house that is clearly inhabited by ghouls, the scary painting of the scary uncle, witchcraft, the walking corpse, and there are probably several more that I'm leaving out, as I just rattled these off within seconds. But there's no story here! Or at least not any story that makes any sense, and the ending only makes it more confusing - I have never been so thoroughly bewildered by a Night Gallery segment, and I truly don't understand the plot. I just don't get it, and I cannot possibly be alone because it doesn't make any sense. And yet, because of these classic horror techniques, it *is* scary at times, but so what? I could scare you by jumping out of a closet and saying, "Boo!" If you enjoy fright, then you might enjoy "Fright Night," but if you derive pleasure from something - anything - that makes some modicum of sense, then you may want to skip this one. Either that, or please watch it and tell me what the hell it was about because I have no idea. Don't get me wrong, I don't think this was "bad"; I just don't understand it. Would someone reading this please, please, please watch "Fright Night" and give me your thoughts?]

8. "Finnegan's Flight" - Dec 17, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Rod Serling (20), directed by Gene R. Kearny (9). A fine, cringe-inducing opening scene with Charlie Finnegan (played by Burgess Meredith) ending up with not just a bad toupée, but also a couple of broken hands - no doubt the result of the fine directorial work of Gene Kearny. I've gotten to "know" Meredith as an actor through The Twilight Zone and Night Gallery much better than I had before, and I think so very highly of his versatility. The other critical character here is Pete Tuttle (played by Cameron Mitchell), and Mitchell simply did not have enough strength to turn a good episode into a great one - the success of "Finnegan's Flight," what there is of it, is entirely due to Burgess Meredith. The advanced stages of the plot are interesting, and involve a premise that I've never heard of before - it's a fascinating concept, but one that is (other than being physically impossible) carried too far. It's comforting, in a way, to know that Finnegan had a brief taste of freedom, but at what price? If I had to guess who wrote this, I believe I would have guessed Rod Serling because it's more Twilight Zone than Night Gallery in nature. This episode is also very hard to watch (I'm not into physical torment, and you can't escape it in this segment) - Finnegan, for his brief moments of happiness, suffers a great deal, and the unbelievable premise is even more unbelievable when Finnegan shows characteristics of a physical phenomenon that he wouldn't even know about - picture someone being hypnotized into thinking they had (for example) Celiac's disease - which they might have heard of, but about which they possessed zero knowledge - and all of a sudden, they developed a perforated intestine: That's the level of disbelief you must maintain in order to stay with "Finnegan's Flight." The fact that Finnegan blew up in an airplane crash and died in a fire, well, okay, do you see why I'm saying "Twilight Zone" instead of "Night Gallery?" An addendum: The prison psychiatrist (played by Barry Sullivan) is effective in his supporting role here.]

9. "She'll Be Company For You" - Dec 24, 1972: 

[Notes: Written by Andrea Newman, directed by Gerald Perry Finnerman. And here we have two first-timers for Night Gallery, although Newman was a seasoned author (born in 1938 (which I suppose only makes her 34)), and Finnerman worked heavily in Star Trek - thus, probably not a coincidence that this segment starred Leonard Nimoy (yes, that's him in the picture) as Henry Auden. It's funny how personal this episode is for me, but not in the way that you might think - when I saw Auden walk into his billiards parlor, I longed to go to a pool hall and practice, practice, practice, redeveloping my lost hand-eye coordination. But back to the segment - five minutes into it, I looked back with some degree of contempt at Auden's thoughts during his wife's funeral, understandable though they may have been (any caretaker who tells you they never once thought, at some point or another, of a different life - even if that thought is for a few, fleeting seconds, is lying to you - Auden even said as much to his wife's "best friend," Barbara Morgan (Lorraine Gary)). This episode was fine until the cat became The Cat (just over ten minutes into it), and from that point forward, it went downhill in a furry hurry - Leonard Nimoy became Leopard Nimoy (<--- this is the pun that Pho Sate readers are searching for). Note: I'm doing my best, and trying my hardest - I swear, but a leopard can't change his spots, and a Leonard can't change his ... no, I won't say it. Must. Show. Respect. There was a *leopard* in Auden's house, and he said to the leopard, "I locked that door ... she can't tell you anything." *Who* can't tell the leopard anything? And why is Auden talking to a leopard that appeared in his house? Okay, I have to say it: No, I can't. No. And apparently, Auden might have been having an affair with his secretary, June (Kathryn Hays), so it *wasn't* (as they said in Brylcreem commercials), "a little dabble do ya" - his perfectly normal thoughts might have been carried to fruition. So I'm going to go ahead and say it ... No! I will not say it! The clapper is gone from the ringing bell, the leopard, now a large tiger, walks on the patio. Oops! Now it's back in the house, so he runs to the kitchen and picks up a rolling pin (I swear to you I'm not kidding - a rolling pin), then decides that isn't enough and goes for the butcher knife which he uses to chop up his mail basket - he doesn't go after the leopard; he destroys the mail basket. I need to just come out and say it. NO! I won't do it! With less than four minutes left in the segment, you may be asking yourself: 'Why is all this happening?' And, I'm afraid you won't have an answer, so I'm just going to say it, no, I can wait four minutes, right? Surely I can wait four minutes. Three minutes left. He's hacking his garden to bits with the butcher knife, as the leopard, or is it a tiger now, runs around. Did this guy cheat on his sick wife or not? What the hell did he do to deserve this? Fatigued, limping, he walks across his patio. He drops to his knees and begins sobbing. "Margaret," he says, hearing the "help bell" ringing, as he has throughout the segment. "Yes," he says, "Alright," slowly walking into the house, still holding the butcher knife. (Did he cheat on his wife or not?) I need to just come right out and say it: Ah, hell, there's only two minutes left. He walks into the bedroom and shuts the door. One minute left now. Barbara, his wife's best friend, walks in, dressed in red. The camera, it pans to the bedroom, and shows the little kitty-cat standing on the floor by Auden's bloodied hand. He's lying dead on the bed. Something happened to him, but he's definitely dead. The segment ends. He's dead. I can say it now, right? Can I? Please? I must. Okay <takes a deep breath, swallows, after watching what must surely be the worst Night Gallery segment ever made> ... Here goes, and this is one of the toughest things I've ever said ... Spock! You're Spock! That's who you are! Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!!!! Spock! Spock! Spock! Star Trek! Spock! Spock is your whole life! Where is Spock? Spock! Where are you, Spock? Come back, Spock! Spock! Spock! You are Spock! Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!!!! Where is Spock? Spock! Spock! I miss you Spock! Come back! Spock! Star Trek! Spock! Star Trek! Spock! Star Trek!! Spock!! Star Trek!!! Spock!!! Help me, Spock. I'm teasing - you can't do this and not be a great actor, and you'll always be beloved by me despite this *horrible* Night Gallery segment which wasn't your fault (and you have to admit Leopard Nimoy was funny).]

10. "The Ring With The Red Velvet Ropes" - Jan 7, 1973: 
Directed by Jeannot Szwarc (21), Written by - Teleplay: Robert Malcolm Young (Screenplay of "Escape to Witch Mountain"), Story: Edward D. Hoch (Writer of "The Oblong Room" in "Alfred Hitchcock Presents: A Month of Mystery")
Featuring Gary Lockwood (Lt. Cmdr. Gary Mitchell in "Where No Man Has Gone Before" on "Star Trek" (xx), Frank Poole in "2001: A Space Odyssey", Chuck Connors, who merits his own thread (First professional basketball player to break a backboard (for the Boston Celtics), MLB player for the Brooklyn Dodgers and Chicago Cubs, Drafted by the Chicago Bears, Lucas McCain on "The Rifleman," Tom Moore on "Roots"), Joan Van Ark (Valene Ewing on "Knots Landing")

[Gosh darn it, such potential, wasted. I love boxing scripts (as did Rod Serling), but this one was just too nebulous for its own good. When I first watched this, I had no idea the boxer was Gary Lockwood, who played Gary Mitchell in the 3rd televised episode of "Star Trek" - it's pretty amazing, because this is televised during the time of Muhammad Ali, and Lockwood simply does not have the physique of the World Heavyweight Champion in boxing - even next to a relatively older Chuck Connors, he looks rather meek. Anyway, out of nowhere, for no explained reason, the World Champion is whisked away into some other "reality." and forced to fight "the real champion" - as bizarre as it sounds, there's apparently an ongoing "higher championship" somewhere up in the clouds, where the current champion must then square off with the "all-time champion" - in this case, the amazing Chuck Connors (like a select handful (Dave Winfield being one), a professional athlete in baseball, basketball, and football). Connors plays Roderick Blanco, who won the world boxing title in the 1860s, and in this alternate dimension, has been fighting (and beating) every single world heavyweight champion since then - quite a streak. As interesting a premise as this might sound like, it falls terribly flat because it's never explained; it just ... is. And then, if someone happens to beat him, guess what happens to the new champion? Yep, you guessed it. Aspects of this episode aren't all that bad, and they're even kind of "cool," but it just never reaches the heights that it could, and should. I wonder if other occupations that have competitions, like film directors, or chefs, have para-normal intra-generation screen-offs or cook-offs pitting champions of yesteryear with today's hot shots. In can think of one, and only one, example: This episode was essentially a rearrangement of "A Game of Pool" on "The Twilight Zone."]

11. "Something In The Woodwork" - Jan 14, 1973 - 

[Notes: Written by R. Chetwynd-Hayes, directed by Edward M. Abroms. Academy Award-winning actress Geraldine Page plays lonely, alcoholic, ex-wife Molly Wheatland, first shown setting a birthday table for her (unwilling, doesn't want to be there) ex-husband Charlie (played by Leif Erickson, whose first name, pronounced "Life," has always annoyed me), and then tries to flirtatiously seduce innocent, hard-working carpenter Joe Wilson (played by Paul Jenkins), before - believe it or not - trying to coax a ghost out of the attic because she wants some company. She is so desperate for company that he has absolutely no fear of this potential ghost, and actively goes up and searches for him. Then, when the ghost says "Leave me alone" in a deep-bass, electrical-sounding voice, she's genuinely disappointed and starts crying! I'm not a big fan of spiders, and there are plenty of them in this attic (they don't do anything except sit there, so don't worry about them jumping out or anything). Anyway, so she recruits this ghost to frighten her (genuinely concerned, perfectly decent) ex-husband just because she's ticked off that he left her (well, who wouldn't?) This has a nice little twist ending - a little predictable, but fun all the same. I liked it, using my "cheap escapism" criterion.]

12. "Death On A Barge" - Mar 3, 1973: 

[Notes: Written by Everil Worrill, directed by Leonard Nimoy (1). My initial thought, before seeing this, is "Poor Leonard Nimoy" - he made his acting debut in a terrible script, and is making his directorial debut in a "vampire story" which, in this series, is pretty much a "can't-win scenario." Okay, now I begin watching. I suspect this might the infamous "lagoon" in back of NBC recording studio, but so far Nimoy is doing a good job with it. One-third of the way through, I'm impressed by the lighting, the filtering, the camera angles, and the music (which is a bit loud). Nimoy is doing an excellent job of making Hyacinth (Lesley Ann Warren) come across as *very* sexy, vulnerable, and mysterious, and making the most of a very constrained set. Okay, I'm finished watching. Maybe I'm cutting Nimoy a break after poking fun of him, but I really, really liked this segment, and it's one of the best vampire episodes I've ever seen (which isn't saying much). It was really good, fully of human emotion, weakness, risk - I am delighted to say that this is one of the better Night Gallery segments - maybe even one of the top 10-20%. It had just about everything, on a clearly limited budget.]

13. "Whisper" - May 13, 1973: 

[Notes: Written by Martin Waddell, directed by Jeannot Szwarc (22). I don't need sub-par attempts at intellectual stimulation from Night Gallery, and this dull stab at it doesn't qualify as anything intellectual at all. (A sidebar: I'm nearly certain that the baby-blue candles Sally Field carries and uses at about the sixteen-minute mark are the exact same ones that Geraldine Page uses in "Something In The Woodwork" when she's setting the dinner table for her ex-husband at about the two-minute mark (talk about being cheap!), but back to the show.) I would put this in the bottom 10% of all Night Gallery episodes. It makes no sense, it's pointless, it's absolutely incoherent, it's faux-artsy (Dean Stockwell often looks into the camera and speaks - that, in and of itself, is fine, but it doesn't save this sinking ship), and it's a waste of your time. I honestly cannot imagine anyone seeing "Whisper" and liking it; maybe if there was a multi-million dollar budget and ninety minutes to do something with the script, it could have been made into something more than pablum (and it would have been called "Sybil"), but there wasn't, and so it remains one the very worst segments of Night Gallery. There is *nothing* of merit in "Whisper," and my goodness, what a waste of talent - Jeannot Szwarc, Sally Field *and* Dean Stockwell? A trilogy of talent. Watch it for yourselves, and tell me what I'm missing - normally when I'm *this* critical of something, and others like it (which they apparently do), I watch it a second time just to see what I've missed, but I cannot bring myself to watch "Whisper" again - this was the longest 30-minute episode of almost anything I've ever seen on television. PS - Why were there only two episodes in four months?]

14. "The Doll Of Death" - May 20, 1973: 

[Notes: Written by Vivian Meik, directed by John Badham (5). Man, you've got to feel sorry for Alec Brandon, the would-be husband (played by Barry Atwater, pictured) - yes, any older man who takes a trophy wife gets what he deserves, in some sense, but still, to lose your cheap, plastic trophy in such a degrading fashion to a greaseball in a public gathering would be devastating (assuming he truly loved her) and humiliating in the worst possible way. His fiancée, Sheila Trent (played poorly by Susan Strasberg) is established early on as "untamable," and that was proven shortly afterwards as she ditches her would-be groom for her Latin lover, Raphael (Alejandro Rey), who arrived at the wedding and stole her Dustin Hoffman-style (don't forget this was only six years after that). The painfully dignified Haitian servant (I'm assuming we're in Haiti here), Andrew (Jean Durand), has already spotted an evil omen, and warned Sheila that something bad is going to happen - after the betrayal, he helps his "employer" (which is something of a euphemism for "master") secure a voodoo doll from the island Houngan ((which reminds me that Wes Craven's "The Serpent and The Rainbow" scared the dickens out of me when it came out) - I've always found the notion of vampires (which Night Gallery uses in abundance) somewhat absurd, but the thought of voodoo dolls penetrates me for some unknown reason), and I just now realized that "The Doll of Death" - the name itself - is an excellent double-entendre. I hated this segment when I saw it (late at night and tired), but forced myself to watch it again, and saw a few new things in it the second time - for example, it's pretty obvious that Sheila and Raphael truly love each other, despite the tawdry nature of their relationship, thus lending some complexity to Sheila's character: Is she a capricious flibbertigibbet, or a young woman in love with her one-and-only? Probably a little of both, but the nod needs to go to the capricious flibbertigibbet - still, seeing how much she loves Raphael does succeed in making you hate her slightly less for what she did to Alec, who (let's not forget) turns to attempted murder after he was jilted - not just murder, but double murder, as he poisons his loyal servant Andrew for trying to thwart the voodoo-killing. it's a complex situation that comes across slightly better on the second viewing. I'm also being inconsistent as a reviewer, as I could easily trash this episode (which I've done with others) for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is Strasberg's poor acting. There's no question that I worked extra hard to cut "The Doll of Death" a break - it's just not that good, and quite frankly, it's obvious that the series is coming to an end; I'm getting sentimental, as I always do when I come close to finishing a series that I enjoy, and yes, even though sequencing the entirety of Night Gallery has been only marginally worth the effort, I still develop a fondness for shows, here especially knowing that my remaining time with Rod Serling is very limited - well, there's always "Requiem for a Heavyweight" to tackle.]

15a. "Hatred Unto Death" - May 27, 1973: 

[Notes: Written by Milton Geiger, directed by Gerald Perry Finnerman (2). "So bad it's good." I remember a friend asking me this about "The Twilight Zone," wondering if there were any episodes that were so horrifically awful that they were "must-see TV." Well, you have one here with "Hatred Unto Death," the unfortunate finale of "Night Gallery." This is the ultimate in the "Women Like Real Men" genre. Picture this: A husband anthropologist is jealous of his wife's tenderness towards a 600-pound gorilla that he captured in Africa. And when I say jealous, I mean sexually jealous, as in, "You love him, not me!" And, in fact, he has a right to be because it's true! The wife anthropologist is falling in love (romantic love) with the gorilla. And, I'm sorry to say that the gorilla is jealous of the husband - as the wife tenderly holds its hands, it rips off her engagement and wedding rings, and jealously throws them to the ground. (Can you imagine if the censors of 1973 weren't around to scope things out?) The gorilla escapes, injuring the wife's leg, and destroys the phone as the wife calls upstairs to the husband, who shows up downstairs with a gun, only to shoot the gorilla several times to no avail. As the husband and gorilla hunt each other to the death, the wife cries out to the husband, "Grant, be careful!" (I swear I'm not making any of this up). The husband, with two shots left, drops his gun. Seeing this, the gorilla beats his chest, and approaches the husband. The husband finally finds the gun he dropped, and shoots one of his remaining shots at the gorilla. The gorilla tries to conceal himself amongst the stuffed primates (they're in a storage room a natural history museum), allowing him to remain undetected as the husband walks by. Then, the gorilla successfully sneaks up on the husband, who fires his last shot into the gorilla, and the gorilla falls to the ground, seemingly dead. The husband walks away, victorious, after saying some profound words about the eons, before the gorilla wakes up, and goes after the husband one last time, picks him up, and throws him to his death, before finally dying himself. The wife, having now lost both the men in her life, sinks to the ground, crying. This was 50 shades beyond awesome - see you all at the midnight movies!]

15b. "How To Cure The Common Vampire" - May 27, 1973: 

[Notes: Written by Jack Laird (10), directed by Jack Laird (6). Who else but Jack Laird for the final minute and twenty seconds of the entire Night Gallery series? And how do you follow "Hatred Unto Death?" With something even worse, that's how. See it to believe it.]

The end.

[DonRocks]

A coincidence with the movie pilot? I don't think so.