Reviews

"Letter to a Lover" drags a bit during the first act, but stick with it: It quickly turns into one of the series' most involving plots. Or, should I say, mélange of plots? The teleplay brilliantly confuses the viewer by way of misdirection, as noted as Alan Warren in his study of "Thriller." Each time we think we've got a handle on the plot, a new wrinkle appears, and the episode's most amazing detail might be the story's sinister prime suspect's sudden transformation into a tragic and sympathetic character. Much of the fun lies in the fact that the three principals are just as befuddled as the viewer, with each acting on suspicions which prove baseless. "Thriller" only offered a handful of worthy non-horror episodes, including "The Fatal Impulse" and "The Merriweather File," but none of those came close to "Letter."

An enjoyable, all-out-wacky "Thriller," whose chief gimmick carries the episode, though the special effects are little less impressive with DVD clarity: The matte is far more noticeable than it would have been when first broadcasted, or during subsequent reruns. But, of course, "Thriller" wasn't designed for digital replay, and so we see occasional glitches (glimpses of overhead lights, etc.). This one has to be taken as total farce to be appreciated: Any search for logic will be in vain. I loved the recurring piano piece--Ethelbert Nevin's "Narcissus"--ever since my first viewing, and the bitonal (two keys) arrangement gives just the right comical, off-kilter effect. But the piece is anachronistic by one year: It was composed in 1891. Edward Andrews and Vaughn Taylor are excellent, as usual, and Sue Ann Langdon plays her patented ditzy-blonde character. Nice to see Howard McNear just before (or just as?) he assumed the role of Floyd the Barber on "The Andy Griffith Show." Here, he plays a far sharper character (and not nearly as straight-laced). Like "Masquerade," an eccentric entry, but far more expertly written.

To see Barbara Steele NOT made up to appear evil or hysterical, and to hear her real voice (with a gentle British accent) is the chief fun of this ep. Plus, the presence of a pre-"Dark Shadows" Joel Crothers. Otherwise, the plot is absurdly contrived and, as a consequence, not remotely believable. The twist was obvious from the first five or ten minutes--it's the only way things could have concluded in the context of a morbid, Hitchcock-sadistic twist (though I kept hoping the writer would concoct something more compelling). Granted, these are college kids, and ill-advised actions are bound to happen under the influence of alcohol, but individuals lucid enough to set up the highly complicated situation in question would have been able to gauge the potentially horrific outcome. Not to give things away, but stupidity that epic, and on a group basis, kills any and all believability. And ironic twists don't work if they aren't a matter of reasonable expectations gone ironically astray. This is poor writing, plain and simple.

Gunsmoke is rarely awful, and so "The Dealer" is a sort of milestone. The story is poorly developed, which doesn't help--The complexity of character motivation in this sort of plot calls for far better, more careful writing. Then there's the miscasting, which dooms the ep from the first second. Gary Clarke simply has no acting ability to speak of, though Judi Meredith, dreadful as she is here, is normally far, far better. She seems to be conveying contempt for the part, and I honestly wouldn't blame her. Save for this slip, I wouldn't have known she was capable of such a lifeless, one-note performance. Whatever you do, please don't judge Judi (no pun intended) by this. Always great to see Roy Roberts, though, and the regulars are solid, as usual. But we can almost sense Matt and Company working all the harder in the hopes of bringing some believability to this turkey. Oh, well--we can't expect this great Western to win with every set.

The plot is highly clever, and the direction, while not up to the usual M:I first season standards, rolls right along. (Note the oddly-edited moment in which the bad guy is choke-held by Rollin. Even slowed down, it seems highly disjointed.) The swiftness of the direction atones for the general lack of slickness (awkward angles, weirdly timed dialogue exchanges, especially in the apartment scene, almost to comical effect), and Francis Lederer is one of the scariest monsters to pop up in the series--I think it's the sadistic glee with which he carries out his cruel duties. To describe him as a man with no trace of a conscience is to do his character a kindness. But the improbabilities are too noticeably improbable, which is to say that our usual suspension of disbelief isn't enough. How does a latex mask afford someone (guess who?) the ability to take on the stature.and body type of another? And how many items can be crammed into a small container? Sorry to note that the nightclub music almost got on my last nerve--I have nothing against experimental sounds, but when they sound like the death rattle of some huge animal... I think that Lederer's brilliant performance, plus the surefire suspense of the rescue operation, make this one so memorable. Sloppily done but compelling.

One of this show's Saturday serial-style episodes, complete with hokey costumes for the bad guys (and gals). This kind of thing worked way better when the show decided to add a sense of humor to its bad-guys-in-costumes eps, but this was played straight, script-wise. Written straight, we could say. Thus, though Richman is quite good as Prince Gio, he has no chance to make the character anything beyond a caricature, and Gio's over the top display of manufactured rage at the story's start gives the teleplay's main twist as much surprise power as Bob Conrad removing his shirt. And there's some very obvious lip-syncing going on in the scene in which the story's missing person is discovered. Unaccountably, her lines are dubbed with an American accent. Also odd is the confused demeanor of the actor, as if the director had failed to explain the scene to her--she watches a moving prop as if amazed by its motility. I'm just glad WWW became so much better at presenting this kind of plot.

Does the blame go to casting director James Lister for deciding Burgess Meredith could function effectively as a WWW villain? To writer Norman Katkov for an unimaginative scenario which fails to balance the violence with humor (a balance crucial to this series)? Director Justus Addiss for his lackluster pacing? Or to Meredith himself for playing his part with no hint of jocularity--or so much as the slightest suggestion he was happy to get the role. It doesn't help that the character's large-scale homicidal plans have no logical connection to his chief grievance. I'd have expected Meredith to do a dynamite job in this role--but he bombs badly. Instead of an air of evil glee, he conveys a disposition of grumbling misanthropy. Maybe he was just having a bad week.

Nothing remotely far-out in this early episode, but solid story, solid action, and solid performances--including John Drew Barrymore's outstanding turn as American Knife. Yes, I'd rather have seen an indigenous American in the role, but Barrymore is so fine, I think we can forgive the casting. He's so good, in fact, I thought I was witnessing Luke Askew as the sardonic chief. And very nice to see Jackie (Little Shop of Horrors) Joseph in a brief bit with Martin. In a way, this is "The Wild Wild West" as it COULD have been, had Michael Garrison's vision not prevailed. Would the show have lasted four seasons, minus the outlandishness we expect and love? Interesting question. At any rate, very impressive for a "conventional" outing.

I have vivid memories of watching this during its original run--and falling asleep midway. The episode seemed to make no sense at all, and now I see why. Namely, there is no sense of pacing, of linear progression. This plays like a sketchy first draft. At various points, the viewer finds him or herself asking, "Where is this going?" I can save any first-time viewer the trouble: It goes nowhere, and it takes unbelievably long to dock there. However, there is the hilarious moment when West is almost overpowered by the bad guy--all on the bad guy's own--and after Jim has gone at least a couple unscathed rounds with the usual cast of stuntmen. (Maybe James was worn out from the fights.) Nice to see Priscilla Morrill from the Outer Limits ep, "The Man With the Power," but she deserved much better. And she's far more attractive than this week's eye-candy damsel, Joan Delaney, though that fact seemed to escape the producers.

The great supernatural films--an honored status for which this inane dreck prodigiously fails to qualify--have the wisdom to contrast the realm of the supernatural with the world of the everyday. To do so carefully and with great CLARITY, so that at all times we can distinguish one from the other. And, more importantly, to create a separate and internal logic for the fantastic events. Two realms, two different rulebooks--but consistently so. I'm talking about ACTUAL supernatural/horror flicks like The Haunting, Night of the Demon, The Devil Rides Out, and Dead of Night. I suppose "Poltergeist" wrecked for all time the convention of lending the fantastic its own peculiar rationality--and I don't think I'm spoiling anything by mentioning this movie's idiot "Poltergeist"-style hellzapoppin moment, which might have had even Steven Spielberg or Tim Burton exclaiming, "Hey, tone it down!" I refer to the first "Oh, good--everything's resolved now" fake-out, which is of course followed by another. I was expecting at least a couple more. Maybe even a 20-minute false-ending-athon. Since false endings are THE cliché of modern horror outings, I don't think I'm spoiling anything here--and the film does a perfect job of maiming itself at every turn, anyway. I have to offer my congratulations to the filmmakers for presenting a child ghost impossible to feel bad for. That took some doing, given the awful nature of her demise and the shameful neglect that played a role. How to make such a sweet victim unlikable? Watch this tripe and find out. The performances are painful--Connelly's acting mostly consists of not smiling, and Dougray Scott's failure to register as a present-and-accounted-for human has me wondering how the camera was able to detect his presence. Tim Roth is incredibly annoying, though I don't blame him--his mistake consists of playing his character as written. As for Ariel Gade, I'd have to see her in a flick which offers her an actual part. You know, they could have saved a lot of dough by simply having stagehands toss buckets of (see title) at the camera.

Nice, noir-ish 1934 quickie, with a highly likeable Lyle Talbot in the lineup, no less. The switch from location shooting to stage settings is a bit jarring, but no less so than most TV shows of the 1960s and 1970s, which went from on-site filming to a fake backdrop, sometimes within the same scene (from Gunsmoke to Mannix to the Wild, Wild West). And the sets, while not convincing, are quite artistically conceived, with a memorable heat lightning effect. The swift pacing is rather remarkable for the era, and Aline MacMahon gives a mesmerizing performance, though her character seems to shift from weak to iron-willed a little too casually. But that's where the swift pacing makes any doubtful character motivation irrelevant--the viewer is too caught up in the fascinating, nonstop story (laced with comedy bits which have held up amazingly well). Lyle Talbot makes a superb wimpy sidekick, though a couple of times he seemed to be on the verge of laughter. A gem!