"Little Boy Lost" (9 of 10) Many "Twilight Zone" episodes are about people facing a crossroads in their lives, and the role a fantastical device plays in helping them decide. "Little Boy Lost" is one of those episodes, and it serves the genre extremely well, presenting us with an independent woman (Season Hubley) facing a choice between domesticity and an exciting new job prospect. Hubley is excellent in the lead, a photographer who is presented with the opportunity to do some real photojournalistic work, rather than stale children's ads, but is getting pressure from her boyfriend (Nicholas Surovy) to start a family with him. One day, while mulling over these options, she comes across a 10 year old boy (Scott Grimes) who she bonds with, and begins to realize that he could be the son she will have if she opts for domesticity.
Michael Cassutt's script deftly avoids the clichés normally seen in such stories, specifically the tendency to show excessive lamenting over the road not taken -- indeed, this episode never shows the full after effect of the decision, focusing instead on what goes into the choice. He lets the story unfold naturally and gives Hubley's character some clear ideas as to the upsides of the option she might not have fully thought about.
I guess what makes this story so strong is the fact that it truly grounds itself in the type of choice many people (especially women) face at some point in their careers. This resonance to everyday life renders irrelevant that fact that the ending is somewhat predictable -- the choice itself is unimportant, what is critical is that the Hubley character makes it with her eyes wide open.
Tommy Lee Wallace's direction follows the naturalistic pace, but it does make some occasional diversions into overly sentimental moments (usually involving the use of hazier, soft-focus shots); also, while the final image gets the point across, it could have been done much more subtly.
Hubley and Grimes present a natural affinity for one another, making it much easier to buy the underlying conceit of the story, as well as making the stakes that much more tangible. Hubley is also extremely effective at getting the tone right for the reasons for her choice -- played more one- or two-dimensionally, her character would come off as the worst stereotype of a feminist.
In whole, an extremely well-written and effectively acted story.
Wish Bank (7 of 10) It's not often that a short TV segment can take a well-worn dramatic idea ("The Monkey's Paw", "Aladdin") and give it a fresh and unexpected spin. Somehow, in less than 10 minutes, "Wish Bank" does so, as Dee Wallace-Stone plays a woman who finds a lamp at a garage sale, rubs it, and takes the journey toward wish fulfillment. The only problem is, to do so, she must run through what those of us who grew up before ATMs and online renewal of one's driving documents remember as the hell of bureaucracy. Michael Cassutt's script is splendid, knowing just how much mileage he can draw out of the concept, and Wallace-Stone does a nice job of keeping her frustration reined in before the cork blows. This segment is a piece of comic filler that "Night Gallery" could only have dreamed of doing, and is a lovely palate cleanser for the piece to come.
"Nightcrawlers" (9 of 10) "Nightcrawlers" is a directorial tour-de-force by noted film director William Friedkin, playing off of the type of episode the original series only rarely did -- e.g., Charles Beaumont's "The Jungle" and "Perchance to Dream", Rod Serling/Jerome Bixby's "It's a Good Life" -- a psychological horror story that is completely and utterly relentless for the audience. On this score, the episode compares extremely favorably with the best of the original series.
During a dark and stormy night at a roadside diner, State Trooper Wells (James Whitmore, Jr.) and the few customers present come across drifter Price (Scott Paulin), who is desperately trying to stay awake to prevent his former Vietnam unit (the eponymous "Nightcrawlers") from taking their revenge on him. Philip DeGuere's teleplay powerfully sets the stage for the oncoming destruction, and once Price enters, DeGuere puts his foot on the accelerator and never lets up.
This is where Friedkin comes in. As the director of some of the best pictures of the 1970s ("The French Connection", "The Exorcist", "Sorcerer"), he effectively uses the superb score and pulsating sound design (by Merl Saunders and the Grateful Dead, and Mickey Hart, respectively) as well as electric camera-work and editing to maintain and heighten the sense of fear and panic Price is feeling, building to the (literally) explosive finale. The supporting cast is very effective, and Paulin is downright creepy in the lead.
Michael Cassutt's script deftly avoids the clichés normally seen in such stories, specifically the tendency to show excessive lamenting over the road not taken -- indeed, this episode never shows the full after effect of the decision, focusing instead on what goes into the choice. He lets the story unfold naturally and gives Hubley's character some clear ideas as to the upsides of the option she might not have fully thought about.
I guess what makes this story so strong is the fact that it truly grounds itself in the type of choice many people (especially women) face at some point in their careers. This resonance to everyday life renders irrelevant that fact that the ending is somewhat predictable -- the choice itself is unimportant, what is critical is that the Hubley character makes it with her eyes wide open.
Tommy Lee Wallace's direction follows the naturalistic pace, but it does make some occasional diversions into overly sentimental moments (usually involving the use of hazier, soft-focus shots); also, while the final image gets the point across, it could have been done much more subtly.
Hubley and Grimes present a natural affinity for one another, making it much easier to buy the underlying conceit of the story, as well as making the stakes that much more tangible. Hubley is also extremely effective at getting the tone right for the reasons for her choice -- played more one- or two-dimensionally, her character would come off as the worst stereotype of a feminist.
In whole, an extremely well-written and effectively acted story.
Wish Bank (7 of 10) It's not often that a short TV segment can take a well-worn dramatic idea ("The Monkey's Paw", "Aladdin") and give it a fresh and unexpected spin. Somehow, in less than 10 minutes, "Wish Bank" does so, as Dee Wallace-Stone plays a woman who finds a lamp at a garage sale, rubs it, and takes the journey toward wish fulfillment. The only problem is, to do so, she must run through what those of us who grew up before ATMs and online renewal of one's driving documents remember as the hell of bureaucracy. Michael Cassutt's script is splendid, knowing just how much mileage he can draw out of the concept, and Wallace-Stone does a nice job of keeping her frustration reined in before the cork blows. This segment is a piece of comic filler that "Night Gallery" could only have dreamed of doing, and is a lovely palate cleanser for the piece to come.
"Nightcrawlers" (9 of 10) "Nightcrawlers" is a directorial tour-de-force by noted film director William Friedkin, playing off of the type of episode the original series only rarely did -- e.g., Charles Beaumont's "The Jungle" and "Perchance to Dream", Rod Serling/Jerome Bixby's "It's a Good Life" -- a psychological horror story that is completely and utterly relentless for the audience. On this score, the episode compares extremely favorably with the best of the original series.
During a dark and stormy night at a roadside diner, State Trooper Wells (James Whitmore, Jr.) and the few customers present come across drifter Price (Scott Paulin), who is desperately trying to stay awake to prevent his former Vietnam unit (the eponymous "Nightcrawlers") from taking their revenge on him. Philip DeGuere's teleplay powerfully sets the stage for the oncoming destruction, and once Price enters, DeGuere puts his foot on the accelerator and never lets up.
This is where Friedkin comes in. As the director of some of the best pictures of the 1970s ("The French Connection", "The Exorcist", "Sorcerer"), he effectively uses the superb score and pulsating sound design (by Merl Saunders and the Grateful Dead, and Mickey Hart, respectively) as well as electric camera-work and editing to maintain and heighten the sense of fear and panic Price is feeling, building to the (literally) explosive finale. The supporting cast is very effective, and Paulin is downright creepy in the lead.