On the surface it's a promising idea: an American journalist in London, who also has some gambling debts, wants to spend a night in a wax museum for, among other reasons, a good true life magazine story.
So far, so good; and a promising cast, too, including two capable veteran players, Barry Nelson, as the journalist; and Everett Sloane as the museum owner. Yet the set-up at least is if nothing else promising.
Once the journalist is alone the museum for the night, as one might expect, strange things start happening. Or are they figments of the man's imagination? He appears normal enough, yet he seems easily spooked by the eerie atmosphere, as he's surrounded by wax figures of well known murderers.
Alas, the story unfolds as one might expect, as wax museum tales, like ventriloquist dummy ones, tend to feature similar themes and resolutions. This one is disappointingly conventional, especially as it's a Hitchcock entry.
Yet it's by no means all bad, just not very good. The actors help, as does the art direction, which nicely suggests sinister things lurking right around the corner. The episode does have a few modest virtues.
Robert Stevens was a capable director, yet he failed to bring much to the table with this one, which might have benefited from being handled by a more seasoned movie man with some experience handling macabre yarns such as this one.
I think of Robert Florey and John Brahm, who were active in American television around the time this one was made; and I suspect that either would have made a better job of it, with inventive camera placement, stronger pacing, shadows in all the right places.