Rod Serling's career can be divided into several distinct segments that stand as mileposts of his output. During the 1950s, as he honed his craft as a writer, writing teleplays for television, a medium that (fortunately for him) was much easier to break into than it would be today. He wrote dozens of scripts, most of them forgotten today - but there are exceptions. "Patterns" (1955) (later made into a motion picture in 1956); "The Rack" (1955), an anthology piece once again later turned into a motion picture; and his greatest triumph of that era, "Requiem for a Heavyweight" (1956), turned into a feature film in 1962, along with a few others, are remembered as some of his finest work.
But frustrated by the heavy hand of censorship by sponsors and the networks, he next came up with his greatest achievement, the science fiction and fantasy of "The Twilight Zone" (1959-1964) - that permitted him, as he had once remarked, to put words into the mouth of a Martian that he couldn't put into the mouth of a Republican or Democrat. But burned out from writing nearly 80% of the scripts while acting as executive producer, he briefly left television - only to return in 1965 for a short-lived show, "The Loner" that ran for one season.
So there was great excitement for those of us who were around in those years when he returned to television with "Night Gallery." His initial foray back into the world of science fiction and fantasy that had been the hallmark of "The Twilight Zone" was a 90-minute television movie released in late 1969.
It had three segments: the somewhat talky duel between Roddy Mcdowall as a young heir (who may have killed his rich uncle) and Ossie Davis as his put-upon servant, Portifoy, who manages to gaslight his employer with - fittingly for this series - a series of paintings; another battle of wits between blind, wealthy Joan Crawford and her doctor, played by Barry Sullivan, whom she has blackmailed into performing an unethical operation; and "Escape Route," with Richard Kiley as an escaped Nazi criminal who has devised a most unusual way to evade his pursuers.
It was exciting to have the Master back at his old pursuits, once again introducing each segment as he had on "The Twilight Zone." His hair was a bit longer in keeping with then-current style, and he sometimes wore a tweed jacket instead of the dark suits he sported in the earlier series. But he was still . . . Rod Serling.
Nevertheless, "Night Gallery" had its share of problems. To begin with, more than a year elapsed between the original pilot telemovie and the series premier in December, 1970. Furthermore, instead of having its own time slot, "Night Gallery" was part of a four-show "wheel" series (a popular technique in those days). This series, the imaginatively titled "Four-in-One," had "Night Gallery" sharing its time slot with "The Psychiatrist," "San Francisco International Airport," and "McCloud."
"Night Gallery's" first "season," therefore, consisted of just six episodes because of the sharing of the time slot. This revealed one of the two biggest problems with the series. The hour-long episodes, like the pilot, each had several otherwise unrelated segments. "Twilight Zone" had followed a rigid half-hour schedule each week, with Serling's introduction, the rising action, an act break for the first commercials, and then the resolution. It was a predictable path to follow in each episode, ending with Serling's closing narration.
On "Night Gallery," however, the individual segments could be any length. But without the predictability of the half-hour slot, it was sometimes not clear when such a segment had ended. Many of the stories were also neither science fiction nor fantasy, but veered into horror and - worst of all - lame efforts at humor. Oftentimes, those of us who watched the segments would turn to one another when it cut to a commercial and say, "Was that it?" The only way to tell was sometimes because another segment (or the closing credits) effectively said, "Yes,"
This leads into the second weakness of this series. Serling had chosen not to be a producer as he had on "Twilight Zone," and that role then fell to Jack Laird, a fellow who sported a goatee and bore a passing resemblance to radio disc jockey "Wolfman Jack." Because Serling had no creative control, even his own scripts were at the mercy of Laird, who had some decidedly . . . Odd ideas about the show. Many of the "segments" were more like blackouts during a stage production, lasting fewer than 10 minutes and having some kind of distant relationship to fantasy et al., often played (allegedly) for laughs.
Thus, for example, we got comedian Marty Allen, dressed in 19th century garb, supposedly suffering writer's block while (Edgar Allan Poe) he struggled to write a poem. But then, a raven cawing in the background "helped him out." Har har har.
Still, the series was the forum for a number of the fine scripts, many written by Serling. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" was a poignant elegy to a man's career - on the day he is fired, the one place where he was able to meet up with the ghosts of his past (the bar of the title) was torn down. "The Messiah on Mott Street," told of a young boy seeking a miracle to aid his dying grandfather (Edward G. Robinson) at Christmas. There was Serling's adaptation of Oscar Cook's short story, "The Caterpillar," which Stephen King has said was the scariest thing he ever saw on television. And there was a delightful adaptation of Conrad Aiken's psychological drama, "Silent Snow, Secret Snow" that was narrated by the incomparable Orson Welles, perfectly fitting the story.
The series also had a marvelous collection of paintings in the "Night Gallery" used to introduce each segment, some of which sadly do not exist today. They ranged from the ordinary to the bizarre to the downright terrifying. Surprisingly, all were painted only by one of two men, artists Thomas Wright and Jerry Gebr. They often managed to capture the macabre stories as well as, or even better than, anything depicted in the stories themselves.
But frustrated by the heavy hand of censorship by sponsors and the networks, he next came up with his greatest achievement, the science fiction and fantasy of "The Twilight Zone" (1959-1964) - that permitted him, as he had once remarked, to put words into the mouth of a Martian that he couldn't put into the mouth of a Republican or Democrat. But burned out from writing nearly 80% of the scripts while acting as executive producer, he briefly left television - only to return in 1965 for a short-lived show, "The Loner" that ran for one season.
So there was great excitement for those of us who were around in those years when he returned to television with "Night Gallery." His initial foray back into the world of science fiction and fantasy that had been the hallmark of "The Twilight Zone" was a 90-minute television movie released in late 1969.
It had three segments: the somewhat talky duel between Roddy Mcdowall as a young heir (who may have killed his rich uncle) and Ossie Davis as his put-upon servant, Portifoy, who manages to gaslight his employer with - fittingly for this series - a series of paintings; another battle of wits between blind, wealthy Joan Crawford and her doctor, played by Barry Sullivan, whom she has blackmailed into performing an unethical operation; and "Escape Route," with Richard Kiley as an escaped Nazi criminal who has devised a most unusual way to evade his pursuers.
It was exciting to have the Master back at his old pursuits, once again introducing each segment as he had on "The Twilight Zone." His hair was a bit longer in keeping with then-current style, and he sometimes wore a tweed jacket instead of the dark suits he sported in the earlier series. But he was still . . . Rod Serling.
Nevertheless, "Night Gallery" had its share of problems. To begin with, more than a year elapsed between the original pilot telemovie and the series premier in December, 1970. Furthermore, instead of having its own time slot, "Night Gallery" was part of a four-show "wheel" series (a popular technique in those days). This series, the imaginatively titled "Four-in-One," had "Night Gallery" sharing its time slot with "The Psychiatrist," "San Francisco International Airport," and "McCloud."
"Night Gallery's" first "season," therefore, consisted of just six episodes because of the sharing of the time slot. This revealed one of the two biggest problems with the series. The hour-long episodes, like the pilot, each had several otherwise unrelated segments. "Twilight Zone" had followed a rigid half-hour schedule each week, with Serling's introduction, the rising action, an act break for the first commercials, and then the resolution. It was a predictable path to follow in each episode, ending with Serling's closing narration.
On "Night Gallery," however, the individual segments could be any length. But without the predictability of the half-hour slot, it was sometimes not clear when such a segment had ended. Many of the stories were also neither science fiction nor fantasy, but veered into horror and - worst of all - lame efforts at humor. Oftentimes, those of us who watched the segments would turn to one another when it cut to a commercial and say, "Was that it?" The only way to tell was sometimes because another segment (or the closing credits) effectively said, "Yes,"
This leads into the second weakness of this series. Serling had chosen not to be a producer as he had on "Twilight Zone," and that role then fell to Jack Laird, a fellow who sported a goatee and bore a passing resemblance to radio disc jockey "Wolfman Jack." Because Serling had no creative control, even his own scripts were at the mercy of Laird, who had some decidedly . . . Odd ideas about the show. Many of the "segments" were more like blackouts during a stage production, lasting fewer than 10 minutes and having some kind of distant relationship to fantasy et al., often played (allegedly) for laughs.
Thus, for example, we got comedian Marty Allen, dressed in 19th century garb, supposedly suffering writer's block while (Edgar Allan Poe) he struggled to write a poem. But then, a raven cawing in the background "helped him out." Har har har.
Still, the series was the forum for a number of the fine scripts, many written by Serling. "They're Tearing Down Tim Riley's Bar" was a poignant elegy to a man's career - on the day he is fired, the one place where he was able to meet up with the ghosts of his past (the bar of the title) was torn down. "The Messiah on Mott Street," told of a young boy seeking a miracle to aid his dying grandfather (Edward G. Robinson) at Christmas. There was Serling's adaptation of Oscar Cook's short story, "The Caterpillar," which Stephen King has said was the scariest thing he ever saw on television. And there was a delightful adaptation of Conrad Aiken's psychological drama, "Silent Snow, Secret Snow" that was narrated by the incomparable Orson Welles, perfectly fitting the story.
The series also had a marvelous collection of paintings in the "Night Gallery" used to introduce each segment, some of which sadly do not exist today. They ranged from the ordinary to the bizarre to the downright terrifying. Surprisingly, all were painted only by one of two men, artists Thomas Wright and Jerry Gebr. They often managed to capture the macabre stories as well as, or even better than, anything depicted in the stories themselves.
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