Showing posts with label Jack Klugman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jack Klugman. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 07, 2018
A Flying Dutchman of the Space Age
In 1993, "Groundhog Day" was a truly clever premise for a movie.
But it wasn't truly original.
With apologies to Twilight Zone creator Rod Serling, I would submit for your approval the suggestion that Twilight Zone explored the concept of re–living something repeatedly less than a week after Groundhog Day in 1963 — 55 years ago today, in fact — in the episode "Death Ship."
It wasn't as clear in "Death Ship" as it was in "Groundhog Day." But that is how Twilight Zone operated. Viewers frequently had to wait until the very end to understand what had been going on.
A three–man crew (Jack Klugman, Ross Martin and Fred Beir) was on a mission to explore space in search of planets to analyze and determine if they could be colonized. In the course of carrying out this mission, the astronauts spotted a shining light from a planet. The possibility existed that the planet might be more than merely capable of supporting life; it might actually be doing so, and the astronauts decided to land on the planet and investigate.
On the surface of the planet, they discovered a crashed spaceship had been responsible for the sparkle they had seen from space. The spaceship looked remarkably like their own. Upon closer inspection, they determined that it was a ship from Earth — and they decided to enter it and assess the damage.
When they did so, they had a revelation — the ship was theirs, and their lifeless bodies were inside.
It goes without saying that this was an unnerving experience, and the crewmen were understandably shaken by it. But the commander (Klugman) kept his head and insisted that there had to be a logical explanation for what they had seen.
The commander concluded that they had bent time in such a way as to peek into the future. He reasoned that they could escape their fate by remaining on the planet and not going back into space, thus averting the entire crash. The crewmen grudgingly accepted the commander's version of events.
At that point, Beir's character was transported to a country lane on Earth where he met up with people from his past who were known to be dead. He ran to the home in which he and his wife had lived, but he found no one there. All he found was a telegram reporting his death.
Klugman brought him back and told him he had been having an hallucination.
Martin was having an hallucination of his own. In his hallucination, he was reunited with his wife and daughter, who had been dead for some time. Klugman intervened in that one as well.
But his theory of what had happened had changed. He believed the planet was inhabited by creatures with telepathic power but little else they could use against intruders. To avoid being colonized, they were using this power to plant terrifying visions in the minds of the astronauts to discourage them from recommending the planet for colonization.
He also believed that they should return to space. That would break the spell. So that is what they did — except when they returned to the planet, they still found the wreckage of the spaceship there. The crew members were convinced that they were dead, but Klugman wasn't, and he insisted that they would repeat the procedure as many times as it took for him to figure out the truth.
Thus the similarity between "Death Ship" and "Groundhog Day." in "Groundhog Day," the audience actually saw Bill Murray re–living the same day, and the humor (and, at times, poignance) was in the variations. In "Death Ship," the repetition was not seen, only anticipated — and there was nothing funny about it.
The first time I saw this episode, I had high hopes for it when I saw in the credits that the story was written by Richard Matheson, and he didn't let me down.
Not only was Matheson the writer responsible for "Death Ship," but he also wrote more than a dozen of the Twilight Zone's top episodes. Most were from the original series although Matheson did write an episode in the mid–'80s series reboot as well as some work for the 1983 Twilight Zone movie.
Whenever I see Matheson's name in the credits — for Twilight Zone or anything else — I am always assured of the quality of what I am about to see. His stories never had wasteful filler, which was frequently a problem for the one–hour episodes of the Twilight Zone in its fourth season.
If you are a fan of the Twilight Zone, you are sure to recognize some of Matheson's episodes. Probably the most famous was "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," in which a young William Shatner played a man recovering from a nervous breakdown who believed he saw a monster tampering with the wing of the airplane in which he was traveling.
My favorite Matheson–penned episode was "A World of His Own," the finale of the first season.
Labels:
1963,
Death Ship,
episode,
Fred Beir,
Groundhog Day,
Jack Klugman,
Richard Matheson,
Ross Martin,
space travel,
TV,
Twilight Zone
Saturday, January 04, 2014
Picking Up Extra Money
Oscar (Jack Klugman): I wouldn't bet somebody else's money on just a horse. I bet it on a horse. A sure thing.
Once, I gave some money to my friend Steve, about whom I have written before, to run an errand for me.
I don't remember the details surrounding that now. Maybe I had to work a double shift or something. Maybe that is why I couldn't run the errand myself.
Anyway, I gave this money to Steve and told him what I needed him to do with it — and he wound up betting it on a horse. I confronted him about that. I was angry about the way he had used my money after swearing to me that he would run my errand as I requested. Steve got a little defensive. I guess neither of us handled that matter terribly well.
I mention that now only because it is relevant to the episode of The Odd Couple that aired 40 years ago tonight. It was called "The Moonlighter," and it was about how Oscar had been given some money to buy season tickets to the Yankee games. He had gambled the money on "a sure thing" that turned out to be not so sure after all, and he was moonlighting at a diner to earn the money back.
His roommate, Felix (Tony Randall), was understanding about Oscar's predicament — until he learned it was his money that had been squandered. Well, actually, it was one of Felix's clients' money, but Felix had trusted Oscar with it, and he felt his trust had been betrayed.
Felix didn't like the idea of Oscar continuing to work in the greasy spoon at nights. He thought it would jeopardize Oscar's full–time job at the newspaper, and he suggested that Oscar work in Felix's photography studio to earn the money to cover the price of the tickets.
There was no real lesson to be learned from the story, I suppose. Felix was going to do a photo shoot with three beautiful girls, and he instructed Oscar that he was to treat them as "colleagues and co–workers" — which Oscar did, sort of.
The lesson, perhaps, came at the end when Oscar, to show his appreciation to Felix for his help and understanding, made a meaningful gesture.
Well, it was meaningful to Felix.
Oscar, the ultimate slob, had cleaned up his room.
Felix was stunned upon seeing it. "I'm very impressed," he told Oscar — until he lifted the bed cover to reveal Oscar's dirty clothes. Apparently, Oscar had just gathered them up off the floor and stuffed them under the bed cover until after Felix's inspection.
Same old Oscar.
Labels:
1974,
episode,
Jack Klugman,
sitcom,
The Odd Couple,
Tony Randall,
TV
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Ides of April
Oscar (Jack Klugman): Hey, where'd you find those alimony checks?
Felix (Tony Randall): They were in a shoebox marked "gambling losses."
Every American who pays taxes could relate to the episode of The Odd Couple that aired for the first time 40 years ago tonight.
Certainly, anyone whose returns have been audited could relate to it.
Felix was contacted by the IRS and was asked to come in. No further details were offered so, being the hyperactive fussbudget that he was, Felix began imagining all sorts of dire scenarios involving tax evasion charges and prison sentences.
Anyway, when he arrived at the IRS office, Felix immediately launched into an indignant defense of his meticulously kept tax returns. His returns were always neater and clearer than anyone else's, he fumed. If anyone should be audited, it should be his messy roommate, Oscar.
Then he learned that he wasn't being audited at all. The IRS agent simply wanted to meet the man who, year after year, filed the neatest and best–kept returns her office saw. In tax season, when anything and everything was submitted under the heading of tax return, Felix's returns were a joy to behold.
And she called in her co–workers to meet him, and they all stood and applauded Felix, who beamed with appreciation.
But then the IRS agent reflected on what Felix had said and wanted to find out more about Felix's roommate. Try as he might, Felix couldn't back out of it.
And Oscar was called in for an audit of his returns.
Oscar, of course, was furious with Felix, especially after it was revealed that Oscar's returns really were about as bad as one could possibly imagine. Over the years, he had submitted "receipts" written on items like cocktail napkins and footballs.
They were a mess, and it looked like Oscar was going to be hit with a heavy fine along with past–due taxes.
But, at the last minute, Felix came to the rescue. He had been researching Oscar's finances and found something of interest. Oscar had been married but he and his wife had divorced. As part of the divorce settlement, he was required to pay alimony.
The IRS agent didn't remember that Oscar had once had a co–filer. Oscar did, of course. Consequently, the agent didn't know he had been divorced. Oscar did, of course.
But he hadn't been taking the tax deductions he should have taken for that because he didn't know about them. The IRS agent did, of course.
And Felix had determined that the IRS owed money to Oscar, not the other way around.
Upon reflection, the IRS agent acknowledged that Oscar used to file a joint return.
"Didn't you ever wonder what became of his wife?" Felix asked.
"Looking at the way he keeps his records," the agent replied, "I just figured he lost her somewhere."
Hmmm. Sounds like my returns.
Labels:
1973,
episode,
Jack Klugman,
sitcom,
taxes,
The Ides of April,
The Odd Couple,
Tony Randall,
TV
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