Turning to the Bard

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I like comedy.

Given a choice, I would prefer to watch a sitcom on TV than any other kind of show. Being a writer myself, I appreciate the well–crafted dialogue that is the hallmark of truly great comedy. But if the show is not a sitcom and it tries to do a crossover, it usually falls flat.

That was the problem for Twilight Zone on a few occasions. It was designed to be a dramatic program, and its comedy episodes generally did not work. A case in point is "The Bard," which first aired 55 years ago tomorrow night.

It was written by series creator Rod Serling and served as the finale for the fourth season. It was also Twilight Zone's final one–hour episode; the fifth season marked a return to the half–hour format. As I have mentioned on this blog, there were some excellent episodes in the one–hour format. "The Bard" was not one of them.

Jack Weston, whose work I usually enjoy, was a streetcar conductor–turned–aspiring TV screenwriter whose efforts kept getting rejected by TV executives. He was a shameless — and talentless — self–promoter who jumped at a chance to write a screenplay about black magic — even though he had no knowledge of black magic.

To make up for this deficiency he went to a bookstore in search of a book about black magic — and one literally flew off the shelves. It was loaded with spells, and Weston took it home with him. With the help of the book, Weston conjured up William Shakespeare (John Williams), who offered his services, and Weston took him up on it, intending to pass off Shakespeare's work as his own.

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Well, that was the plot in a nutshell.

Weston's play was accepted for production on a weekly TV playhouse program, and he was invited to appear on a program that featured all the hottest names in the industry.

But there were problems afoot, chiefly with Shakespeare, who resented not receiving credit for his considerable contributions. He agreed to stay until he had had a chance to assess the performances of the cast in a rehearsal the next day.

One of those cast members was Burt Reynolds.

Reynolds is known today as a movie actor, but in 1963 his experience was exclusively in television. His was not a new face — but it was a somewhat familiar face, having appeared in nearly two dozen TV series, almost always as a guest star.

He was a guest star in "The Bard," playing — fittingly — an actor named Rocky Rhodes, and he kept making noises about his "motivation."

It was all too much for Shakespeare, who decked Rhodes with a right cross and walked out on the rehearsal.

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That was a bit awkward for Weston, who had already been given his next assignment — an extensive program on American history. To meet it he conjured up several figures from American history — folks like Robert E. Lee, Ulysses S. Grant, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Benjamin Franklin, Pocahontas and others.

Spoiling the Perfect Murder

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Most television series run Christmas–oriented episodes at, you know, Christmas time.

But Alfred Hitchcock never did things the way other people did them.

Actually, the episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents that aired on this night in 1956, "Back for Christmas," really had very little to do with Christmas at all. It mostly just mentioned the holiday in the title.

See, the story centered on this middle–aged couple about to embark on a trip to America. The length of this trip was unclear, but they insisted they would be back in time for Christmas — hence, the mention of the holiday in the title. The apparent purpose of the trip was for the husband, John Williams, a metallurgist, to work on a temporary assignment on the West Coast.

On the day of their planned departure, Williams (who appeared in three Hitchcock movies and half a dozen other episodes of Alfred Hitchcock Presents) killed his wife and buried her in the basement, where he had ostensibly been digging a wine cellar. In typical Hitchcock fashion, viewers didn't see the blow that killed Williams' wife. They only saw him raise a club and bring it down where the audience knew her head to be.

Williams had directed her to take a close look at the hole he had been digging, and she fell right into it after the blow. The audience knew because there was an audible thud a few seconds after the club came down.

The audience also knew that, earlier in the episode, Williams had assessed his wife's height and compared it to the rectangular hole he had been digging. The camera allowed the viewers to see what Williams was seeing, and the audience knew that was no wine cellar. He had been digging her grave.

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The next thing the audience knew, Williams' ship was arriving in America. He and his wife had told their friends they didn't like to fly and were crossing the Atlantic by ship. They were taking their car with them so they could drive across the continent — and, I presume, to have their own transportation in America.

That neatly covered most of the loose ends.

The viewers watched Williams arrive in New York, then drive across the country to California, where he was set up in a ritzy hotel. He wrote forged letters from his wife to the friends back home, at first reassuring them that, yes, they would be back by Christmas, then gradually allowing doubt to creep into their minds. By the time the couple didn't return for Christmas, it would hardly be a surprise.

The surprise was on Williams. His wife — who could be bossy in the preparations for their departure — had secretly arranged for excavators to turn the basement into a wine cellar while they were gone.

Williams got an advance bill for the excavators' services, addressed to his wife, and he knew what that meant. In the course of their work, they would find the body.

Well, she had insisted that the excavators have the work done before Christmas. Apparently, that was to have been her Christmas gift to him. Instead, he was going to be getting a much different gift — presumably well before Christmas. It was only a matter of time before some detectives would be knocking on his door.

The story supposedly was based on a real murder in the United Kingdom. As I understand it, the perpetrator in real life was a doctor who dismembered his wife after killing her.

That was too messy for Hitchcock. I do recall he made one movie in which a man killed and dismembered his wife, but it was all supposition until late in the movie. As a matter of fact, I believe that movie was based on the same case.

That's the way Hitchcock liked it. He's been gone more than 30 years; I think he would have been very uncomfortable with the horror movies that have been at the theaters since he's been gone. They're mostly too gory, too graphic for his taste.

Hitchcock preferred more style than that, more sophistication. He almost always presented murders in such a way that there was at least a touch of ambiguity. You might be 99% certain that someone killed someone else, as Jimmy Stewart was in "Rear Window," but it was always hard to get around that last 1%. I guess it was Hitchcock's way of reminding us that suspicion of guilt is not the same thing as proof of guilt.

Not a bad thing of which to be reminded, is it?

The Wrong Number?

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Tony (Ray Milland): How do you go about writing a detective story?

Mark (Robert Cummings): Well, you forget detection and concentrate on crime. Crime's the thing. And then you imagine you're going to steal something or murder somebody.

Tony: Oh, is that how you do it? It's interesting.

Mark: Yes, I usually put myself in the criminal's shoes and then I keep asking myself, what do I do next?

Margot (Grace Kelly): Do you really believe in the perfect murder?

Mark: Mmm, yes, absolutely. On paper, that is. And I think I could plan one better than most people; but I doubt if I could carry it out.

Tony: Oh? Why not?

Mark: Well, because in stories things usually turn out the way the author wants them to; and in real life they don't always. I'm afraid my murders would be something like my bridge. I'd make some stupid mistake and never realize it until I found everybody was looking at me.

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"Dial M for Murder" premiered 60 years ago today.

That was before my time — which is true of nearly every Hitchcock movie — but I still enjoy watching it whenever it's on.

It seems dated now, I admit, but I didn't mind that when I saw it the first time. Nor did I mind that nearly all the action takes place in a single location, which makes it seem more like a stage play than a movie. Actually, the movie was based on a very successful stage play.

The author of that play, Frederick Knott, did the screenplay as well, which may account for its virtually seamless presentation. In my opinion, movie adaptations of books or plays usually turn out better if the original author is involved. That isn't always possible, of course, but if the author is involved, it seems to improve the chances that his/her vision will be faithfully represented on the big screen.

Well, it helps to have a good cast, too — and the cast of "Dial M for Murder" was top notch. I have written before of my admiration for Grace Kelly, and she was excellent as Margot, Ray Milland's wealthy and (for the most part) faithful wife. Her character was also a bit naive, I thought. But I'll get back to that in a minute.

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At one point, Kelly was roused from her slumber by a ringing phone (which was intended to lure her into the living room, where her intended killer waited for her). It seemed to me, when I first saw "Dial M for Murder," that only a handful of humans have ever been able to roll out of bed and look like they were ready to go out on the town. Apparently, Grace Kelly was one of them.

Her character was also alert enough to fight back against her attacker and stab him with some scissors. She was convicted of murder (in one of the few segments in the movie that took place outside the cozy little flat that Kelly and Milland shared), but, apparently, she never figured out that Milland had planned the attack.

Well, not until the very end.

She had had an affair with an American writer (Robert Cummings) but then broke it off. He wrote several letters to her, all of which she destroyed except one, which disappeared. But she never put two and two together until it was spelled out for her at the end — the man she had killed had been sent to her apartment by her husband to kill her.

She had acted in self–defense.

I guess Margot was an exceptionally trusting sort. The first time I saw "Dial M for Murder," I thought Milland's complicity was obvious. Apparently, it never occurred to Kelly's character. Well, they say love is blind ...

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In his droll yet understated way, John Williams, as the chief inspector, helped persuade her that her husband was behind it all.

But, while I always enjoy watching Kelly in any of her movies (and she made three of them for Hitchcock), I have to say I don't think her British accent was very convincing. For me, that was and continues to be a distraction, mainly because "Dial M for Murder" is such a talkative movie.

There is more to it, I suppose. My parents spent a lot of time overseas in the first years of their marriage, and they met many people from other countries, some of whom came to visit us in the United States later. A few of those people were British so I had more exposure to that accent (and some of its variations) than most.

But perhaps I am nitpicking. Most people probably didn't notice.

"Dial M for Murder" may seem to have a transparent plot — but you have to remember that the plot hasn't been a secret for 60 years. It probably packed quite a punch when it was new. Personally, I have always thought the early scene in which Milland blackmailed his old friend into murdering his wife was impressive.

AllMovie.com's Michael Costello appeared to agree. "Kelly, and Robert Cummings as her lover, are forced to contend with underwritten stock characters," Costello wrote. "Neither comes off particularly well."

I'm not sure I would take it quite that far. I have already praised Knott's "seamless" story and the quality of the cast — and I stand by that. I still think "Dial M for Murder" was a good movie, but maybe Costello was on to something. Kelly and Cummings did not come off well even though their characters prospered. Maybe it was hard for some viewers to care what happened to them.

Sometimes, I suppose, all the elements in a movie are good — until they're mixed together.

Technically, "Dial M for Murder" was noteworthy for its early attempt at 3–D. If you look closely, you can see remnants of the rudimentary technology that Hitchcock used to create the 3–D effect.

Personally, I have never really cared for the 3–D effect, but I was never sure why until I read an online journal entry by Roger Ebert.

"There is a mistaken belief that 3–D is 'realistic.' Not at all," Ebert wrote. "In real life we perceive in three dimensions, yes, but we do not perceive parts of our vision dislodging themselves from the rest and leaping at us. Nor do such things, such as arrows, cannonballs or fists, move so slowly that we can perceive them actually in motion. If a cannonball approached that slowly, it would be rolling on the ground."

I guess that explains it.