The first segment is better than the other two.
First, "The Cemetery". Rather than Southern Gothic horror, I find it more likely influenced by Hawthorne's House of Seven Gables. Where? Clearly, in the portrayal of generational guilt, culminating in the execrable Jeremy. For Jeremy seems the logical, if final, result of a family line dedicated to dishonesty and amorality. Uncle William (Hendricks) is himself a death obsessed picture of decay who has infected everyone and everything around him, including--in one of those wonderful Serlingesque Twilight Zone type twists--the seemingly loyal manservant, Portifoy. Poor put upon Portifoy turns out to be corrupt, avaricious, and greedy to the point of driving the foul Jeremy to insanity and death.
The art and set direction contribute mightily to the oppressive sense of doom in this segment. The color scheme in particular drives home the theme of impending demise and finality. Filled with cold bronzes (not gold, not amber but bronze), every shot of the molding, the staircase, the curtains, sheets, wallpaper, and even the cold bronze statues situated throughout more than hint at the vehicle of death, the bronze casket itself. Even the flesh tones of Jeremy and Portifoy melt into these bronzes. Only the ashen Hendricks stands out.
Yet Hendricks also projects the other apparent dominant color scheme, the ashen grey white which fills the space between the bronzes and reflects the outer color of the house per se. It's tomb like. Yes, the cast of characters are living in a virtual casket, surrounded by a gloomy mausoleum.
Thus the end of "The Cemetery" is not really a surprise. And Jeremy and Hendricks never really leave their graves. They've been residing in them all along, as has Portifoy. Woe be it to the next tenant of that house.
The segment, "Eyes", has always been one of my most disfavored ones. I don't know if it's the cast: I dislike Lady Joan, Tom Bosley, AND Barry Sullivan. I don't know if it's the oafish morality tale, typical of Serling sometimes but all coated in a sugary sort of irony that would be so typical of Spielberg as he developed. Or it might have been the static setting.
That said, there is one scene that does have merit. The one in the lawyer's office, where Resnick signs up to donate his eyes. In what would be a throw away moment, otherwise, Heatherton offers Resnick a drink. It's a drink from an ornate tumbler, just the sort of cold, useless bauble that Claudia Menlo would find so appealing. Resnick doesn't even notice it. Instead, he reminisces about what he has seen, a fight, a baseball game, the real things of his life, where image merges with sound, smell, and taste. Whatever Resnick's failings, he is still a whole person, a complete human being.
Not so our Mrs. Menlo. She has compartmentalized every facet of her existence in her quite literally golden gilded cage. She is surrounded by art objects, all just as cold as the frozen blue dress we first see her in as well as in iceberg-like blue eyes.
Other flaws: Of course, the first thing any viewer would want to know is why someone who had never had sight a day in her life would have a surgery whose grant of sight over such a brief time would STILL leave here without seeing a day in her life. For some odd reason, Mrs. Menlo chose to time the operation so she only had the nighttime. Well, probably not such an "odd" reason, as the story wouldn't have worked without the night setting, and the great New York City blackout of 1965 was also fresh in viewers' minds. Oh, and just another thought: a lonely woman, living alone in her own apartment building. Wouldn't she have her own emergency generators, especially as that NYC blackout of 65 was indeed so fresh in the memory?
"The Escape Route", the last segment, contains a couple of desperate performances, alas. Others will disagree, but that is all I could think about as I watched it. And it was especially true when Strobe gave his "confession" to Gretchen through the shared wall of their apartments. What could have, and should have, been played with subtlety, perhaps pensiveness, quiescence, and moral confusion, was instead given over to Gretchen's cackle and the Sermon From a Whore. It just didn't work.
Next, there is the issue of the sympathy we feel for Strobe. Intended or not (No doubt "not") the degree of sympathy for him is enormous, simply because the rest of the cast was filled with such sanctimony, including that self-satisfied smirk on Serling's face as he walked away at the end. Too, what felt sooo out of place, at least today, was all the 1960s psychologizing about guilt and justice, which was the segment's essential theme. It's a misreading of human nature, IMHO. One thing we've had plenty of opportunity to observe since this segment was made is that mass murderers and genocidal maniacs do NOT feel guilt. Quite the opposite, they usually feel that they're doing God's work.
One last remark. Sam Jaffe playing the quintessential Jew was a disaster. Isn't it a wee discordant to have a crucifixion symbolize Jewish suffering? Not to mention making a referral to Jesus the last word uttered by the strangled Blüm. It just seemed wrong. All this in addition to Blüm's character being more creepy than Strobe!
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