TC Television Review: The Top Five Episodes of the Alfred Hitchcock Hour, by Amber Doll Diaz. Ep. 5 - 'The Jar'

A Review of “The Jar”, Alfred Hitchcock Hour.

Amber Doll Diaz

Episode title - “The Jar”
Director – Norman Lloyd
Series - The Alfred Hitchcock Hour
Broadcast date - 14 February 1964
Teleplay by - James Bridges
Based on - “The Jar” by Ray Bradbury
First print appearance - Weird Tales November 1944



Good Evening. Within the first five minutes of this popular installment of Alfred Hitchcock Hour entitled “The Jar”, you will suppose you are witnessing an account which merely pries at the mystery of a grim sideshow extraordinaire. Instead, it assumes a much more psychosomatic cast as it chronicles the nightmarish realities of a simple country life unexamined, a marriage not infallible, and the death of innocence. Originally penned by Ray Bradbury, and featured in Weird Tales in November of 1944, “The Jar” was later reprinted in Hitchcock’s anthology Fear and Trembling in October 1963. Without surprise, the episode garnered teleplay writer James Bridges an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Writing Achievement in Adapted Drama the same year. Lacking the win, “The Jar” regardless remains stellar in its effectiveness, certainly rivaling even the best of The Twilight Zone, a deservedly decorated feat all on its own.

Charlie Hill, played by Pat Buttram, is a discontented jellyfish of a Southerner who seems Faustian in his willingness to bargain for his deep rooted desires. Craving the admiration of his peers and the reigniting of his perforated marriage to the attractive but vain and insolent Thedy, Charlie makes an unusual purchase while visiting the carnival near his home. A sign there reads, “The Magic Jar... What Is It?” and thus he happens upon a standard mason jar, filled with inky water, which houses a strange amorphous creature. The glossy, seemingly tentacled, unearthly-eyed being within is indiscernible, captivating all who come into contact with it- including the viewer. Charlie convinces the sideshow barker to sell it to him for twelve dollars.

Many of the townsfolk and neighbors Charlie shares his simple life with are entranced, and flock to his home by nightfall to have a fellowship centered on guessing what exactly is in the jar. In an interesting plot point, each citizen gazes into its ghoulish waters and begin to vent while projecting their own personal misfortunes, fears and sorrows upon the jar. For a time it is something therapeutic for all who attend, especially Charlie, who is grateful and relishes his find, but not for the jealous and disgusted Thedy, who fumes in a corner.

This disturbing, atmospheric episode featured a fairly impressive cast, with Collin Wilcox (1935-2009) playing Thedy, the cunning, self-involved young wife of Charlie Hill, and who very deservedly becomes the episode’s “center of attention”. Collin Wilcox is remembered largely by fans of the iconic The Twilight Zone episode “The Number 12 Looks Just Like You”, but instantly recognized by myself as the young actress who portrayed Mayella Ewell in To Kill A Mockingbird (1962). A truly convincing and capable actress, and by golly, she sure did have a knack for playing conniving southern tarts!

Much like the backwoods low-life social commentary of Stephen King’s first novel Salem’s Lot, "The Jar" affords viewers a glimpse into the existence of darkness in prosaic men. Evil often goes hand-in-hand with banality, be it a lifestyle or mindset. Charlie and Thedy lead lives of such uneducated mundanity and longing, which ultimately drives them hellwards. Fans of Hitchcock seeking their noir fix will delight in the star-crossed pair’s mutual internal corruption as well as the deep disillusionment Charlie feels – a function of his lowly communal standing.

“The Jar” is a masterwork of character development, but mostly where it doesn't really count. It seems the more minor townspeople were given further reflective monologues than the three leads, including a cringe-worthy scene in which a character sinks in quicksand while a slave-like farm hand drones on and on about what he believes the innards of the jar to be, rather than assisting the victim at hand. I am certain this was meant to be an attempt at generating suspense, but it more irritated than captured me. Not to impugn his work too harshly, but perhaps if Hitchcock had directed in place of Norman Lloyd, (a fantasy, I know, with only 17 out of 268 Alfred Hitchcock Presents episodes directed by him, and but one Alfred Hitchcock Hour episode: “I Saw The Whole Thing” starring John Forsythe) this scene might have properly intensified the overall tension.

On a side note, happily I have found through research that the actual jar prop remains perfectly intact (albeit dusty) and never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting upon a collector’s nightstand. In my estimation, Bradbury's original short story is a crowning achievement of psychological horror, and supersedes this adaptation in terms of excellence as more than a matter of principle. I remain spellbound by his nebulously twisted imagery and often philosophical ability to describe a physical object of horror. However “The Jar”, when re-published in his 1955 collection The October Country was tossed to and fro by contemporary reviewers. The critical reception of the story was polarized when articulated by Carlos Baker for the New York Times, who harshly cataloged Bradbury as “a gifted writer making a play for the designation of the poor man's Poe…” and with Time Magazine calling him “the arrived monster-monger” and “fit replacement for August Derleth, eldritch statesman of the well-informed witchlover”. Typically I’d begin to lead you astray, Reader, with my absolute opinion on the silly matter of “replacements” for August Derleth, but for you I shall leave that door ajar.

TC Television Review: The Top Five Episodes of the Alfred Hitchcock Hour, by Amber Doll Diaz. Ep. 4 - 'Final Escape'

A Review of “Final Escape”, Alfred Hitchcock Hour.

by Amber Doll Diaz

Episode title - “Final Escape”
Director - William Witney
Series - Alfred Hitchcock Hour
Broadcast date - 21 Feb. 1964
Teleplay by – John Resko, Randall Hood, and Thomas H. Cannan Jr.
Based on – Reprieve by John Resko

Good evening. If you are a claustrophobic, an alcoholic or a convicted criminal, perhaps this is not the episode for you. However, if you are as bold and dare-deviling as our alliterative lead man Paul Perry (Edd Byrnes) then by all means, don’t bail on this one. Impressive in dynamic, but simpler in plot, “Final Escape” is a very straightforward episode, and thus gives me little leeway for detailing too many plot-points. That said, there will be just a handful of expository sentences here forth. I would gladly sacrifice length and points of interest in the hope that I should never spoil what is perhaps the strongest end reveal in Alfred Hitchcock Hour history.

Opening with a very Hitchcockian, divergent shot of an idyllic wooded lake, Paul Perry is apprehended by police after having recently escaped from prison. A notorious multiple bank robber, Perry is taunted by officers and then tossed back into the darkness from whence he came- along with an additional year added to his initial ten year sentence. Afterwards, we meet the elderly Doc, a “lifer” working the prison infirmary who also handles burial detail for all the convicts when they manage the age-old magic trick of making it out while still within. Doc suffers with alcoholism and the frailty of his polio-stricken niece Lisa. The warden, who despises Perry, puts him to work alongside Doc and it is then that they share their stories. Mutual compassion for their respective dilemmas makes the complacently sad Doc and the desperately wily Perry fast but unlikely friends, with something to offer on either end.

The dialogue here is balanced and clear, and character development is something of a dream for viewers, as it brings no confusion or vague allusions in terms of each individual’s motivations. Doc’s need for Perry’s money stems from the profound love that he feels for his ill niece, and this includes a tellingly heart-wrenching scene with the sickly girl during visiting hours. The warden despises Perry’s insubordination because it undermines his reputation of callous authority; and of course Perry longs to escape because he has clearly contemplated his own disdain for mundanity:

“That world out there Doc…it’s got a little more to offer me than what I can find in here.” 

“[in reference to the warden criticizing his ingratitude] Appreciate what?! The next ten years of mush, beans and sow bellies?!”

As compelling as the episode itself are the traumatic and true autobiographical events teleplay writer John Resko utilized when writing the episode. In 1930, John Resko and his accomplice had been tried and convicted for the murder of a store-owner during a botched robbery. Less than a year later, he found himself shaven and sweating in Sing Sing’s electric chair, quite literally moments away from execution when word came in of his pardon by President FDR. He was just nineteen years old. Friends and family had written tirelessly upon his true favorable nature as well as the mental hold his devious accomplice had on him. He was then transferred to the extremely crude and horrifying fortress-like Clinton Prison in New York, where he would be freed years later. Resko went on to publish a memoir entitled Reprieve in 1956, having spent decades painting and writing behind bars. He had gained a significant amount of notoriety as well, for on his behalf Groucho Marx once wrote: “Sir, I would be glad to sign a petition to have this artist released from the penitentiary. I agree with you that he has paid his debt to what is loosely called society.”

Certainly the most fundamental element of noir is the entwinement of disillusionment within the seedy annals of criminal activity, and if “Final Escape” can be described in any way it is in those terms. If events such as what befell John Resko don’t make for the ideal assist in crafting a noir installment, then I am no longer at liberty to say what might, and it is my defeated summation that a tale as potent as “Final Escape” is only further exalted by credible writing and writers. Having been drawn for the most part from actual happenstance, this episode is that much more memorable and well executed.

TC Television Review: The Top Five Episodes of the Alfred Hitchcock Hour, by Amber Doll Diaz. Ep. 3 - 'Consider Her Ways'

A Review of “Consider Her Ways”, Alfred Hitchcock Hour.

by Amber Doll Diaz

Episode title - “Consider Her Ways”
Director - Robert Stevens
Series - The Alfred Hitchcock Hour
Broadcast date - Dec 28, 1964
Teleplay by - Oscar Millard
Based on - “Consider Her Ways” novella by John Wyndham
First print appearance – Consider Her Ways and Others (1961)


Good Evening. Perhaps you have heard the expression, historically and often applied to either gender: ‘Men. You can’t live with ‘em, and you can’t live without ‘em’. If you find this turn of phrase to be personally relevant, please refer to this emotionally charged installment of Alfred Hitchcock Hour, knowledgeably titled “Consider Her Ways” by John Wyndham, and directed by Robert Stevens. You’ll be in for a timely change of heart.

“Consider Her Ways” begins with a short, celestial opening monologue which both captivated and mesmerized me upon first viewing.  Later plot events prove the reaction highly called for, as it usefully deepens the viewer’s experience whilst we connect with our protagonist, a young woman named Jane Waterleigh who undergoes a hazy, otherworldly ordeal. We first meet her as she awakens from an apparently medically induced slumber in a hospital bed, being tended to by two peculiar women, albeit a doctor and nurse. Curious enough is the unfortunate bodily state she then finds herself in as she reaches for a glass of water. Jane faints upon noticing her arm is hugely corpulent, along with the rest of her body, and thus we are to assume this is far from her typical understanding of herself. Curiouser still, is when Jane must be hand-carried by exclusively small people servants (as she cannot move properly under her own newly massive size) and brought to a palace or hall of Bizarro-world proportions.

Entrance ways around her are slanted as if leaning slightly; and one with a cinematically experienced eye might be thrilled to connect such interior architecture with the twisted expressionist dreamscape from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). This atmosphere I found most welcome, as more and more was revealed about who Jane is, and why she was in such a nightmarish place. Reluctantly and helplessly she settles in to what must be her home, accompanied by two similarly morbidly obese women. They, along with others, inform Jane that she is what is known as a “Mother”, illiterate bed-bound women whose sole purpose is to bear children, and that they live peacefully in a post-apocalyptic world where men have been globally extinct for as long as anyone present can remember.

With a brilliantly dynamic plot design, I was thoroughly engrossed and pleasantly surprised to find the mystery of it all as unpredictable as can be. Typically as I watch television shows first aired nearly a half century ago, I find myself automatically and involuntarily solving the reveals as soon as the fifteen minute mark has passed. This was not the case here, and it is this masterful timelessness that I appreciated above all. However, not all was fair as I was let down by a separate but equal issue. Ultimately, this episode just about misses the mark for me, but on a thematic level. When I expected Jane to experience internal growth and closure after her personal loss is described along the way, there was no transition from innocence to experience. The focal character ends up flat and static, even derelict, unlike the persona we expected of her, after her initial admissions of nobility in her education and profession. Jane’s strong sense of self is entirely diminished and a mentally unhinged, clingy side of her is revealed in scope as large as a Mother.

Barbara Barrie, who played protagonist Jane, was an exceedingly adept actress, following closely the melodrama written for the scenes but not overpowering them. Fans of Hitchcock will enjoy this tentatively feminist piece for its trepidation riddled twists and turns, but others might only find it thematically confusing even if interesting. I was left hanging as to the overall emblematic message, but for many this is irrelevant to their enjoyment of the episode, as the literal plot is quite comprehendible and tense.

‘Consider Her Ways’ is based upon a 1961 John Wyndham novella, published within a collection entitled Consider Her Ways and Others, alongside short stories. Having read the online text, I am pleased to report the television version very similar to its ink and paper cousin, even down to exact dialogue ripped straight from the pages of origin. Enjoy the episode, and just before bed, remember to lend an embrace or handshake to the man nearest you, because how awful it would be to awaken and forcibly realize their transience.

TC Television Review: The Top Five Episodes of the Alfred Hitchcock Hour, by Amber Doll Diaz. Ep. 2 - 'Dear Uncle George'

A Review of “Dear Uncle George”, Alfred Hitchcock Hour

by Amber Doll Diaz

Episode title - “Dear Uncle George”
Director – Joseph Newman
Series - The Alfred Hitchcock Hour
Broadcast date - May 10th 1963
Teleplay by - James Bridges, William Link, and Richard Levinson


Good evening.  It is well known to authoritative fans and casual watchers alike, that Alfred Hitchcock was a singularly  identifiable artist, in physique as well as technique and signature archetypes.  In “Dear Uncle George”, episode thirty in season one, we are afforded the treat of multiple Hitchcockian watermarks…but as has always been the case, blood is much thicker than water.

When you’re seeking a hare-footed, basic rendering of something truly Hitchcockian, be it for personal reference or for showing some noir novice a thing or two, do try consulting your “Dear Uncle George”. It may seem more efficient to break out your limited edition collector’s set for North by Northwest or Psycho, but hear me out: you have your unfettered, metallic-tongued platinum-blonde female lead, the innocent man accused of a crime, and in case you’re missing the kitchen sink, there’s even a charming duo of fairly incompetent police officers who can’t be bothered to follow up on fingerprint checking after a particularly suspicious murder has taken place. Astonishingly, all of this is well coordinated into just one finely written hour.

Meet John Chambers, advice columnist known to his many troubled and lovelorn readers under the pseudonym “Uncle George”. He resides in a swanky Art Deco-inspired penthouse on New York City’s famous Park Avenue with his sharp-witted and beautiful, full-bodied wife, Louise. Seems he’s got it made, but that’s not where our writers intended to keep him. Ironically, the man, who from the opening scene is leisurely dictating expert counsel to his secretary for his loyal fans, soon finds himself devoured by his own emotions and commits a heinous crime of passion (Well, he IS cutting up female paper dolls in that scene). Naturally, we then meet our officers of the law: Duncan, a young sergeant vying to further establish himself in the force, and Wolfson, a seasoned veteran who is just about to end his run as lieutenant.

Speaking of seasoned veterans, “Dear Uncle George” was directed by none other than Joseph Newman who produced ten episodes in total throughout Alfred Hitchcock Hour’s run. This is unquestionably an episode that was richly-conceived, having also been borne from a trio of the prolific and masterful: James Bridges, William Link, and Richard Levinson. Link and Levinson were lifelong collaborators, and creators of the well known mystery series’ Murder, She Wrote. I suppose they might have changed the ‘she’ to ‘he’ this time around.

Furthermore, “Dear Uncle George” is simply brimming with interesting nuances such as symbolism achieved mise-en-scène (a technical term meaning ‘the look of the scene’). For example, a lover’s fatal wound is inflicted with nothing less than a small statue of the god Cupid, as well as modernist paintings and abstract art are visible-even emphasized- in most shots of the apartment, featuring distorted faces, symbolizing the fact that a character is not what he or she seems. Not to mention a hot steam room in which a character’s true intentions are revealed, denoting human purification and emotional absolution, making the intimately enclosed room a confessional of sorts.

Due in part to Gene Barry’s (John Chambers) regrettably over-emotive ham acting, this installment is rich in comic relief, even if it does resort to falling back upon racial stereotypes such as a subservient Asian woman, and an Irish repairman who can’t resist a drink. Personally, I wouldn't come down too hard on such setbacks, being that production time was thin and many writers were forced to lean on such trappings. Hopefully “Dear Uncle George” does well to scratch any persistent ‘Hitch’ you might have. Here is where I end my own editorial advisory, but all I ask is that no reader approaches me seeking personal advice, lest I too meet a passionate, mysterious end.