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The Twilight Zone Review: One More Pallbearer

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By William Kozy

“One More Pallbearer” could indeed have used a few more voters to carry it up from the near-depths of the survey results to the question: “What is your favorite episode of the original Twilight Zone series?” Receiving only 3 votes, it was tied with 6 other episodes for 133rd thru 139th place. I think it deserved a bit better than that. It’s got some sharp dialogue by Rod Serling and an expertly performed quartet of performances by the small cast.

Now, in the very enjoyable book “The Twilight Zone Companion,” Marc Scott Zicree writes, “Joseph Wiseman plays his role as the neurotic millionaire with such vulnerability and the others their roles with such unfeeling coldness that we cannot help but feel pity for him and contempt for the others.”

While it’s of course impossible to agree with everything Mr. Zicree writes in his fine book, I’d like to use this opportunity to vehemently disagree with his perspective on this one episode, only because it’s the one that I have the most directly opposing opinion of, and not just a minor one. Firstly, I should say that Wiseman’s performance is a very good one, and I think Mr. Zicree would probably agree on that point. But he makes the mistake of extrapolating from the actor’s good, solid work, and assigning an overly sympathetic view of the character. And somehow, I’m not sure why, but he also finds “unfeeling coldness” in the other cast members? That’s mysterious to me, particularly in the case of Katherine Squire’s portrayal of the school teacher who punished Wiseman’s Paul Radin when he was her student.

But allow me to back up. The premise of this episode has filthy rich Paul Radin summon three people from his past to come to his company’s building for the purpose of confronting them about what he feels were injustices perpetrated against him. He has set up a prank of sorts—constructed a sort of bomb shelter below the depths of the building, and arranged for some special effects on a screen and on loudspeakers to simulate an Armageddon-like bomb explosion. He seeks to frighten these three visitors into begging his forgiveness and apologizing for the past. He wants them to beg him to allow them to stay there in the shelter.

One “guest” is Colonel Hawthrone, Radin’s commanding officer who had Radin court-martialed for refusing to carry out an order which caused a delay and wound up getting fellow soldiers in the battalion killed in World War II. Portrayed by Trevor Bardette, I loved his reactions as he recalls his association with Radin. Hawthorne’s reaction to Radin’s reminding him of how his testimony got Radin dishonorably discharged, is admittedly the most unforgiving of the three visitors: “You were fortunate Mr. Radin. Were I to have been able to dictate the sentence, I would’ve had you shot.” Perhaps that seems unfeelingly cold but I would remind one to consider all those young men that got slaughtered because of Radin. All those mothers who will be visited on their front porch by a messenger to tell them their babies won’t be coming home. Think about that and then ask yourself if you yourself wouldn’t want to slap Radin’s perpetual smirk right off his face. Again, this is not a criticism of Wiseman’s performance, in fact I praise it instead, for making him so detestable. It is Radin who seems the most unfeeling, grinning so very smugly throughout, even when confronted with the horrors of his actions.

And there is Mrs. Langford, the teacher. The scene between Radin and her features some outstandingly written dialogue by Rod Serling, swatting the ball back and forth in the court of audience opinion, playing with our viewpoint on righteousness until finally Mrs. Langford wins the point, and we see the fuller picture of Radin’s dastardliness: “You flunked me Mrs. Langford. Dressed me down before an entire class, called me names, humiliated me.” For the time being we consider that. No child should be humiliated, isn’t that right? Radin calls Mrs. Langford “that staunch and intrepid educator that looks so out of place without her severe spectacles, covering severe eyes, looking out of her severe face, and possessing that vast prerogative that comes from the local school board and the vast courage that comes with pitting all her wits and instinct against captive children.” We begin to get the notion that it is Radin who seems the more likely to wield humiliation as his weapon of choice. Mrs. Langford fires back and really sets the moral compass of the characters properly:

“All right Paul, let’s talk about humiliation”. She pauses, and explains to the others that Mr. Radin was caught cheating on an exam. “Not a crime of course” she concedes, “but perhaps a bit indicative of the character of the person who does it. And when he was accused of this act” he “tried to plant his crib sheets on an innocent student.”

She tells them that she stood Radin up and told him what he was, to which Radin stirs our sentiments with, “But no room was there then, Mrs. Langford, for a moment of compassion. For an iota of sympathy for a poor, frightened desperate boy?” Touche. But the strong, sturdy and wise Langford counters: “Mr. Radin, I’ve dealt with frightened and desperate children all my life, and it may surprise you to know that I’ve lent them more of sympathy and of compassion than I’ve lent them of knowledge. But neither sympathy nor compassion can be handed out wholesale like cheap bubble gum. The recipient must be worthy of them. And you never were.

You were a devious, dishonest troublemaker. And in spite of all your millions, it’s my guess you are still devious, you are still dishonest, and I have no doubt, even now you’re a troublemaker.” Game, set, match. And Wiseman’s take on Radin, his reactions let us know he’s irredeemable. He has teeny tiny little glimpses of regret perhaps, it’ll take rewatching to pin them down, but it is a performance light years away from a display of “such vulnerability” as to make us feel like he was bullied by these other three characters. In fact, any sort of sign of vulnerability from Radin is based more on a selfish ego trip in which he’s disappointed he didn’t win the point, and not because he has any sort of genuine compassionate regret.

Radin accuses the Reverend, Mr. Hughes as having destroyed his reputation years ago, but the Reverend relates how Radin drove a young girl to suicide with his dishonorable treatment of her. It’s this accusation that apparently most gets under Radin’s skin, as he rises abruptly and angrily out of his chair, “You can go to the devil, Reverend.” He drops his smug smile and starts in with the threats. He unveils to them that he knows the world is coming to an end. But instead of pleas from them he is only faced with their willingness to leave him immediately and brave the disastrous end that awaits them so they can be with their loved ones. Radin tries accusing them of being more concerned with their “precious hide” their “sanctified flesh.” That, after all is what Radin would be thinking about, so it’s easy to see how he couldn’t possibly imagine actual humaneness.
Radin tells them that the price to stay is to beg his pardon, to ask for his forgiveness. It’s a sign of Radin’s inhumanity that he not only make that stipulation, but that he can’t even see as we do that in a million years they would never acquiesce to such a thing. Mrs. Langford puts it best: “If I am to spend my last quarter-hour on Earth I’d rather spend it with a stray cat.” They insist on leaving, and Radin can’t take it; inexplicably he allows them to exit, and throws a temper tantrum in his shelter before heading up in the elevator.

Some of this episode “doesn’t work” as Mr. Zicree puts it, but it is not at all due to the portrayals. Those are in fact the strongest point. The ending I’d say isn’t quite believable; that’s what I’d quibble with. Watching this episode provides a valuable lesson to those studying acting—observe how all the players pace the dialogue with a kind of swiftness that avoids “overplaying” the emotions. This approach provides a believability because nobody’s forcing the situation down our throats, as if they needed to. The words in the dialogue spark memorably enough without having actors “push” it. That would have killed “One More Pallbearer.”

I rate this episode a 7.

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