The Twilight Zone Review: No Time Like The Past

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By William Kozy

Sometimes the flowery prose Rod Serling writes works out very nicely in “Twilight Zone” episodes—the tone and circumstances of the story help determine the appropriateness of that style. He attempts it here as well, but from the very opening scene it feels off, forced. And it doesn’t help that the lead character Paul Driscoll, played by Dana Andrews is as interesting as a rice cake. But do watch Andrews in the 1957 horror film classic “Curse of the Demon” directed so evocatively by Jacques Tourneur; Andrews’ style is well-suited to the character there. “No Time Like The Past” is one of the hour-long episodes, but don’t worry, it feels like two hours. And…it

received only 4 votes in my survey that asked, “What is your favorite episode of the original Twilight Zone series?” tying it with 9 other episodes for 124th thru 132nd place.

Paul Driscoll is disenchanted with humanity and the world at large so he sets out to use a time machine to go back in time to see if he can intervene at key moments and set the future on a better course. What’s hard to swallow is that even though he tells his friend that there’s no guarantee he’ll end up where and when he wants to, he indeed manages to arrive in the most precisely significant place and time for his pop-ins: a Japanese police captain’s office in Hiroshima just few minutes before the bomb is dropped, a hotel room (with a rifle) and a window facing a terrace across from where Hitler is giving a speech, and aboard the Lusitania moments before it is torpedoed. Each visit resulted in a failure to influence history.

Driscoll returns to his home base and time, understanding that the course of history is immutable. He is defeated, but his spirit isn’t crushed. Instead he is content to go with his Plan B. Still wishing to escape the unpleasantness he finds in his modern day existence, he plans to visit a town called Homeville in Indiana that he has read about in a book “A Study of 19th Century Midwest America.” On page 90 the book describes the idyllic town in 1881, and how charming it was. Paul explains to his friend Harvey that he will be going back there to live out his years in a serene existence of “band concerts, and summer nights on front porches—a world that never heard of an atomic bomb or world war or germ warfare.” He’s going back there “to live, not to change anything.” Yes, our Paul Driscoll is yet another character in the pantheon of Twilight Zone men obsessed with visiting a past that they imagine was a paradise of simplicity, a recurring theme in the show: Martin Sloan in “Walking Distance”, Gart Williams in “A Stop at Willoughby,” Booth Templeton in “The Trouble With Templeton,” Dean Jagger in “Static,” Charles Whitley in “Kick The Can.”

We cut to Driscoll walking through the town dressed in appropriate period garb, observing the couple walking with parasols, men riding Penny Farthing bicycles, and a gazebo in the middle of the town square. He stops in a quaint watering hole and orders a beer from the bartender, and to me seems unduly surprised that it costs only a nickel. He picks up a newspaper there on the table and reads a headline: “President Garfield To Attend Commencement Exercises At Williams’ College.” We can tell that something gnaws at him as he mutters, “It begins, right away it begins…” He looks at a calendar and realizes that “It’s tomorrow.” For those viewers who know their history, they’ll perhaps assume he’s talking about the assassination attempt on Garfield. He walks out purposefully, and we suspect he’ll want to save the day, despite having learned that it’s impossible. Or is it? The last words his friend Harvey told him before Driscoll left were to be very careful about changing anything because the slightest change could bring about a drastic change in the future. So which is it? It seems that we won’t find out as he muses aloud to himself upon leaving the bar that tomorrow Garfield will be shot. “So be it” he surrenders, and heads over to a boarding house he eyed and which the bartender recommended.

There he is introduced to the local school teacher, Abigail Sloan, played by Patricia Breslin who was William Shatner’s wife in “Nick of Time” another episode exploring the theme of the mutability of the future. There are some sparks between them for sure, and as Driscoll settles into his room, he contentedly lists the pleasures that await him in this setting, saying finally, “I’m home.”

The best scene in the episode comes that evening as the borders sit around the dinner table, including one particular loudmouthed Mr. Hanford, portrayd by Robert Cornthwaite who played the director in “Showdown With Rance McGrew” yet another episode toying with the conflict between present and past. Hanford blathers on about American politics and trumpeting his brand of jingoism and nationalist aggression. Serling does a good job with him, but comes back even stronger with Driscoll’s retort. After Abigail voices her opinion that the country has seen enough war, and Hanford bullies back at her about spoon-feeding her school children, Driscoll fires back. Asked with suspicion if he’s “some kind of pacifist,” Driscoll answers, “No, I’m just some kind of sick idiot that has seen too many young men die because too many old men like you fight their battles at dining room tables.” And, “I take offense at arm chair warriors who don’t know what a shrapnel wound feels like, or what death smells like after three days in the Sun, or the look in a man’s eyes when he realizes he’s minus a leg and his blood is seeping out. Mr. Hanford, you have a great enthusiasm for planting the flag deep, but you don’t have a nodding acquaintance with what it’s like to bury men in the same soil.” When Hanford takes offense and gets up to leave, Driscoll’s parting shot is, “You’ll go back to your bank and it’ll be business as usual, until the next dinnertime when you’ll give another of your vacuous speeches about a country growing strong by filling its graveyards.” You want to pat Serling on the back and tell him “Thank you” after that.

Driscoll leaves in a huff after tossing a heated history lesson at Hanford, and Abigail follows quickly behind, catching up to him out in the square. The two have a getting-to-know-you scene. They share a tender kiss, and then people gather across the way when word comes over the telegram that President Garfield has been shot. The end of the scene then plays a bit illogically. Driscoll had told Abigail how much he wants to come in, after she describes that she feels like she’s a passerby, looking in. And then he goes into this sad sack bit about how it cannot be. The writing is going for a feeling of mawkish impossible romance, but why is he saying how impossible it is, if this is exactly what he’s said outright he’s been looking for? He gives no clear reason for the turnabout, especially after such a kiss. Abigail runs off.

The next morning, they resume the mysterious back and forth of who he is and what matters. He doesn’t reveal much though and she runs off to school to tend to her students.

Driscoll relaxes in the gazebo, making pleasant small talk with one of the townsmen practicing his French horn for the Fourth of July concert. The subject of the schoolhouse comes up and it rings a bell for Driscoll. He remembers something distressing, and he goes to his room fetching the history book. He reads about how the building will burn down that very day because of a “kerosene lantern from a runaway wagon.” He wrestles with what to do, not wanting to intervene. Why the change of heart? He went back to kill Hitler, didn’t he think that would alter the future? And if he convinced himself that the future can’t be affected, then why not go ahead and try to save the school children?

His solution is a completely awkward attempt, as he tries to force a snake oil salesman to unhitch his horses from the wagon with the lamps. His dumb aggressiveness as he tussles with the salesman cause the horses to get spooked and take off galloping with the wagon. The lamps of course set the school afire—with Driscoll being the cause of it.

That night, Abigail confronts him, asking how he knew the accident would occur. He confesses to knowing too much about the town’s future. He explains how he realizes he doesn’t belong there because the past is sacred, belonging to those who live in it. They share one last kiss and he walks away, back to the future (sans DeLorean).

Back with his friend Harvey, he tells him that perhaps he should be concentrating on the tomorrows because that’s what really counts.

I’ll rate this episode a 5.5, but who knows what I’ll rate it tomorrow. Or yesterday.

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