Fear in the Night - reframed - McCroy's Away Mission

Fear in the Night (1947), directed by Maxwell Shane, starring:

According to Wikipedia,this was Kelley's film debut.

The film concerns a bank teller, Vince Grayson, who dreams that he has killed a man in an octagonal room of mirrors --that makes the fight eight times more exciting, right? He awakes with marks on his throat, blood on his wrist, and he finds a mysterious key and a button in his pocket. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, he is troubled. He goes about trying to locate, by way of advertisement, a house with such an octagonal room. No luck.

While on an outing with his girl Betty; and his sister Lil and brother-in-law Cliff (a police detective), some memories surface, leading him to his dream home -- or nightmare mansion. He finds blood in the closet behind one of the mirrors--the same place he had stashed the body in the dream, and to which the mysterious key fits--fits the closet, not the body.

When a local law enforcement officer who's keeping an eye on the place detains them, they learn that a woman was killed at the house--her description matches his recollection of a woman in his dream. Vince becomes seriously disturbed, almost even suicidal. His brother-in-law stymies his attempt to execute a double gainer into the roof of Cliff's new car from 20 floors up.

Detective Cliff (who makes me think of a half-price Dan Duryea) puts some clues together and does some detectivey stuff; he suspects that Vince has been hypnotized into committing murder. They prove it all by having the hypnotist do his thing once again to Vince, who is narrowly saved from drowning himself at the hypnotist's suggestion, or at the lake, or both, depending on how you look at it.

After all this, Vince still has to go to court to defend himself against a murder rap. We don't get to discover the outcome; it's just  sort of, "Thanks for helping us resolve this case, and good luck with the jury on that self-defense and hypnosis Hail Mary angle you've got going; we're behind you all the way."

This film is entirely forgettable. It presses several of the obligatory film noir buttons (not to be confused with Red Buttons, who didn't like to be pushed at all): a stairway, window-blind shadows, fedoras, a good man made to do bad things... But it lacks a great film noir femme. The film hops along on one leg without this crucial element of the genre. I had hoped that the woman in the dream would prove to be the come-over-to-the-dark-side dame; we never see her again. Instead, we learn that she succumbed to a bad case of Pontiac's disease, communicated to her by a steel bumper and a set of whitewall tires.

Since this film stars not just a tree, but DeForest Kelley, it reminded me of a TOS mashup. It's "The City on the Edge of Forever" meets "A Piece of the Action" and "Return of the Archons" with a touch of "The Lights of Zetar."

I call the reframe: "Who's Lying Now" as told by Dr. Lemmy McCroy.

I had had a rough night. Captain Kork and his first officer Spirk had insisted on watching video clips of old ship's logs for some reason. I'm afraid I drowned my boredom in Cromulan ale, and bit of brandy from some backwater system where the fruit has naturally hallucinogenic properties. The last thing I remember was Scootty, who had taken the shape of an enormous red walrus, bragging about how he could transport the earrings off a Krigellian dancing girl without her even knowing it. Spirk, or a blue python hanging from a lavender tree that sounded like him, wondered why he should attempt such an endeavor. Then I passed out.

I woke up with a headache the size of Galaxy, a 1965 Ford Galaxy; my head was throbbing like the U.S.S. Interlude's impulse engines at maximum power. I looked around and knew immediately that I wasn't in my quarters. A strange familiarity pervaded the room. My first thought was that we had struck a time vortex, or a time guardian large enough to fly a star ship through...except, I didn't seem to be on the ship.

I found a strange religious symbol, and button on the table next to my bed, or maybe it was two religious symbols. I didn't know. For all I knew, they could be some powerful alien artifacts capable of warping time and space. Had these apparent trifles transported me through space and time? If so, to what?

I dressed in the clothes that I found in the room. No one stopped me. I went down to the street. I wandered into another building. I found a doll there with two names. She looked more like a Betty than a Vince to me. I decided to call her Betty. She told me about a guy who might be able to help me.

He was great at making dollhouse furniture. He wasn't so sure that he could construct a communicator, but he was willing to give it a try.

While he worked, I showed Betty how I could fold my hat to look almost like a bundle of old rags. She was real impressed, and started making eyes at me. I told her I had something in my eye.

I had her look into my eyes, and I did that trick I had learned on Ceti Alpha Bravo Delta. It made her scream and go into convulsions until she passed out; it works every time.

I felt badly about that, but it was hilarious...totally worth it. But I wrote her an apology. I also took out an ad in the local daily paper seeking information about the Interlude. If there were other members of the ship stranded on this planet, maybe I could reach them with a well-written personal ad.

I got a lot of calls on the ad, and even a couple swell dates...but I didn't find anyone from the ship.

My friend who was trying to build the communicator for me stopped by and told me to join him in his new vehicle. I thought that it was a strange craft, but I'm a doctor, not an automotive critic. I got inside to discover Betty and another gal.

The frail in the front seat told me that they had been working together on the transmitter. Unfortunately, the technology was forbidden, and monitored closely by some nefarious government agency. They had been forced to hide the tiny transmitter in Betty's back tooth, for secrecy's sake, of course. 

We stopped out in the woods. Betty and I wandered away from the road to avoid possible monitoring by the government. There I did my best to activate the device and get a message to the Interlude. Capt. Kork would've been proud of my efforts. That dame on the hollow spaceship planet had nothing on Betty.

I was still working on transmitting a rather lengthy message when the others came and told us that we had to leave. We walked to house where we hoped to be able to get a better signal.

I walked around the joint until I found a what looked like a primitive transporter room. However, I feared that any attempt to use it would send me to the mirror universe.

I was talking it over with my local contact. He was telling me that he didn't think that room was a transporter. He thought that it was a cloning machine capable of spitting out eight copies at a time. 

We didn't get very far into our discussion before some tough from the government burst in waving a rod authoritatively. Turns out that hiding the transmitter in Betty's molar had not been as covert as we had believed. He took us to a mousey little man smoking a pipe in front of a battery of filing cabinets.

"Betty," he said, "vas not so impressed vith that little trick you did ven you had her look into your eyes. She has been having nightmares. Ve had her examined veeeerry thoroughly, and ve discovered the transmitting device secreted in her molar. Also, Betty says dat you are not a very good kisser."

I wasn't sure which of his statements hurt me most. Probably that last one. I was about to explain that I was distracted by the whole attempt at sending a message, and that I had never had any complaints before. I didn't get the chance. Some kind of energy device dropped me on the spot. 

When I came to, my contact was trying to pry something from one of my teeth. We were back at the room where I had awoke earlier.

He backed away, slightly embarrassed about the situation. He claimed that he was trying to remove a tracking device that the government had placed in my tooth.

He suggested that suicide would be the only way out now. I grabbed a razor blade...but couldn't do it. I ran for the window. I figured that would be easier. 

He saw my move. "Not on my car, you don't!" he screamed, leaping to prevent my auto-defenestration attempt.

I wasn't sure whether he was trying to stop me, or strangle me before I took the drop. 

He dragged me back inside and started pounding out "Oh Susanna" on my sternum. Apparently the singing disturbed one of the neighbors.

He ordered my contact to leave. Then he explained to me that he wasn't there about the singing. He said that he had been in contact with another member of the Interlude. I needed to go with him immediately. 

He told me that the agency goons might be listening. I showed the guy my tooth. He took one look, and motioned for me to follow him.

Once we hit the street, we took off running. 

He took me to a lake. He put a tag on my suit. "It's a super-powerful flotation device," he whispered. "Step into the lake and it will float you across to your crew mate. 

"Who?" I asked. 

"An Ensign..."

Right at that moment, a car roared up to the dock. It was my prior contact with a guy who had a spotlight for a face. Spotlight man pointed the gun at the new guy and administered a lethal dosage.

My contact explained that the guy was actually one of the agency men who made people disappear. He took me to a large stone building, but he made me pay the cab fare. Betty and the other frail were waiting there.

He said, "Betty's really sorry about the remark about your poor kissing. She wasn't herself."

I looked at Betty. She smiled apologetically. "I've got this new antenna on my hat that might help...if you would like to try again," she said.

"That won't be necessary," my contact said. "Just walk through these arches. It will take you back to your own place and time...after give the girl at the counter the two religious symbols you found when you first arrived. She'll give a quarter pounder with cheese and let you play the scratch game...but don't get the fries, no matter how nicely she offers; If you do, you'll loose the desire to leave, and be stranded here forever."

Plane Tales (with apologies to Kipling)

We landed at SFO on "a warm San Franciscan night." Except that it was afternoon, and we were on a plane. We were tired, but we had good company; Jim and Nancy had become our traveling companions. We made our way together through the airport like a band of great white hunters on safari. In other words, we had no idea how to get where we were going, but we followed the sign of our quarry--large printed signs that often seemed contradictory or poorly placed--to reach our destination. Our destination was the international terminal, the Hotel California of airport terminals; once you enter you can check it out all you like, but you can never leave.

Once we found the international terminal and passed through the security, we knew that we had entered  A Whole New World. Sweet perfume wafted to our nostrils, beckoning us onward into the labyrinth. Stores for perfume and jewelry--Hermes, Cartier, and Swarovski--these and more promised awe and wonder in the international terminal. Perhaps there would be dancing girls with finger cymbals, veils, bells, and elaborate headdresses giving us free fruit baskets and chocolate bars. Let me just say, there wasn't any of that. No dancing girls. No free fruit. No free chocolate bars. None. At. All.

After we found our gate, we found that we hungered. The search for food began. We did find a number of eateries, each with a European flair. Based on the prices, I must surmise that each dish and simple sandwich had been carefully prepared in Europe and then shipped by private courier to the SFO international terminal. My wife and I split an outrageously priced tri-tip dish with new potatoes. Jim and Nancy had something similar. We all went back to our gate to eat our meals because there wasn't any place left to sit in the food court. As for the meal, it was delicious!

The remainder of what transpired before the plane arrived and we were allowed to board can best be described as waiting...we did a lot of it. The highlight was that we got to charge our phones. Jim eventually left to refill water bottles. After he returned, I did the same. I found a blonde girl (teenager or early 20's maybe) in sandals, yellow shorts, and a white top at the fountain, trying with only limited success to fill her bottle from the actual drinking fountain rather than the special bottle-filling station which was located where the fountain met the wall. There was a bottle outline and a button...obvious, once you notice it...if you notice it. I asked her if the other part wasn't working. She looked at me strangely (I get a lot of that), and said, "What?" in accented speech. (I'm guessing it was German). I pointed at the bottle-filling emblem. "Oh. I didn't..." she said, giving me a look that indicated how foolish she felt. She thanked me and quickly filled the bottle at the station.

Do you ever notice people? We had a lot of time to notice people coming and going from the terminal. I can still see many of them in my mind's eye. I made particular note of one guy...because of his hair. His hair was long and dark...both longer and darker than my wife's hair. The hair came to his shoulders and turned up; it reminded me of pictures of one of Jackie O's hairstyles from the 60's (here's what I mean). When he turned around, I could see that he sported a pointed moustache and goatee-like facial hair as well. I thought he looked a bit like a musketeer; the rolled up jeans and sandals did rather detract from the musketeer effect. Perhaps the incongruity is what struck me; or my own state of cranial deforestation made me envious.

At last, after a good deal of time spent waiting in lines based on our ticket type, we were allowed to board. We had to show our passports and plane tickets. My wife and I were together, but as we approached, she was directed to the right where another person was inspecting tickets and passports. I was in like Flynn...but there was no sign of my wife. I kept looking back through the stream of humanity, expecting to see my wife appear. She kept not doing that, appearing, that is. Jim and Nancy were in the stream but a little way behind me. No wife. I wondered if I should turn back and swim upstream to make sure that she had't been pulled out for special interrogation, or for some flaw in her passport or boarding pass. Just when I was about to go back, I saw her. She had stopped not appearing. She was way back there, but it was her. After we got seated on the plane with Jim and Nancy, I expected some words about not having waited for her. She had no harsh words. The problem hadn't been with her or her papers, but with the guy immediately in front of her; he had issues and had caused her to be delayed. She got through with no problems.

As for the flight itself...long, boring, miserable. I could go on, but that's not a part of the trip that I want to relive.

Next stop: Frankfurt...and the problem Rachel left for us with our tickets for the connecting flight.