"When I was a boy I had a dream about all the things I'd like to be...When I was a boy I had a dream..."
"When I was a Boy" from the album Alone in The Universe -- Jeff Lynne's ELO.

I had planned a reframe of Fallen Angel (1945). Directed by Otto Preminger. Starring Alice Faye, Dana Andrews, and Linda Darnell. However, I was seized by a strange melancholy (it came from behind the refrigerator and glommed onto me with manifold tentacles of misty, many-hued memory). When that happens, Alone in The Universe has a few songs to help channel that feeling to the surface. The Time album, also from ELO, makes for a good chaser. The latter is good for a meander down memory lane to a time when I wore a younger man's clothes (yeah, I stole part of that phrase from Billy Joel's "Piano Man"--which also holds some special memories of younger days that I may noted in a previous post).

Instead of the reframe, I'm just including a few of the many great screenshots I took, and adding a sprinkling of musical quotes and commentary. 

Otto Preminger had a gift for lighting great shots; the light and shadow play upon Linda Darnell's features like a beautiful sunrise upon the chrome and paint of a 1955 Thunderbird (and I mean that in a good way--not insinuating she looks "tired," has a few miles on her, or has her top down).

"I'm so glad I found you. I just wanna be around you. All my life."
"All My Life" from the album Alone in The Universe -- Jeff Lynne's ELO

I think she was looking for the Heidi audition.

"Alone in the universe. All alone in the universe. That's how it feels when you are gone..."
"Alone in The Universe" from the album Alone in The Universe -- Jeff Lynne's ELO.

"With its ivory towers and plastic flowers, I wish I was back in 1981. I wonder. Yes, I wonder. Is this the way life's meant to be?"
"The Way Life's Meant to Be" from the album Time -- ELO.

"I believe things are going wrong, and the night goes on and on. All your dreams have flown away, and the sun won't shine today."
 "The Way Life's Meant to Be" from the album Time -- ELO

This shot looks like he has just found a girl's head and is wondering if it would look better on the mantle or the shelf. 

"You should be so happy. You should be so glad. So why are you so lonely, you 21st century man?"
"21st Century Man" from the album Time -- ELO.

"Many places I have been. Many sorrows I have seen. But I don't regret, nor will I forget, all who took that road with me."
"The Last Goodbye" from The Hobbit album -- Billy Boyd.

Philip Marlowe: Private Eye
"Blackmailers Don't Shoot"

I had never even heard of this series that debuted on HBO in 1983. Of course, I was out of the country at that time, and wouldn't have had cable anyway. So it's not like I would've been able to see it. I thought this was the first episode. I see now that it was actually the first episode of the second season. I'll have to go back to see the first season. Nope. Just checked. The first season isn't on Prime.

I think Powers Booth does a fair job in the role of Marlowe. In this episode, he is hired by a mobster to protect his movie star girlfriend from blackmailers. The dame gets kidnapped; Marlowe mounts a four-corpse-count rescue, and demonstrates the superiority of hot lead over cold rolled steel. That's it for the show--average stuff. I liked the old cars. I do wonder if it would be better in black and white.

The story below has little to do with the actual episode, other than the pictures which I use as the basis for my own (mis)creation. I call it: LIPSTICK AND LEAD

There was someone on my phone. He said he was troubled by a skin condition that left dark bands across his face. I told him that I could see that, and asked him to put down my phone. 

I gave him a bar of soap and a towel. I told him not to fall asleep on the newspaper, and his skin condition would probably clear up. 

Later, I went down to the club. I met a dame that I knew. Clare had tried to disguise herself with a dark wig, but I recognized the earrings...and her particular shade of lipstick. I had a hankering to sample that lipstick; it was the color of strawberry jam, and I wagered that it would be twice as sweet. I asked her about a sample. She blew smoke in my face. She was waiting for another man.

He waltzed in beneath a white hat that he wore like a halo. A dark red handkerchief peered from the breast pocket of his pale jacket like a crumpled and tipsy rose. I thought about that; I imagined that someone could write a song about that sweet tipsy rose; but what did I know? 

I watched the two of them walk out together. I couldn't tell what she saw in him. I mean, sure, he was a sharp dresser. He made more money in an afternoon from his women's apparel dry cleaning business than I made in a year. Sure, he drove a nice car that didn't belch smoke and knock like a pair of peg legged pirates dancing on the quarterdeck, but wit, good looks, and charm should count for something. 

The following day, I wandered in the direction of Clare's apartment. I wanted to make sure that she had found her way home without any trouble. I should've known there was something wrong when a strange man bumped into me. He was walking about with a telephone receiver pressed to his ear. The cord from the receiver disappeared into his jacket; there was no telephone in sight. He kept wandering along, repeating, "Can you hear me now?"

He seemed like a strange bird, but I liked the idea of a portable telephone--sort of a wireless unit. I wondered about such an instrument. What if it could take photographs and play music? Nah. The radio tubes and film would make it too bulky for handy portability. Oh well.

When I got to Clare's apartment, the door welcomed me in, hanging open on its hinges with the casual lassitude of a slack-jawed yokel draped over a porch swing. I quickly got over that welcome feeling when I met the barrel of a black revolver with a meaty hand and an even meatier man behind it. He said that he had been expecting me. He had a message for me. He gave me an address; he told me to be there at a certain time if I ever wanted to see Clare again. I was happy to let him leave without getting a sample of either his ammunition or his lipstick; I didn't think that shade flattered him.

I arrived on time at the designated location, but a French maid refused to let me enter. When I explained that I had an appointment and promised not to leave things in a clutter, she let me pass without answering any riddles.

The man with the white halo lay on a table. A masseuse was squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste. I had to do a double take to see if the masseuse possessed the arms of a wolf-man, or if he had bathed in used motor oil. I decided on the former. Angel-man explained that a couple goons had jumped him on the way to Clare's place. They had taken Clare, and wanted a hefty ransom. He had the ransom money, but he wanted me to come for moral support. The rich man needed my moral support; so I had that going for me anyway. He didn't actually say, "moral support;" he called it protection, but I knew what he meant.

 We went to the abandoned factory were the bad guys had taken Clare. She had lost the wig but managed to keep her earrings.

 I was calculating the odds of precisely drilling the goon who held Clare without mussing her gown,

when a dapper dude with a fist full of pistol persuaded me to forsake my arithmetic and to drop my piece.

Angel-man swooped in with full halo and wings like an invincible heavenly messenger to the rescue. The trouble was the bullets; they didn't know about the invincibility of heavenly messengers. While he was busy not dodging dapper dude's thunderbolts, I scrambled for my heater and sent the dapper man several rapid epistles from Messieurs Smith & Wesson. 

With both Angel-man and the dapper dude engaged in sharing their blood types with the concrete and hailing cabs to the after life, it was just the three of us: Clare, the kidnapper, and me. I thought that would've made a catchy tune, if one of us had been named McGee. Alas, we were McGee free, and two guys with one frail almost never works out. Clare took the initiative. She introduced the kidnapper's instep to the business end of her open-toed high heeled shoe. He felt a sudden and intense need to create some space in their relationship. I gave him a pill for the pain, delivered via my remote-high-speed-injection system.

And then there were two. She didn't blow smoke at me. She offered me a sample of her lipstick. It's never polite to refuse a lady.

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."