My first exposure to a Twilight Zone story was in the back seat of a brown 1980's Toyota Corolla. We were on our way to Martha's Vineyard, it was late summer, and my dad was regaling us with a tale about a woman who kept seeing the same hitchhiker over and over as she drove through the night. The twist was at the end, when she made a phone call home and was told by a distraught relative that she was dead. My sister and I squirmed in our lap belts, and were gleefully spooked as we kept a lookout for any rogue wanderers by the side of the road. To this day, if I see someone with their thumb stuck out, I get a little anxious, wondering if I'll see them again.
The first episode I watched was in my parent's room. My mom was milling about, Dad was sitting on the bed, snow fell outside, and channel 11 was showing a marathon on New Year's Eve. I was walking away from the television, looking up at the snowflakes falling onto the skylight above my head, and behind me, William Shatner was breaking out in a cold sweat on a commercial airliner. I turned as the music crescendoed, just in time to see a pug faced creature that I thought looked like some kind of evil Ewok press his face up to the plane window. I was hooked.
At different times in my life, episodes have affected me more or less, but through every facet, The Twilight Zone endures. Over the years, I have come to appreciate the philosophical, social, and historical commentary Rod Serling The Great included in his masterpieces. I'm proud to introduce the series to a new generation of eager students each year in my philosophy classes, as there are no finer examples of personal identity and true beauty than The Number 12 Looks Just Like You, and the iconic Eye Of The Beholder. I use Nightmare at 20,000 Feet to open a discussion on what is truth, delve into To Serve Man (based on a short story written after author Damon Knight discovered his wife was unfaithful-giving the Kanamit aliens even more metaphorical weight), and then head over to Five Characters In Search Of An Exit as an example of Existentialism My supervisor joked with me once that I could create a class simply titled "Philosophy and The Twilight Zone" (I immediately countered with a realistic proposal, complete with the course book of the same name by Noel Carroll and Lester Hunt, which I already owned. He just shook his head and smiled).
Socially, the Twilight Zone was ahead of its time and managed to include elements of acceptance of all people, an intolerance for the intolerant, and a hatred of social injustice. I’m haunted by the images of war, and bits of historical fact, that permeate episodes like Death’s Head Revisited. The Twilight Zone both inspires and educates, warning of the dangers of not speaking up, of allowing the wicked to take control (He’s Alive), and of not allowing yourself to express your powers of free will (Nick of Time).
Over and over again, characters are faced with moral dilemmas (The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street, The Shelter) and either succeed or fail in the face of mob mentality and fear. I grew up with my moral compass pointed firmly towards the dimension of sight, sound, and mind, and always tried to do what the heroes of the episodes would noddingly approve of. With great power comes great responsibility and all that.
Over and over again, characters are faced with moral dilemmas (The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street, The Shelter) and either succeed or fail in the face of mob mentality and fear. I grew up with my moral compass pointed firmly towards the dimension of sight, sound, and mind, and always tried to do what the heroes of the episodes would noddingly approve of. With great power comes great responsibility and all that.
On a more personal, individual level, shows deal with how people are remembered (A Game Of Pool), immortality (Long Live Walter Jameson), and the importance of the finite nature of life (and of what we do with it- see The Changing of the Guard, and think a slightly darker version of It’s a Wonderful Life). No Time Like The Past and Back There are precursors to the epic series Quantum Leap, seeking to explore the idea of going back to the past to change it for the better (in both cases, the main character fails at this- but later, in A Hundred Yards Over The Rim, we see the present intertwine with the past, exploring the fluidity of time, something that has always fascinated me).
Animals are revered and trusted in The Hunt, and youth is celebrated in Kick The Can. People in the stories learn about the importance of their own lives, and of living in the present, like in Walking Distance (an episode I show while teaching Catcher In The Rye to illustrate how we all yearn, in some way, for the past). A World of Their Own shows, in the most fanciful way, how writers create universes they would prefer to live in. And in Time Enough At Last, every bibliophile on the planet cringes in defeat at the final image of a decimated library and a pair of broken spectacles. What we do with our world, the possible changes for good or for evil, exist in a five season long television show that, almost 60 years after its inception, still resonates.
As I curl up in my blankets, black and white images flicker across the screen, familiar old friends to inspire and educate me once again. I remember my dad taping the marathon when I was a child, and watching hour after hour of it while traversing New York state, en route to a Canadian soccer tournament, in a huge RV. The only year I ever skipped was the one after he died, when I drove to Florida and spent three days at a concert festival to avoid watching the marathon without him.
A few years later, though, we viewed it in tribute, my mom, sister, and me sitting on the couch together eating pancakes, with a box of tissues between us, discussing his favorite (A Stop At Willoughby). My sister and I call and text each other yearly as episodes play out, and tag each other in Facebook posts throughout the year (when I found a Talky Tina doll online, when she discovered the bobble Mystic Seer). My mom was watching the same episode I was when I called to see what model our 1980’s car was for this entry.
A few years later, though, we viewed it in tribute, my mom, sister, and me sitting on the couch together eating pancakes, with a box of tissues between us, discussing his favorite (A Stop At Willoughby). My sister and I call and text each other yearly as episodes play out, and tag each other in Facebook posts throughout the year (when I found a Talky Tina doll online, when she discovered the bobble Mystic Seer). My mom was watching the same episode I was when I called to see what model our 1980’s car was for this entry.
My husband first experienced the marathon with me when we were teenagers, watching it on the couch with my family when we were sixteen. The fact that he is willing to watch it yearly is one of the reasons I stayed with him. Fourteen years later, and three years ago, when our daughter was two months old, we rang in the new year on our bed, with her between us kicking her little feet while we watched Midnight Sun. Now, the family is rolling around me, Riley shouting and bouncing, Jeff trying to corral her, and Ella climbing onto and off of the bed, while I type this and Jack Klugman fights for his son’s life in In Praise of Pip.
There is a line in this episode that always motivated me, stuck with me (as many do). Klugman's character says it as his major life regret: “It was because I dreamed instead of did- I wished and hoped instead of tried”. I have made a habit in life of being sure to DO and TRY (mainly do, Yoda lesson there). This was another one my dad always loved, and one of the ones that affects me most now- about the shortness of the time you have with your children and the ones you love, the importance of spending time with them, and is motivating me to put down my writing, and go play with dinosaurs, blocks, and dollhouses. With the Twilight Zone playing in the background, of course.
There is a line in this episode that always motivated me, stuck with me (as many do). Klugman's character says it as his major life regret: “It was because I dreamed instead of did- I wished and hoped instead of tried”. I have made a habit in life of being sure to DO and TRY (mainly do, Yoda lesson there). This was another one my dad always loved, and one of the ones that affects me most now- about the shortness of the time you have with your children and the ones you love, the importance of spending time with them, and is motivating me to put down my writing, and go play with dinosaurs, blocks, and dollhouses. With the Twilight Zone playing in the background, of course.
The ties of flesh are deep and strong- that the capacity to love is a vital, rich, and all consuming function of the human animal. And that you can find nobility and sacrifice and love, wherever you may seek it out- down the block, in the heart, or in the Twilight Zone.- Rod Serling, In Praise of Pip
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