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The Twilight Zone: The Hunt (1962)
Hillbilly Heaven
My favorite non-terrifying Twilight Zone was The Hunt, from January 1962.
Here came Hyder Simpson, a delightful Appalachian hillbilly. He's cantankerous and gruff, a plain-spoken man and we get it quickly how he's a good man, honest and maybe a mite too straightforward, a man faithful to Rachel, his wife, and to his old beagle, Rip.
Well, the two of them, Hyder and Rip, go coon hunting. They die and wake up and don't realize they're dead. They only get it slowly and it's fun, watching them, or watching Hyder come to the realization they are indeed dead. (Rip, with his animal sensibilities, probably already knows.) There's the Miller boys, digging a hole on Hyder's property, which riles Hyder, and what riles him even more is how they ignore him, like he's not even there, which, of course, he isn't. Hyder realizes the men are digging a grave for a dog, his dog, actually, although Hyder doesn't know it, and his ire turns to sympathy and respect for men who think enough of an animal to give it, him, a respectful burial.
Hyder follows his own funeral procession but gets lost and finds himself on Eternity Road. Soon enough, he and Rip arrive at the gates of Hell and not realizing it's Hell, they encounter the slick salesman of a gatekeeper, who apparently doesn't have a right to claim Hyder. Hyder's not on the list, but the devil is a wily scoundrel and tries every trick he knows to get Hyder to step inside. It's all devious subterfuge and we get it before Hyder does, how the gatekeeper's intimations ─ it's Heaven inside the gate ─ are false. It's Hell in there. A more sophisticated man might have blundered in but not Hyder. He's in a battle for his soul without knowing it and he's got two things working in his favor. He's got his loyalty to Rip, and Rip's keen animal perception ─ Rip gets it, how there's something fishy about this Heaven.
Well, Hyder is invited in, but not Rip. No dogs allowed.
I suppose for any and all of us who have ever loved and been loved by a pet, there's been, at some point, the dilemma ─ how can it truly be Heaven if Spot or Butterball isn't allowed inside. Can I ever be truly happy without my faithful companion? Not to fear, the smarmy gatekeeper says. Dogs have their own Heaven. This, intended to placate Hyder, only riles him more. What kind of Heaven is it, Hyder wants to know, that would separate a man from his dog? And if dogs and masters are to be separated at death, how can the master be happy without his dog or the dog without his master? Is it something the rest of us would worry about? What would we choose, Heaven or our dog? It's a no-brainer for Hyder and with some agitated, respectful regrets, Hyder and Rip are on their way and arrive presently at another gate.
It really is Heaven this time and they're expected, which is generous, considering Hyder never was much of a church-goer but you have to believe he was a better man than many of those who were, especially with how he stood up to the devil, even believing the devil was Saint Peter. It takes a big man to say no to Saint Peter.
And what is Hyder thinking about, stepping into Heaven? His own bliss? No. He's thinking of his wife of fifty years, played by Jeanette Nolan who doesn't look as if she's been married for fifty years but hey, mountain girls married young, back in the day, and in the early sixties, television (and the movies) didn't do special effects like they do today. They were concerned with other things, like character and dialogue.
Want character? Watch any episode of The Twilight Zone.
Want dialogue?
Hyder to Rip when it's morning and they don't know they're dead and think they just slept overnight in the woods: "That old woman will give us Hail Columbia for staying out all night."
Hyder, still not aware he's dead and to the Miller boys, who of course aren't able to see or hear Hyder: "Reckon those Miller boys have got hard of hearing."
And still not getting a response: "Now, boys, I ain't talking just to move the wind around."
Hyder to the devil, when the devil asks Hyder how he died and with Hyder not realizing yet he's dead and thinking the devil is Saint Peter: "Friend Peter, I was born with a cheap set of ears. I'm not sure I heard you right."
Hyder's wife will soon follow him along Eternity Road and how will she navigate past the hellish gate? Rest assured, an angel tells Hyder. It'll be easier for her than it was for you. She is a woman of faith and the hellish gatekeeper won't even waste his time trying to entice her through the wrong gate. And in the meantime, until Rachel arrives, there's square dancing and coon hunting every night.
That's Hillbilly Heaven!
The Twilight Zone: The Night of the Meek (1960)
Night of the Meek - A Double-Barrelled Spoiler
Look out, now, here it comes – a double-barreled spoiler. I'm not only going to tell you how "The Night of the Meek," that famous Twilight Zone Christmas episode ends, I'm going to give you two different endings, or two ways of seeing the ending, from two people who saw it so differently more than fifty years ago.
My neighbor and I are both old enough so when the episode originally aired, December 23, 1960, we were at the age when we still believed in Santa Claus, barely; we were in the nebulous between, doubtful about him but unwilling to forsake him. At least not until after we got our Christmas loot.
The episode was a nice break from all those scary Twilight Zone episodes, the guy in the diner with a third eye on his forehead, the telephone wire that falls across the grave, the little boy who knows what everyone is thinking and who punishes them for their thoughts. My neighbor and I agreed ─ the Night of the Meek had our favorite Twilight Zone ending, ever. We just couldn't agree on how it ended.
The episode is pure Christmas magic. It's an old time Christmas with Art Carney as Santa Claus and with Burt Mustin as, well, who else, Burt Mustin.
How I always got the episode, Santa wishes the world was a nicer place than it is, especially for the poor, especially for the poor kids. He grieves for them and wants to give them something on Christmas. He can't, though, because he's fallen off the wagon, uh, sleigh. He's a drunk now, the jolliness driven out of him by the hopelessness and misery he sees around himself. He's fallen so far, he doesn't even remember having once been Santa. That is, until he stumbles upon a garbage bag full of empty tin cans and it all turns into a magic bag of gifts. Tell Santa what it is you want, a train set if you're a little boy, a pipe and smoking jacket if you're Burt Mustin, and Santa reaches into his bag and presto! With the help of the magic sack, which must have been his all along, and with the wide-eyed wonder of the poor kids and the skid row bums and with the chiding assistance of a cute little elf, Santa regains his former jolly garrulousness, steps back onto his sleigh and bells jingling, rides triumphantly across the sky.
Not so, said my neighbor. Santa wasn't Santa. He was Henry Corwin, a drunken department store Santa Claus until the magic of Christmas and his own goodness turned him into Santa Claus! That had me scratching my head. Had I got it all wrong fifty years ago? I went back and watched it a few times, pondered it, and it turns out my neighbor is correct. Her version is the real one, although I still like my own version better.
So go ahead, indulge yourself by watching it. It's only twenty-five minutes long and it captures the magic of the season as well or better than anything else and whether you agree with me or with my neighbor, (probably with her,) you'll get a nice warm feeling from it.