The sound of Bernard Hermann’s string section comes to a keen pitch above the bass, which swerves up and down in tone and tempo, suggesting something large approaching. A moving Archimedean spiral, striped black and white, opens up in the center of your television screen, and a familiar, crackling, light New York voice comes on over the speakers: You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. Your next stop, the "Twilight Zone."

Welcome back to the second part of my "Twilight Zone" article! This week, I wanted to give a quick episode summary/review to accompany last week’s series overview/history. I chose my favorite episode (so far), season three episode four, with the hopes of giving a more in-depth analysis of the show’s style, techniques, themes and content.

The beginning of the episode starts as any other "Twilight Zone" episode: the theme song filling the background of a dusty road, Rod Serling’s voice explaining the time and place. After the intro monologue we pan in on a line of militiamen marching onwards down some road, towards some spot somewhere past the forest, and Sterling introduces us to our characters. A new frame, a well composed black and white composition which focuses on Lavinia Godwin (Joanne Linville) talking with an unnamed Sergeant (James Gregory). With the music softly settling into the background, but still ever present, we learn from the Sergeant that he has just come back from fighting in the Civil War, and is wondering if Lavinia would be able to lend him some water.

From the well-crafted rural set, to the pure, eerie, natural lighting, to the hospitality and straightforwardness of the characters, everything in this opening scene spells out for the viewer, “DEEP SOUTH,” in all caps. The first dialogue between the characters consists of a beautiful set of images which resonate throughout the entire episode. Referring to an old tree which once flourished outside of Lavinia’s house:

S: “Beautiful once, wasn’t it? The tree I mean, Ma’am.”

L: “Once. Once it was very beautiful.”

S: “War claims a lot of victims. Men. Animals. Even God’s own beauty.”

Within a few minutes, after some small talk and Lavinia mentioning a recent bout of the flu, Sergeant asks if Lavinia would mind if he, “Strummed a few chords on [his] guit-box?” To which she replies, excitedly, “Oh yes, please!” quickly adding, “My husband used to play, you know.” Sergeant begins strumming the tunes to, and singing, "Black is the Color of my True Love’s Hair", a powerful Appalachian folk song, and Lavinia continues to tell the Sergeant, who happens to know Lavinia’s husband Jud from the war, that her husband is almost certainly dead.

At this point, about 2/3 through the episode, there is no clear indication as to what area of the "Twilight Zone" we have entered: is this the zone in which people time travel? wake up surrounded by pig people? drop their glasses? The brilliance of the show, and particularly this episode, is in its ability to provide multiple, believable red herrings, as well as incorporate those red herrings into the final twist, is definitely praiseworthy. Lavinia then tells Sergeant that she found out from a neighbor how her husband Jud was likely killed in battle, and, though she has known for some time, she still cannot make herself leave her home without seeing him. Without the knowledge of Jud’s fate, which is worse for the heart than the sure knowledge of a loved one’s death, Lavinia feels robbed: she wants her revenge. Lavinia comments on how she is waiting for the next Union soldier she sees, in order to avenge her husband’s death: “It will be the final shot, the final death, of the Civil War,” she explains.

Sergeant tries to talk her out of it, however his efforts prove ineffective: as soon as a Union soldier comes up to the house, Sergeant begins talking with him. The soldier tells Sergeant that he is going home, and was wondering if he could get some water before he continued: he also explains that his face had been badly damaged by shrapnel during the war. Just as their conversation is taking place, Lavinia comes running out of the house with a shotgun, which Sergeant knocks away as quickly as possible: but he is too slow; Lavinia picks the shotgun back up, steps forward several feet, aims at the soldier’s face, his silhouetted face, and fires.

The shoulder seems to jolt a bit, but stays upright on his horse.

Both Lavinia and Sergeant are astonished: and so, wondering how it is possible for a human to have sustained such damage and continue, they shine a light on his face only to find that it has been mangled to bits. It is hard to tell whether this is from the shrapnel or from Lavinia’s gun, and as Sergeant exclaims, “You’re shot! We need to get you some help!” the soldier replies, “I really don’t think that matters much anymore,” and rides down the road along with the rest of the soldiers.

As the viewers and Sergeant become more and more aware that something fishy is going on, Lavinia seems wholly concerned with staying where she is, waiting for Jud, trying to restart her life. As the Sergeant gets ready to leave, he tells Lavinia how strange it is that, “Both confederates and yankees was walkin towards yonder fence. I just gotta go check it out. I gotta get moving on.” Just as Sergeant and Lavinia are saying goodbye, we hear someone whistling the tune of "Black is the Color of my True Love’s Hair," immediately Lavinia knows this is her husband, Jud Godwin, and starts towards him.

Up until this moment, the music has not stopped: there has always been some music, whether it be from the soundtrack or Sergeant’s “guit-box,” we are given only two moments of silence. One of which is during the conversation between Lavinia and Sergeant about the strange nature of the path, and the second is on its way.

Lavinia and Jud are left alone, in embrace, as Sergeant continues down the path: Jud holds Lavinia close, and tries to ease Lavinia, and the viewer, into a difficult reality: “Your life, Lavinia- well, it's kind of like a song, you see. You play it right to the end, and when the notes are finished, and they die out, there's only silence. And that's when you move on.”

Lavinia’s voice is haunting, scared, child-like:

“Jud? Are we—are we, dead?”

“Yes, Lavinia. Like all those men on the road...”

I cannot even come close to describing the beautifully built tension, and the amount of energy this episode releases in only one line: unfortunately I am unable to communicate the intensity of this twist because to do so would mean changing the narrative to fit on this piece of paper. That’s the first thing about this show, and this episode in particular: they are not made to be told in prose form, they are meant for the screen. "Twilight Zone" could be adapted into prose pieces, maybe, just maybe, but the content only truly works on TV, in my opinion: the effect of a visual element is to allow the dialogue and description to be reduced drastically. This, paired with the increased stimulation of moving images, (plus, let’s be honest, in the early stages of TV, and even now, there’s a larger allowance of believability for images which were thought to be seen “objectively”, than there ever again will be behind prose which is experienced “subjectively.” I.e seeing something like this in the 60s would have probably genuinely freaked a lot of people out) opened up the possibility for "Twilight Zone," and other television shows, to create greater tension.

This episode is successful in three areas, in my mind: the first, being image and tension. From the beginning, we are convinced of something amiss, yet unable to be completely sure of what it is. We are led into several led herrings through the tricks of image (taking advantage of TV’s perceived objectivity), and finally are shown the explosion of that tension in a single sentence: “Are we—are we, dead?” In terms of craftsmanship, the episode holds the title as one of the "Twilight Zone’s" most technically sound and well-acted war parables: a warning to the vengeful, for they are hypocrites, and a reminder of life’s fragility and its predictability.

Without the music which plays throughout the episode, this tension, and this string of images would either make no sense, or simply fall flat. I think that the way Serling has allowed the plot to unfold was genius, but it truly is the music which acts as our studio audience: letting us know when to settle in, when to chuckle, when to be sad, when something fishy is afoot. The music also provides us with silence: it allows Serling to zoom in on the two interactions which are most vital to this story (Lavinia’s rejection of her being dead, and her admitting being dead).

I think this music is what makes me want to share the episode, and the series with my friends so badly: before I had watched this, neither had I thought the "Twilight Zone" was all that good, nor did I believe that television could longer have truly stunning twists due to the mass of copycats. I was wrong.

This episode is artistic: it is well told, moving, and just a little bit confusing (especially at the end, when Abe Lincoln pops out of nowhere and helps Lavinia finish her walk to the fence), but it is a fresh product of the 60s. The episode is, at once, a screenshot of history (the Civil War), a condemnation of the contemporary conflict (Cold War), and a parable about hypocrisy, morality, and vengeance. The show as a whole operates in such a way: "Twilight Zone" fills the unreal and distant, with the familiar and too-close-to-home. If you like Kafka, Borges, Salvador Dali, and other explorers of the unconscious mind and the scientific, and enjoy a well-written tale, you will love this episode, and maybe even the entire series as well.