A nuclear exchange is scheduled to take place in 48 hours but only a few people know about it. One is Fritz Weaver, who is a scientist at the weapons plant. He and his neighbor plan to take their families that night, sneak into the grounds, and steal the space ship that's sitting there all ready to take off. Their goal: the third planet in a solar system eleven million miles away. There are a few stretches of rough road but the plan succeeds and they wonder what they'll find on the new planet.
The new planet, of course, is Earth and the planet from which the two families are escaping has evolved almost parallel to our own.
I thought the set up was rather neat, before the irony of the ending is grasped. The world in which Fritz Weaver and the others live looks almost exactly like ours did in 1960. Almost all the set decorations and props are familiar. There's one of those vulgar sunburst clocks up on the wall. The sofas have skinny little wooden legs. You can find most of the household items in some Goodwill store today. It's the same, and yet not the same. The tchotchkes on the mantelpiece, if examined, don't look like familiar figures. The record player requires only the touch of a finger on a shiny black surface. The telephone is strange. The car makes a whining sound. Nicely done.
It's odd to see Fritz Weaver in an early role. He looks too young to be Fritz Weaver. He's a fine, reliable performer, and never seemed to get the roles he deserved. Of course, his horsey face is something other than conventionally handsome. The fly in the narrative ointment is Edward Andrews, who was never anything else because he's so good at projecting sarcasm and ominous insinuations.
The new planet, of course, is Earth and the planet from which the two families are escaping has evolved almost parallel to our own.
I thought the set up was rather neat, before the irony of the ending is grasped. The world in which Fritz Weaver and the others live looks almost exactly like ours did in 1960. Almost all the set decorations and props are familiar. There's one of those vulgar sunburst clocks up on the wall. The sofas have skinny little wooden legs. You can find most of the household items in some Goodwill store today. It's the same, and yet not the same. The tchotchkes on the mantelpiece, if examined, don't look like familiar figures. The record player requires only the touch of a finger on a shiny black surface. The telephone is strange. The car makes a whining sound. Nicely done.
It's odd to see Fritz Weaver in an early role. He looks too young to be Fritz Weaver. He's a fine, reliable performer, and never seemed to get the roles he deserved. Of course, his horsey face is something other than conventionally handsome. The fly in the narrative ointment is Edward Andrews, who was never anything else because he's so good at projecting sarcasm and ominous insinuations.