DEAD WOMAN'S SHOES (9 of 10)
Remakes can often be tiresome affairs -- after all, the writers, directors, crews and actors are all essentially walking in footsteps that were left (usually) by creators of great imagination and impact. Too often in film and television, this leads to a form of laziness or misguided reverence: producers will hire people who they can rely upon to produce a profitable product, without concern for whether those people can put a thoughtful and innovative stamp on the work; otherwise creative professionals simply feel content following the same path as their predecessor(s); or those same producers and/or professionals who feel the original work is so untouchable that they fear any effort to make it their own defiles the original. Consequently, it's not surprising that many viewers feel a chill go down their spine at the mention of the word "remake."
Which brings us to a very welcome departure from this normal state of affairs. "Dead Woman's Shoes" is a remake of "Dead Man's Shoes," a largely forgettable (in my opinion) episode from the third season of The Twilight Zone's initial incarnation. In the original version, written by Charles Beaumont and (uncredited) OCeo Ritch, Warren Stevens played a vagrant who takes the fancy shoes off of a corpse and, upon putting them on, is possessed by the vengeful spirit of the dead man, with an eye on getting even with the crooked partner who had him murdered. The conceit was an ingenious one, but the script itself was flat and Stevens didn't do much to elevate the piece (which is otherwise occupied by a bunch of B-movie stereotypes). As mentioned above, the result is forgettable. What a difference two decades, a more thoughtful script, and imaginative performances can make.
In "Dead Woman's Shoes," Helen Mirren gives a knockout performance as a mousy thrift-store employee who tries on an expensive pair of shoes, and becomes possessed with the spirit of a murdered woman, out to take revenge on the husband (Jeffrey Tambor) who murdered her. Lynn Barker's script effectively creates the template for the night and day contrast of Mirren's character, and Mirren's physical and vocal performance allows us to see both characters in the snap of a finger (or, more precisely, the putting on and taking off of a shoe); each performance is equally believable and effectively delivers on the story's underlying conceit. Barker also avoids the original's mistake of focusing so exclusively on the lead character that the supporting characters become stick figures: both Tambor's character and the family maid (wonderfully played by Theresa Saldana) are created as fully rounded human beings. Each scene between two or more of these characters conveys an unspoken history amongst them which enlivens the suspense, a testament to Barker's script, Peter Medak's direction, and there performances of Mirren, Tambor, and Saldana. All this, and a final twist that also improves on the original.
In short, an exception to the rule of remakes and a worthy addition to not only the mid-1980s series, but the entire Twilight Zone canon.
WONG'S LOST AND FOUND EMPORIUM (3 of 10)
The laws of physics tell us that for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. Apparently, this rule can also apply to many episodes of the mid-1980s "Twilight Zone" series, where multiple stories were combined into a single episode, and a well-done piece was accompanied by a real clunker. This segment, which aired together with the marvelous "Dead Woman's Shoes," would seem to serve as a definitive example of this principle.
Through a door in a San Francisco sex shop (which easily provides the most lively scene in the segment), a jaded young man (Brian Tochi) accesses a mysterious storeroom in search of the eponymous emporium. Soon, other people start drifting in via entrances in other parts of the country: an elderly woman seeking to recapture her artistic spirit/talent; a young woman trying to recover her sense of humor; an older man trying to regain the respect of his children. The young man is dismissive of their needs since, of course, he's trying to get back his empathy. If the story sounds like abstract theater, imagine the worst possible kind.
The script is a major letdown from the usually fine Alan Brennert (whose Zone episodes include "Her Pilgrim Soul," "A Message From Charity," and "Dead Run"). Unlike those scripts, which allowed the characters to reveal themselves through normal conversation, Brennert's teleplay here consists almost exclusively of clumsy exposition and risible epiphanies. For example, each person is able to precisely identify that part of themselves they want to recover, and say so in so many words. In the Tochi character's case, it is particularly glaring, as the fact that he realizes he's lost his empathy and wants it back would seem to be entirely inconsistent with someone who has lost his empathy.
The direction and production design aren't much of a help. The warehouse looks like nothing more than the props closet for a Guillermo del Toro film, and the actors are blocked in a fashion that looks like something out of a low-quality acting class. When old hands like Carol Bruce and Stacy Keach, Sr. can't make their characters seem believable, you know you've got a problem.
Ah, well, at least there's "Dead Woman's Shoes" -- and the woes of the sex shop customer expressing dissatisfaction with the blow-up doll he purchased...
Remakes can often be tiresome affairs -- after all, the writers, directors, crews and actors are all essentially walking in footsteps that were left (usually) by creators of great imagination and impact. Too often in film and television, this leads to a form of laziness or misguided reverence: producers will hire people who they can rely upon to produce a profitable product, without concern for whether those people can put a thoughtful and innovative stamp on the work; otherwise creative professionals simply feel content following the same path as their predecessor(s); or those same producers and/or professionals who feel the original work is so untouchable that they fear any effort to make it their own defiles the original. Consequently, it's not surprising that many viewers feel a chill go down their spine at the mention of the word "remake."
Which brings us to a very welcome departure from this normal state of affairs. "Dead Woman's Shoes" is a remake of "Dead Man's Shoes," a largely forgettable (in my opinion) episode from the third season of The Twilight Zone's initial incarnation. In the original version, written by Charles Beaumont and (uncredited) OCeo Ritch, Warren Stevens played a vagrant who takes the fancy shoes off of a corpse and, upon putting them on, is possessed by the vengeful spirit of the dead man, with an eye on getting even with the crooked partner who had him murdered. The conceit was an ingenious one, but the script itself was flat and Stevens didn't do much to elevate the piece (which is otherwise occupied by a bunch of B-movie stereotypes). As mentioned above, the result is forgettable. What a difference two decades, a more thoughtful script, and imaginative performances can make.
In "Dead Woman's Shoes," Helen Mirren gives a knockout performance as a mousy thrift-store employee who tries on an expensive pair of shoes, and becomes possessed with the spirit of a murdered woman, out to take revenge on the husband (Jeffrey Tambor) who murdered her. Lynn Barker's script effectively creates the template for the night and day contrast of Mirren's character, and Mirren's physical and vocal performance allows us to see both characters in the snap of a finger (or, more precisely, the putting on and taking off of a shoe); each performance is equally believable and effectively delivers on the story's underlying conceit. Barker also avoids the original's mistake of focusing so exclusively on the lead character that the supporting characters become stick figures: both Tambor's character and the family maid (wonderfully played by Theresa Saldana) are created as fully rounded human beings. Each scene between two or more of these characters conveys an unspoken history amongst them which enlivens the suspense, a testament to Barker's script, Peter Medak's direction, and there performances of Mirren, Tambor, and Saldana. All this, and a final twist that also improves on the original.
In short, an exception to the rule of remakes and a worthy addition to not only the mid-1980s series, but the entire Twilight Zone canon.
WONG'S LOST AND FOUND EMPORIUM (3 of 10)
The laws of physics tell us that for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. Apparently, this rule can also apply to many episodes of the mid-1980s "Twilight Zone" series, where multiple stories were combined into a single episode, and a well-done piece was accompanied by a real clunker. This segment, which aired together with the marvelous "Dead Woman's Shoes," would seem to serve as a definitive example of this principle.
Through a door in a San Francisco sex shop (which easily provides the most lively scene in the segment), a jaded young man (Brian Tochi) accesses a mysterious storeroom in search of the eponymous emporium. Soon, other people start drifting in via entrances in other parts of the country: an elderly woman seeking to recapture her artistic spirit/talent; a young woman trying to recover her sense of humor; an older man trying to regain the respect of his children. The young man is dismissive of their needs since, of course, he's trying to get back his empathy. If the story sounds like abstract theater, imagine the worst possible kind.
The script is a major letdown from the usually fine Alan Brennert (whose Zone episodes include "Her Pilgrim Soul," "A Message From Charity," and "Dead Run"). Unlike those scripts, which allowed the characters to reveal themselves through normal conversation, Brennert's teleplay here consists almost exclusively of clumsy exposition and risible epiphanies. For example, each person is able to precisely identify that part of themselves they want to recover, and say so in so many words. In the Tochi character's case, it is particularly glaring, as the fact that he realizes he's lost his empathy and wants it back would seem to be entirely inconsistent with someone who has lost his empathy.
The direction and production design aren't much of a help. The warehouse looks like nothing more than the props closet for a Guillermo del Toro film, and the actors are blocked in a fashion that looks like something out of a low-quality acting class. When old hands like Carol Bruce and Stacy Keach, Sr. can't make their characters seem believable, you know you've got a problem.
Ah, well, at least there's "Dead Woman's Shoes" -- and the woes of the sex shop customer expressing dissatisfaction with the blow-up doll he purchased...