The Twilight Zone, S1E02, "One for the Angels"

Opening: Street scene: Summer. The present. Man on a sidewalk named Lew Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Lew Bookman, a fixture of the summer, a rather minor component to a hot July, a nondescript, commonplace little man whose life is a treadmill built out of sidewalks. And in just a moment, Lew Bookman will have to concern himself with survival – because as of three o’clock this hot July afternoon, he’ll be stalked by Mr. Death.

The Twilight Zone has a soft spot for the down-and-out, the overlooked, and the harmlessly eccentric, and Lew Bookman is one of the most endearing examples. Serling wrote the part for Ed Wynn—a comedic legend (and underrated dramatic presence) who had also appeared in Serling’s hit teleplay Requiem for a Heavyweight—and his affection for Wynn and his talents shines through.

Lew Bookman is an amiable huckster with a good but not great line of patter (colorful claims about a product’s supposed “exotic” origins are his specialty). He lugs around a suitcase of wares and sets up shop on street corners, selling lotion, toys, ties, spools of thread, and whatever else comes to hand. He’s a kind of genial uncle to the neighborhood’s children. As sweet as he is, he also has a streak of natural cunning: he is, after all, a man who makes his living gilding the lily. He slides right into the folkloric feel of this episode, where he’s the man who must charm and foil Death himself. His profession helps this feel like a distinctly American fable, too.

Mr. Death—a name TZ will also use for another, very different Death figure, in the somberly beautiful “Nothing in the Dark”—is here played by the inestimable Murray Hamilton. He starts off as Lew’s opposite: sleek where Lew is cozily pudgy, official where Lew is casual, irritated where Lew is content, tired of dealing with people where Lew is effortlessly extroverted.

Death is a jaded bureaucratic functionary, matter-of-factly explaining (in clipped tones) that Lew is due to die at midnight and no, he probably doesn’t have any grounds for appeal. But he softens towards Lew: he intends to turn down Lew’s request for an extension on account of “unfinished business of a major nature,” but each time, looking at Lew’s basset hound sadness makes him stumble over the words. He gives in.

Lew, of course, has that little bit of necessary wiliness to him, so as soon as he’s gotten Mr. Death to agree not to take him until he’s made a pitch that’s “one for the angels,” he’s vowing to never make a pitch again. (Mr. Death: “I have the very odd feeling that you’re taking advantage of me.”) It’s when Lew is at the height of his exuberant success in tricking Death that Mr. Death changes the nature of the game, dangling the possibility that he might have to take young Maggie’s life in Lew’s place and “jaded bureaucratic functionary” becomes something more ambiguous. Hamilton knocks it out of the park here, playing Mr. Death with a blend of charisma, ordinariness, humanity, and sinisterness.¹ He feels mythic enough that his implicit threat to “kill” Maggie exists on a different level of morality but human enough that I can buy his ever-growing soft spot for Lew Bookman.

The doctor claims Maggie will have a crisis at midnight, which is the kind of medical contrivance beloved of TV and movies. It’s far from realistic, but given the fable-like structure of the episode, it doesn’t need to be: it just needs to have the right rhythm and resonance, and the fairy tale logic here is simple. Lew didn’t die at midnight, so Maggie will—unless he can cheat Death a second time.

Lew sits on the steps of the apartment building to guard Maggie², and he waylays Mr. Death on his way in. He offers to trade his life for hers, but it’s too late for that: other arrangements have been made, and the bureaucratic machine is already in motion. Fortunately, the same strict guidelines that demand Maggie’s death give Lew an unexpected chance to intervene, because Mr. Death has a very strict timetable to keep to. It would be “unheard of” to not claim Maggie at midnight, per the schedule, so Lew seizes on that and starts setting up a pitch.

Beautifully, this actually gets a smile out of Mr. Death, who reclines on the steps to watch. He’s probably telling himself that he has fifteen minutes before his appointment, after all, but he looks almost infatuated with the very human display before him, and it’s adorable. What really makes this scene work is that he’s genuinely drawn into Lew’s pitch, and we get to see fond indulgence turn into rapt attention, heat-disheveled hair, and the frantic desire to acquire as many of these startling deals as possible. He winds up with multiple ties draped over his arms while he pats at his pockets to turn up additional money to buy spools of thread.

Lew offers himself—a loyal right-hand man—as the final pitch, just as the clock strikes midnight and Mr. Death misses his chance to claim Maggie according to the schedule. (This doesn’t pay off in any way, except metaphorically: he’s doing here intentionally, and explicitly, what he’s been doing all along by accident. The whole episode has been Mr. Death slowly getting sold on the whole concept of Lew Bookman, after all.) Mr. Death’s brief alarm and consternation about his lost meeting soon fades to something warmer: “A most persuasive pitch, Mr. Bookman. An excellent pitch.” It is, in fact, “a pitch for the angels,” which means Lew’s great unfinished business has officially been achieved. Lew, content to have saved Maggie’s life, now accepts his death with grace; his only hesitation this time comes when he goes back for his case of wares. “You never know who might need something up there,” he says, and then pauses. “—Up there?”

Up there, Mr. Death confirms, and they walk off together down the street, side by side.

I love this one. The Twilight Zone will go on to have a mostly abysmal record with comedy episodes, but it can actually do this kind of gentle, charming humor very well as long as there are dramatic underpinnings and a strong story structure, as there are here. Little comedic bits like Lew looking around his room for clues as to his possible unrealized lifelong ambition and trying to riff off the presence of a toy helicopter are cute and understated. Wynn and Hamilton make a delightful duo, and the whole thing successfully feels like a (then) contemporary fable. I’m a softy, and this has lots of charm and heart. If the performances don’t work for you, I suspect it all probably feels too sentimental, but it hits the right notes for me.

Closing: Lewis J. Bookman, age sixtyish. Occupation: pitchman. Formerly a fixture of the summer, formerly a rather minor component to a hot July. But, throughout his life, a man beloved by the children, and therefore, a most important man. Couldn’t happen, you say? Probably not in most places – but it did happen in the Twilight Zone.

Directed by: Robert Parrish

Written by: Rod Serling

Cinematography by: George T. Clemens

Up Next: Mr. Denton on Doomsday

1. Him spiking the camera during Serling’s intro is an effectively unsettling moment. It makes sense that he can break the fourth wall and know we’re here. Cinematographer George T. Clemens also sometimes has shadows dramatically appear to darken the scene right as Mr. Death turns up, which is obvious but pleasing. ↩︎
2. Again, you could nitpick about why a supernatural figure who can effortlessly appear inside someone’s apartment would need to go in through the front door, but the fairy tale/parable-like simplicity here makes it work. ↩︎