76.
The Year
2011
(as seen
from 1964)
"The Duplicate
Man"
(from:
The Outer Limits)
++++++++++
The following
entry
consists
of portions
of web pages
devoted
to
"The Outer Limits"
(the television series
of the 1960s),
which
have been
compiled here
for purposes
of entertainment
and
education
-- steeeeve
+++++++++
SERIES TITLE:
THE OUTER LIMITS
EPISODE TITLE:
"THE DUPLICATE
MAN"
November 4, 1963?
or
December 19, 1964?,
depending
on source
of information]
In
the future,
a man creates
a duplicate
of himself,
to kill
an
escaped
alien monster.
In
this episode,
set in
the future
[2011],
a man
(played by
Ron Randell,
who
was in
"The Longest Day")
sends
a duplicate
of himself
out
to deal with
a deadly,
escaped,
alien creature.
"The Duplicate Man"
offers
a fascinating look
at the year
2011,
from
the perspective
of
the early 1960s.
[This program
was aired
on
December 19,
1964,
though
some reports
have it
as
November 4,
1963]
Constance Towers
offers
warm support
as Randell's wife.
+++
SYNOPSIS
Far
in the future
[that is,
in 2011 AD],
students tour
a zoo
containing
alien specimens.
Later,
a scientist
discovers
his deadly
alien creature
has escaped.
The scientist
has
a duplicate
of himself
created,
and
sends it
on a mission
to find
and kill
the alien.
The duplicate
gradually
gains awareness
of what it is,
becoming
more human
in the process.
The alien killer
attacks
and kills
the duplicate.
The scientist
shoots
and kills
the deadly alien.
REVIEW:
Director
Gerd Oswald's,
"THE DUPLICATE MAN",
is
a fairly
interesting tale
of life,
in 2011 A. D.
In the future,
a man's
alien creature,
which
he
smuggled to Earth,
escapes.
The man
creates
a duplicate
of himself
to track down
and kill
the deadly alien.
Ron Randell,
as
Henderson James,
the man
who
duplicates himself,
is
a bit stiff.
Oddly enough,
when Randell
plays
his duplicate,
maturing
and
becoming
more human,
he acts
warmer,
and
less stiff,
than when
he's playing
himself
as
["Henderson James"]
a regular person.
Go figure.
Constance Towers,
as
Henderson James'
wife,
is a warm,
radiant presence.
What she sees
in driven scientist,
Henderson James,
is
a bit hard to see,
but
the same
could be said
of a lot of
"Outer Limits'"
wives and girlfriends.
The Teleplay,
by
Robert C. Dennis,
(Story by
Clifford Simak),
contains
some interesting rules
about
human duplicates.
They
can only exist
for
five hours,
after which
they must
be destroyed.
The idea
of human duplicates,
with
artificially limited
life spans,
brings to mind
the "replicants"
in the classic
Sci-Fi movie,
"Blade Runner"
[1982].
To help
sell the idea
that we're
in the future
[2011],
everybody
uses
videophones.
Oddly enough,
these phones
still
have dials!
The episode's
alien
is a guy,
(Mike Lane),
in
a "Big Bird" suit,
complete
with
feathers
and beak,
kind of like
"Nightmare on
Sesame Street"
Project Unlimited,
Inc.,
is the party
responsible
for this
bird-brained creature.
My favorite scene
takes place
between
the Megasoid
(alien),
and
Randell's duplicate,
who's
on a mission
to
kill the alien.
The Megasoid
tells
the duplicate,
"You're
a shadow.
A temporary
Henderson James."
The duplicate
answers,
"I'm flesh and blood."
The Megasoid
replies,
"A temporary.
No existence.
No memory".
A
philosophical
discussion,
between
a killer alien
and
a human duplicate,
provides
an
odd and effective
Sci-Fi scene.
The music
is ominous,
utilizing the organ,
and
bringing to mind
spooky
old radio shows,
like
"Lights Out"
and
"Inner Sanctum".
Harry Lubin
is
the responsible
party.
Director
of Photography,
Kenneth Peach,
delivers
creative
screen imagery.
Particularly
good
is
an extreme
close shot
of
the supposedly
inanimate alien,
as it
opens
one eye!
"THE DUPLICATE MAN"
should be
fairly watchable
for some
Sci-Fi viewers.
Those
who don't like
silly monsters
will not want
to take
a gander
at this episode.
+++
THE DUPLICATE MAN
CAST:
Ron Randell,
Constance Towers,
Jeffrey Stone,
Jonathan Hole,
Ivy Bethune,
Sean McClory.
+++
[Most of
the information above
was found online at:
http://www.homevideos.com/outerlimits
and
http://www.homevideos.com/indextv.htm ]
++++++++++++++++
End of entry
from
HOMEVIDEOS.com
++++++++++++++++
"The Duplicate
Man"
This entry
is from
Wikipedia,
the
free encyclopedia
"The Duplicate Man"
The Outer Limit
(TV series)
[Season 2,
Episode 13]
Directed
by
Gerd Oswald
Written by
Robert C. Dennis
(teleplay)
Clifford Simak
(story)
Cinematography
by
Kenneth Peach
Original air date:
December 19, 1964
[though some say
it was
November 4, 1963].
Guest stars:
Ron Randell
Constance Towers
"The Duplicate Man"
is an
episode
of
the original
The Outer Limits
television show.
It first aired
on
19 December 1964,
during
the second season
[though some
sources say it aired
on
November 4, 1963.]
Opening narration:
"Since
the first day
that Man
stared up
at
the stars
and saw
other worlds,
there
has been
no more
haunting question
than this:
What
will we
find there?
Will there be
other creatures,
and
will they be
like us?
Or when
that ancient dream
comes true,
will it turn into
a nightmare?
Will
we find,
on
some distant,
frozen planet,
an alien life
of
unimaginable horror?"
Plot
In
the year 2011,
wealthy
research academic
Henderson James
has had
smuggled to Earth,
by
Captain
Karl Emmet,
a Megasoid --
an alien
which
it is illegal
to possess,
highly dangerous
as
it is always
thinking about
killing,
unless
it is in
its
reproductive cycle -
which
this one is.
When
the Megasoid
escapes
to hide
amongst
the stuffed exhibits
at
a nearby
space zoo,
James,
lacking
the courage
to
track it down
and kill it
himself,
has
a clone of himself
illegally made
for
the purpose
by
clone bootlegger
Basil Jerichau.
Strict guidelines
govern
the production
of these
"duplicates",
which must
be destroyed
before
vestigial memory
renders them
indistinguishable
from
the originals.
The clone
botches
its mission
at the zoo
and
the pregnant
Megasoid
gets away,
a trace of memory
leads
the duplicate James
to the home
of Captain Emmet.
Emmet panics
and tries
to phone
the police,
the duplicate
James
knocks him cold
and,
accumulating more
of the real
Henderson James'
memories
as he goes,
he
finds his way
to "his"
own home.
The wounded
Megasoid
returns
to James' home
and
hides
in the bushes.
Duplicate James
meets
the real James'
wife,
Laura,
who sees
in him
a more
youthful version
of
her husband
before
he became
obsessed
with studying
the Megasoid.
The real
James
has gone
to bribe
Emmet
into killing
the duplicate James
once
he has
completed
his mission.
Returning
home
he leaves
Emmett
in the grounds
to await
duplicate James'
arrival.
Unfortunately
Emmett
is attacked
and killed
by
the Megasoid.
Entering
his home
James meets
his duplicate;
seeing
a more
compassionate
version
of himself
gives him
the courage
to
kill the alien,
as
he believes
Laura
would be
happier
with
the duplicate James.
Henderson James
and
his duplicate
hunt
for
the Megasoid,
James
shoots
the alien
as
it tears
his duplicate apart.
He discovers
that
his clone
was dying
all the time,
from
a timed-release
poison
in
his blood stream --
a precaution
provided
by
the clone
bootlegger.
A less cynical
Henderson James
is now
reconciled
with his wife.
Closing narration:
creatures
more strange
than the species
called Man?
He creates
and destroys;
he fumbles
and
makes mistakes.
But
the thing
which
distinguishes him
is
the ability
to learn
from
his mistakes."
Background:
Adapted from
the short story
'Goodnight, Mr James'
by
Clifford D. Simak,
first
published
in
Galaxy
Science Fiction magazine
in
March 1951
The
original story
begins
and ends
with
the "duplicate"
of
Henderson James,
who awakes
on
a street
in
an unnamed city
with
a mission
to kill
an alien
called
a Puudly.
Using
telepathy
the Puudly
informs
"duplicate"
James
of his origins
as a clone,
before
James kills it.
James
then decides
to attempt
to talk
the real
Henderson James
into
letting him live.
The clone
of James
arrives
at Henderson James'
home
just after
the gardener,
whose job it is
to kill the clone,
has mistakenly
killed
the real James
instead.
As
the Duplicate
prepares
to become
the real James,
he receives
a phone call
from Allen,
the
clone bootlegger,
who
advises him
of the poison:
"Like a time bomb.
No antidote for it
even
if he found out
somehow."
The duplicate says
"It was good of you
to let me know."
Allen replies,
"Glad to --
Goodnight,
Mr.James."
(source --
"The Outer Limits:
The Official
Companion"
by
David J. Schow
and
Jeffrey Frentzen,
Ace Trade
(also:
GNP/Crescendo),
1986,
page 343.)
Cast:
Ron Randell
as
Henderson James
and
his clone
Sean McClory
as
Captain Karl Emmet
Constance Towers
as
Laura James
Mike Lane
as
the Megazoid
Alan Gifford
as
Zoo Guide
Konstantin Shayne
as
Murdock
Jeffery Stone
as
Policeman
Steven Geray
as
Basil Jerichau
Ivy Bethune
as
Miss Thorson
Jonathon Hole
as
Pedestrian
George Robotham
as
Sean McClory's
stunt double
George Paul
as
Ron Randell's
stunt double
+++
[Found online at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Duplicate_Man ]
+++
End of the Wikipedia entry
+++
From
"THE FASHION
OF DREAMING"
website
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
"The
Duplicate
Man"
Directed
by Gerd Oswald;
written
by
Robert C. Dennis;
based on
the story
"Goodnight, Mr. James"
by
Clifford D. Simak.
Cast:
Ron Randell
(Henderson James);
Constance Towers
(Laura James);
Sean McClory
(Captain Emmet);
Konstantin Shayne
(Murdock);
Steve Geray
(Basil Jerichau).
Broadcast:
November 4, 1963
[but some say it was:
December 19, 1964].
Story:
After
the Megasoid
he's
smuggled
to Earth
escapes confinement,
ambitous
researcher
Henderson James
has
a clone,
or "duplicate,"
created
to do battle
with
the bloodthirsty
creature.
Probably
the last place
you'd expect
to find
one of
The Outer Limits'
most brooding
and
thought-provoking entries
is just
four episodes away
from its
wholly apathetic
finale.
But just
as
the inauspicious
"The Special One"
would have been
more
at home
in the show's
prosaic
second season,
"The Duplicate Man"
is
reminiscent
of the darker,
more layered episodes
of
its premiere season.
Sadly,
it also
happens to be
the final
noteworthy film
the series
had to offer.
One
of the more
successful
implementations
of Ben Brady's edict
that
second-season
episodes
be based on
literary sources,
"The Duplicate Man"
is rife
with traits
we've come
to associate
with
The Outer Limits'
first season.
Foremost
among these
is
the moral conflict
that
arrogant
Henderson James
undergoes
once
his duplicate
insinuates itself
into
his personal life.
Like
a terrestrial
variation
of the
Helosians,
Ebonites,
or Zantis,
the duplicate
serves
to emphasize
how
severely
compromised
its
human counterpart
has become.
Long
before
the events
of
the episode occur,
James
has lapsed
to a point
where
he has
more in common
with
the murderous alien
he's
thoughtlessly
loosed
upon the world
than
with his own
life-loving,
"newborn" double.
The strain
that
James's ambition
has placed
on his marriage
recalls
the anguish
of similarly
undermined couples
from
the series
(like
the despondent
and
uncommunicative
Clifford and Barbara Scott
from "O.B.I.T.,"
or
the brutally acrimonious
Richard and Judith Bellero
from
"The Bellero Shield"),
and
his
preoccupied neglect
of Laura
has left her
emotionally ragged
and,
unusual for
the prudish
second season,
apparently alcoholic.
The outcome
of
his carelessness
is as inevitable
as
it is disastrous:
James
must literally
split himself
in two
in order
to salvage his life
from
a beast
he had
neither the right
nor
legal sanction
to hold.
As conceived
by Robert Dennis,
Henderson James
is
a complex,
divided,
and
barely scrupulous man;
he is,
in a word,
Stefanoesque.
[This refers to
producer/visionary
Joseph Stefano's
character types.]
But James
resembles
one of
Stefano's
morally
discordant
anti-heroes
in
another
important respect:
despite
his
undeniable corruption,
he's
not quite
beyond redemption.
The Megasoid's
escape
and
the affirmative
example
of his
duplicate's
fervent awakening
(which echoes
his younger,
more
passionate self)
offer James
the chance
to
recapture
a compassion
he's
almost forgotten.
Though
in the end
the alien
and
the duplicate
are
neatly dispatched,
James'
self-centered
isolationism
has been
irreversibly exposed—
to his wife,
to himself,
and
to the world
at large.
His life,
like
the window
in
the episode's
brilliant closing shot,
is
both shattered
and wide open.
Whether
he can assemble
the remnants
of
his better nature
and realize
a
lasting redemption
remains
unclear,
as
James's final,
existential
(if not exactly
grammatically correct)
lines
to Laura reveal:
"All the while
he was coming to life,
he was dying
and not knowing it."
The couple's
awareness
that
this statement
could apply
to James
as easily
as to his clone
makes for
one of
the series'
most poignant codas
since
"The Architects of Fear,"
and
it serves
to underscore
the ambiguous hope
and
grave foreboding
that places
"The Duplicate Man"
squarely outside
the
adolescent framework
of
The Outer Limits'
dismal last season.
Much
of the success
of "The Duplicate Man"
can be
attributed
to Ron Randell's
performance
as the two Jameses.
His stiff charm
plays
equally well
as
the awkwardness
of
a grown man
experiencing
the sensations
of human existence
for the first time,
and
as
the bitter resignation
of a man
whose
self-awareness
and
sensuality
have
long since
abandoned him.
Randell makes
both
the original James
and
his duplicate
oddly sympathetic
and
even heroic,
and
by
the episode's end
we,
like Laura James,
find it
difficult
to choose
between
the two.
The
supporting cast
is equally fine,
although
Constance Towers'
Laura
is given
little to do
until
the hesitant reconciliation
that closes
the episode.
In those
scenes,
however,
she is
genuinely touching.
As assured
as its
human
characterizations
are,
"The Duplicate Man"
still bears
some of
the lesser qualities
of
the second-season
episodes.
Chief
among these,
of course,
is
the "design"
of
the Megasoid.
Its
hybridized
bird/ape/reptile
appearance
is
disconcerting enough
(sometimes laughably so),
but
its behavior
is another matter
altogether.
Described as
a fiendish
killing machine
bent only
on murder
and
procreation
throughout
the film,
the creature
has
a brief,
confusing—
and vocal—
moment of lucidity
that
only serves
to cast doubt
on
its reputation.
(That it speaks
in
a trembling whine
doesn't help.)
It's difficult
to tell
whether Dennis
intended
such ambiguity
or not,
for
it does shift
that much more
culpability
onto James:
not only
has he
subjugated Laura
all these years,
it may be
that
he's also captured
and
held
a benevolent,
reasoning creature
only
to satisfy
an odious sense
of curiosity.
Whatever
the case,
restricting
the Megasoid's
powers
of speech
to
a single
expository scene
makes the sequence
more
of a distraction
than
a revelation.
Also
serving to detract
from
the episode's power
is
an emotional
flatness
to its scenes;
director
Gerd Oswald
(along with
cinematographer
Kenneth Peach)
supplies
the necessary
visual tone
and pacing,
but
it's evident
that
by this point
in the series
he'd lost interest
in
motivating
his cast and crew
beyond
anything outside
the routine.
Thank goodness
for
Dennis' intricate,
textured writing
and
Randell's intense
and
dedicated performance:
without them,
the film
could easily
have been
a misfire
on
the scale of
"Moonstone"
or "Soldier."
Instead,
"The Duplicate Man"
is a subtle,
strangely
uplifting episode
that too often
gets overlooked
because
of its place
in
the series'
production
and
broadcast
schedule.
Its doleful
exploration
of human
reawakening
makes it
memorable
and,
for devotees
of the series,
a little nostalgic
and sad.
Such
uncommon
elegance
in
a network
television show
was
as rare then
as
it is now,
and
the demise of
"The Outer Limits"
has only
made it
that much
more so.
—MH
+++
From
the online blog
"The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
[Found online at: http://home.earthlink.net/~markholcomb/ol/ol_duplicate.html ]
+++
Title Page
from
the
online blog:
"The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb:
Pauline Kael
once wrote,
with
characteristic insight
and
predictable
condescension,
that pulp
"can take
a stronger hold
on
people's imaginations
than art,
because
it doesn't affect
the conscious
imagination,
the way
a great novel does,
but
the private,
hidden imagination,
the primitive
fantasy life."
If,
for the sake
of argument,
her statement is true,
then every week
from
September 1963
to
January 1965,
the destabilizing,
incantatory phrase
that began each episode
of
The Outer Limits
"there is
nothing wrong
with
your television set"—
announced
that the series
planned
to combine
art and pulp
in a way
that had
never
been done before.
Or,
arguably,
since.
Implying that
bad things
could befall
the usually placid,
placatory piece
of living-room
furniture
that
brought the show
into our homes
wasn't
any more
commercially viable
or
artistically
self-preservative
then
than it is today
(perhaps explaining
why the colorless
1990s series
that bore
"The Outer Limits"
title,
which opened
with the same words
but
utterly misread
their intent,
aired
on a cable network
where ratings
and ad revenue
were moot).
The original series
is thus
best considered
as
the noble
and
maverick experiment
it was.
Ironically,
the unfamiliar
anxiety
this opening sentence
evokes
is
what makes
the series
both
impossible to forget
and
resistant
to widespread adulation.
Like
the gently metallic
admonitions
of its
omniscient
Control Voice,
this
boldly reflexive,
intelligently
pessimistic,
and
understatedly
humane show
is
as refreshing now
as it was
40-odd years ago --
and
as unnerving,
a sure key
to
its low ranking
in
the pop-culture trade.
Such
negligence
is particularly
misguided
because,
while
other
fantasy-based series
from
the era
had bigger audiences
or
proved
more adaptable
to
the nostalgic whims
of
their aging fans,
none remains
as vivid
or provocative
as
"The Outer Limits".
This artistic
stamina
is
all the more
impressive
considering that
"The Outer Limits"
aired only
a scant
49 episodes
over
a meager
season and a half.
Compare that
with
the roomy
five seasons
of
"The Twilight Zone",
Rod Serling's
jazzy,
pedagogical
masterwork,
or the
embattled three
of the
insta-kitsch
franchise classic
"Star Trek".
While
justifiably adored,
these shows
persist
largely because
they don't
stray far
from
the rationalism
that drives
most American
entertainment:
their
human characters
are fallible,
impulsive creatures
uniquely adept
at f**king up,
but
every emotion,
relationship,
and
deeply held conviction
they have
is still largely intact
at the end
of each episode.
However
comforting,
this refutes
the everyday
experience
of
those of us
who tuned in
to watch.
The Outer Limits
wouldn't,
or couldn't,
cater
to such needs.
Series creator
Leslie Stevens
and
producer/visionary
Joseph Stefano
had something
less conciliatory
in mind
for their
sci-fi anthology,
and
the synthesis
of their
often opposing
frames of reference
proved to be
uniquely potent.
Stevens'
predilection
for
the poetry
in science
and technology,
and Stefano's
relentless excavation
of
the heartsickness
underlying
that poetry,
revealed
a universe
ruled by
labyrinthine pressures
and
transient pleasures,
where
meaning
and morality
were
in constant flux
and
human beings
fought desperately—
sometimes heroically—
to keep up.
It's this
starkly
recognizable,
brilliantly wrought
milieu
that makes
"The Outer Limits"
television's
most
abashedly modernist
work—
and
among
its most
consistently relevant.
At
the same time,
the series
adapts
the accoutrements
of
the science-fiction
and
horror genres
for its
celebratedly
off-kilter edge.
These
familiar trappings
aren't designed
to soothe audiences
(at least
not during
the show's
first season),
but
to provide
an exhilarating,
topsy-turvy entry
into
its more
complex concerns.
That juxtaposition,
itself
a modernist device,
is the series'
trump card.
These
accomplishments
are
what prompted
the pages
you're
about to read
["The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"].
They
aren't intended
as
a minutiae-rich
reference for
or
exhaustive history
of
the series;
David J. Schow
covered
that territory
in his essential
"The Outer Limits
Companion"
(GNP/Crescendo)—
which,
if you don't
already have,
you should get.
Nor are we
attempting
to convert
the uninitiated:
If you have
no prior interest
in the series
or familiarity with
its episodes,
you aren't likely
to get much
from
what follows.
Our goal instead
is
to explore in detail
the aesthetic,
narrative,
and
structural conventions
of the episodes,
and --
with luck --
divine from them
the show's
deeper,
more
enduring implications.
If we succeed,
this
ongoing project
will be
an extension
of
The Outer Limits
itself:
lofty,
groping,
honest
(sometimes clumsily so),
and
altogether human.
Eventually,
we plan
to cover
all of the series' episodes,
even when doing so
will tax
our interest and ability
(don't expect more
than
a couple of paragraphs
on "The Probe,"
for instance).
For now,
we've covered
those episodes
that have had
a lasting impact
on us
as individual viewers
(and, we believe,
on the medium
of television),
as well as
those that have been,
for one reason
or another,
overlooked
and deserve
to be given
their due.
In an attempt
to
further categorize
an essentially
un-categorizable
group of films,
and
as
a kind of
critical shorthand,
we've also
developed
a (hopefully)
useful method
of
rating the episodes.
Each review
includes one
of the following
three icons:
ICON #1
The
important episodes
that ensure
The Outer Limits
a lasting place
in television history.
These
are the classics,
and
each one
contributes to
the series' permanent,
broadening effect
on the medium.
ICON #2
Episodes
that are interesting,
but
perhaps not seminal.
These entries
may
not live up to
the best of
The Outer Limits,
but
each one
achieves something
uniquely intriguing
and
characteristically
profound.
ICON #3
These episodes
are inconsistent
with the series'
established themes
and style.
Far from
the worst
The Outer Limits
has to offer,
they are simply
problematic in structure
or intent,
or both.
Among
the recurring themes
in The Outer Limits
is that of
the clarifying effect
of dreams.
Aabel,
the misguided,
insectoid
Erosian
from
Anthony Lawrence's
"The Children
of Spider County,"
equates
dreaming
with spiritual
and
biological fertility;
he refers to
the human soul
as
a "dream machine."
Perhaps
what
The Outer Limits
does best
is remind us
to dream
of
our better selves
in
the face of
cosmic
and
intrinsic indifference.
We hope to
do justice
to
this ideal
and
to the series
that
contained it,
because
it represents
not just
a high watermark
in television,
but
a time
when
that medium
adopted,
if only briefly,
the fashion
of dreaming.
—Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
[Found online at: http://home.earthlink.net/~markholcomb/ol/front.html ]
The Year
2011
(as seen
from 1964)
"The Duplicate
Man"
(from:
The Outer Limits)
++++++++++
The following
entry
consists
of portions
of web pages
devoted
to
"The Outer Limits"
(the television series
of the 1960s),
which
have been
compiled here
for purposes
of entertainment
and
education
-- steeeeve
+++++++++
SERIES TITLE:
THE OUTER LIMITS
EPISODE TITLE:
"THE DUPLICATE
MAN"
[Broadcast first
onNovember 4, 1963?
or
December 19, 1964?,
depending
on source
of information]
In
the future,
a man creates
a duplicate
of himself,
to kill
an
escaped
alien monster.
In
this episode,
set in
the future
[2011],
a man
(played by
Ron Randell,
who
was in
"The Longest Day")
sends
a duplicate
of himself
out
to deal with
a deadly,
escaped,
alien creature.
"The Duplicate Man"
offers
a fascinating look
at the year
2011,
from
the perspective
of
the early 1960s.
[This program
was aired
on
December 19,
1964,
though
some reports
have it
as
November 4,
1963]
Constance Towers
offers
warm support
as Randell's wife.
+++
SYNOPSIS
Far
in the future
[that is,
in 2011 AD],
students tour
a zoo
containing
alien specimens.
Later,
a scientist
discovers
his deadly
alien creature
has escaped.
The scientist
has
a duplicate
of himself
created,
and
sends it
on a mission
to find
and kill
the alien.
The duplicate
gradually
gains awareness
of what it is,
becoming
more human
in the process.
The alien killer
attacks
and kills
the duplicate.
The scientist
shoots
and kills
the deadly alien.
REVIEW:
Director
Gerd Oswald's,
"THE DUPLICATE MAN",
is
a fairly
interesting tale
of life,
in 2011 A. D.
In the future,
a man's
alien creature,
which
he
smuggled to Earth,
escapes.
The man
creates
a duplicate
of himself
to track down
and kill
the deadly alien.
Ron Randell,
as
Henderson James,
the man
who
duplicates himself,
is
a bit stiff.
Oddly enough,
when Randell
plays
his duplicate,
maturing
and
becoming
more human,
he acts
warmer,
and
less stiff,
than when
he's playing
himself
as
["Henderson James"]
a regular person.
Go figure.
Constance Towers,
as
Henderson James'
wife,
is a warm,
radiant presence.
What she sees
in driven scientist,
Henderson James,
is
a bit hard to see,
but
the same
could be said
of a lot of
"Outer Limits'"
wives and girlfriends.
The Teleplay,
by
Robert C. Dennis,
(Story by
Clifford Simak),
contains
some interesting rules
about
human duplicates.
They
can only exist
for
five hours,
after which
they must
be destroyed.
The idea
of human duplicates,
with
artificially limited
life spans,
brings to mind
the "replicants"
in the classic
Sci-Fi movie,
"Blade Runner"
[1982].
To help
sell the idea
that we're
in the future
[2011],
everybody
uses
videophones.
Oddly enough,
these phones
still
have dials!
The episode's
alien
is a guy,
(Mike Lane),
in
a "Big Bird" suit,
complete
with
feathers
and beak,
kind of like
"Nightmare on
Sesame Street"
Project Unlimited,
Inc.,
is the party
responsible
for this
bird-brained creature.
My favorite scene
takes place
between
the Megasoid
(alien),
and
Randell's duplicate,
who's
on a mission
to
kill the alien.
The Megasoid
tells
the duplicate,
"You're
a shadow.
A temporary
Henderson James."
The duplicate
answers,
"I'm flesh and blood."
The Megasoid
replies,
"A temporary.
No existence.
No memory".
A
philosophical
discussion,
between
a killer alien
and
a human duplicate,
provides
an
odd and effective
Sci-Fi scene.
The music
is ominous,
utilizing the organ,
and
bringing to mind
spooky
old radio shows,
like
"Lights Out"
and
"Inner Sanctum".
Harry Lubin
is
the responsible
party.
Director
of Photography,
Kenneth Peach,
delivers
creative
screen imagery.
Particularly
good
is
an extreme
close shot
of
the supposedly
inanimate alien,
as it
opens
one eye!
"THE DUPLICATE MAN"
should be
fairly watchable
for some
Sci-Fi viewers.
Those
who don't like
silly monsters
will not want
to take
a gander
at this episode.
+++
THE DUPLICATE MAN
CAST:
Ron Randell,
Constance Towers,
Jeffrey Stone,
Jonathan Hole,
Ivy Bethune,
Sean McClory.
+++
[Most of
the information above
was found online at:
http://www.homevideos.com/outerlimits
and
http://www.homevideos.com/indextv.htm ]
++++++++++++++++
End of entry
from
HOMEVIDEOS.com
++++++++++++++++
"The Duplicate
Man"
This entry
is from
Wikipedia,
the
free encyclopedia
"The Duplicate Man"
The Outer Limit
(TV series)
[Season 2,
Episode 13]
Directed
by
Gerd Oswald
Written by
Robert C. Dennis
(teleplay)
Clifford Simak
(story)
Cinematography
by
Kenneth Peach
Original air date:
December 19, 1964
[though some say
it was
November 4, 1963].
Guest stars:
Ron Randell
Constance Towers
"The Duplicate Man"
is an
episode
of
the original
The Outer Limits
television show.
It first aired
on
19 December 1964,
during
the second season
[though some
sources say it aired
on
November 4, 1963.]
Opening narration:
"Since
the first day
that Man
stared up
at
the stars
and saw
other worlds,
there
has been
no more
haunting question
than this:
What
will we
find there?
Will there be
other creatures,
and
will they be
like us?
Or when
that ancient dream
comes true,
will it turn into
a nightmare?
Will
we find,
on
some distant,
frozen planet,
an alien life
of
unimaginable horror?"
Plot
the year 2011,
wealthy
research academic
Henderson James
has had
smuggled to Earth,
by
Captain
Karl Emmet,
a Megasoid --
an alien
which
it is illegal
to possess,
highly dangerous
as
it is always
thinking about
killing,
unless
it is in
its
reproductive cycle -
which
this one is.
When
the Megasoid
escapes
to hide
amongst
the stuffed exhibits
at
a nearby
space zoo,
James,
lacking
the courage
to
track it down
and kill it
himself,
has
a clone of himself
illegally made
for
the purpose
by
clone bootlegger
Basil Jerichau.
Strict guidelines
govern
the production
of these
"duplicates",
which must
be destroyed
before
vestigial memory
renders them
indistinguishable
from
the originals.
The clone
botches
its mission
at the zoo
and
the pregnant
Megasoid
gets away,
a trace of memory
leads
the duplicate James
to the home
of Captain Emmet.
Emmet panics
and tries
to phone
the police,
the duplicate
James
knocks him cold
and,
accumulating more
of the real
Henderson James'
memories
as he goes,
he
finds his way
to "his"
own home.
The wounded
Megasoid
returns
to James' home
and
hides
in the bushes.
Duplicate James
meets
the real James'
wife,
Laura,
who sees
in him
a more
youthful version
of
her husband
before
he became
obsessed
with studying
the Megasoid.
The real
James
has gone
to bribe
Emmet
into killing
the duplicate James
once
he has
completed
his mission.
Returning
home
he leaves
Emmett
in the grounds
to await
duplicate James'
arrival.
Unfortunately
Emmett
is attacked
and killed
by
the Megasoid.
Entering
his home
James meets
his duplicate;
seeing
a more
compassionate
version
of himself
gives him
the courage
to
kill the alien,
as
he believes
Laura
would be
happier
with
the duplicate James.
Henderson James
and
his duplicate
hunt
for
the Megasoid,
James
shoots
the alien
as
it tears
his duplicate apart.
He discovers
that
his clone
was dying
all the time,
from
a timed-release
poison
in
his blood stream --
a precaution
provided
by
the clone
bootlegger.
A less cynical
Henderson James
is now
reconciled
with his wife.
Closing narration:
"In all the universe,
can there becreatures
more strange
than the species
called Man?
He creates
and destroys;
he fumbles
and
makes mistakes.
But
the thing
which
distinguishes him
is
the ability
to learn
from
his mistakes."
Background:
Adapted from
the short story
'Goodnight, Mr James'
by
Clifford D. Simak,
first
published
in
Galaxy
Science Fiction magazine
in
March 1951
The
original story
begins
and ends
with
the "duplicate"
of
Henderson James,
who awakes
on
a street
in
an unnamed city
with
a mission
to kill
an alien
called
a Puudly.
Using
telepathy
the Puudly
informs
"duplicate"
James
of his origins
as a clone,
before
James kills it.
James
then decides
to attempt
to talk
the real
Henderson James
into
letting him live.
The clone
of James
arrives
at Henderson James'
home
just after
the gardener,
whose job it is
to kill the clone,
has mistakenly
killed
the real James
instead.
As
the Duplicate
prepares
to become
the real James,
he receives
a phone call
from Allen,
the
clone bootlegger,
who
advises him
of the poison:
"Like a time bomb.
No antidote for it
even
if he found out
somehow."
The duplicate says
"It was good of you
to let me know."
Allen replies,
"Glad to --
Goodnight,
Mr.James."
(source --
"The Outer Limits:
The Official
Companion"
by
David J. Schow
and
Jeffrey Frentzen,
Ace Trade
(also:
GNP/Crescendo),
1986,
page 343.)
Cast:
Ron Randell
as
Henderson James
and
his clone
Sean McClory
as
Captain Karl Emmet
Constance Towers
as
Laura James
Mike Lane
as
the Megazoid
Alan Gifford
as
Zoo Guide
Konstantin Shayne
as
Murdock
Jeffery Stone
as
Policeman
Steven Geray
as
Basil Jerichau
Ivy Bethune
as
Miss Thorson
Jonathon Hole
as
Pedestrian
George Robotham
as
Sean McClory's
stunt double
George Paul
as
Ron Randell's
stunt double
+++
[Found online at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Duplicate_Man ]
+++
End of the Wikipedia entry
+++
From
OF DREAMING"
website
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
"The
Duplicate
Man"
Directed
by Gerd Oswald;
written
by
Robert C. Dennis;
based on
the story
"Goodnight, Mr. James"
by
Clifford D. Simak.
Cast:
Ron Randell
(Henderson James);
Constance Towers
(Laura James);
Sean McClory
(Captain Emmet);
Konstantin Shayne
(Murdock);
Steve Geray
(Basil Jerichau).
Broadcast:
November 4, 1963
[but some say it was:
December 19, 1964].
Story:
After
the Megasoid
he's
smuggled
to Earth
escapes confinement,
ambitous
researcher
Henderson James
has
a clone,
or "duplicate,"
created
to do battle
with
the bloodthirsty
creature.
Probably
the last place
you'd expect
to find
one of
The Outer Limits'
most brooding
and
thought-provoking entries
is just
four episodes away
from its
wholly apathetic
finale.
But just
as
the inauspicious
"The Special One"
would have been
more
at home
in the show's
prosaic
second season,
"The Duplicate Man"
is
reminiscent
of the darker,
more layered episodes
of
its premiere season.
Sadly,
it also
happens to be
the final
noteworthy film
the series
had to offer.
One
of the more
successful
implementations
of Ben Brady's edict
that
second-season
episodes
be based on
literary sources,
"The Duplicate Man"
is rife
with traits
we've come
to associate
with
The Outer Limits'
first season.
Foremost
among these
is
the moral conflict
that
arrogant
Henderson James
undergoes
once
his duplicate
insinuates itself
into
his personal life.
Like
a terrestrial
variation
of the
Helosians,
Ebonites,
or Zantis,
the duplicate
serves
to emphasize
how
severely
compromised
its
human counterpart
has become.
Long
before
the events
of
the episode occur,
James
has lapsed
to a point
where
he has
more in common
with
the murderous alien
he's
thoughtlessly
loosed
upon the world
than
with his own
life-loving,
"newborn" double.
The strain
that
James's ambition
has placed
on his marriage
recalls
the anguish
of similarly
undermined couples
from
the series
(like
the despondent
and
uncommunicative
Clifford and Barbara Scott
from "O.B.I.T.,"
or
the brutally acrimonious
Richard and Judith Bellero
from
"The Bellero Shield"),
and
his
preoccupied neglect
of Laura
has left her
emotionally ragged
and,
unusual for
the prudish
second season,
apparently alcoholic.
The outcome
of
his carelessness
is as inevitable
as
it is disastrous:
James
must literally
split himself
in two
in order
to salvage his life
from
a beast
he had
neither the right
nor
legal sanction
to hold.
As conceived
by Robert Dennis,
Henderson James
is
a complex,
divided,
and
barely scrupulous man;
he is,
in a word,
Stefanoesque.
[This refers to
producer/visionary
Joseph Stefano's
character types.]
But James
resembles
one of
Stefano's
morally
discordant
anti-heroes
in
another
important respect:
despite
his
undeniable corruption,
he's
not quite
beyond redemption.
The Megasoid's
escape
and
the affirmative
example
of his
duplicate's
fervent awakening
(which echoes
his younger,
more
passionate self)
offer James
the chance
to
recapture
a compassion
he's
almost forgotten.
Though
in the end
the alien
and
the duplicate
are
neatly dispatched,
James'
self-centered
isolationism
has been
irreversibly exposed—
to his wife,
to himself,
and
to the world
at large.
His life,
like
the window
in
the episode's
brilliant closing shot,
is
both shattered
and wide open.
Whether
he can assemble
the remnants
of
his better nature
and realize
a
lasting redemption
remains
unclear,
as
James's final,
existential
(if not exactly
grammatically correct)
lines
to Laura reveal:
"All the while
he was coming to life,
he was dying
and not knowing it."
The couple's
awareness
that
this statement
could apply
to James
as easily
as to his clone
makes for
one of
the series'
most poignant codas
since
"The Architects of Fear,"
and
it serves
to underscore
the ambiguous hope
and
grave foreboding
that places
"The Duplicate Man"
squarely outside
the
adolescent framework
of
The Outer Limits'
dismal last season.
Much
of the success
of "The Duplicate Man"
can be
attributed
to Ron Randell's
performance
as the two Jameses.
His stiff charm
plays
equally well
as
the awkwardness
of
a grown man
experiencing
the sensations
of human existence
for the first time,
and
as
the bitter resignation
of a man
whose
self-awareness
and
sensuality
have
long since
abandoned him.
Randell makes
both
the original James
and
his duplicate
oddly sympathetic
and
even heroic,
and
by
the episode's end
we,
like Laura James,
find it
difficult
to choose
between
the two.
The
supporting cast
is equally fine,
although
Constance Towers'
Laura
is given
little to do
until
the hesitant reconciliation
that closes
the episode.
In those
scenes,
however,
she is
genuinely touching.
As assured
as its
human
characterizations
are,
"The Duplicate Man"
still bears
some of
the lesser qualities
of
the second-season
episodes.
Chief
among these,
of course,
is
the "design"
of
the Megasoid.
Its
hybridized
bird/ape/reptile
appearance
is
disconcerting enough
(sometimes laughably so),
but
its behavior
is another matter
altogether.
Described as
a fiendish
killing machine
bent only
on murder
and
procreation
throughout
the film,
the creature
has
a brief,
confusing—
and vocal—
moment of lucidity
that
only serves
to cast doubt
on
its reputation.
(That it speaks
in
a trembling whine
doesn't help.)
It's difficult
to tell
whether Dennis
intended
such ambiguity
or not,
for
it does shift
that much more
culpability
onto James:
not only
has he
subjugated Laura
all these years,
it may be
that
he's also captured
and
held
a benevolent,
reasoning creature
only
to satisfy
an odious sense
of curiosity.
Whatever
the case,
restricting
the Megasoid's
powers
of speech
to
a single
expository scene
makes the sequence
more
of a distraction
than
a revelation.
Also
serving to detract
from
the episode's power
is
an emotional
flatness
to its scenes;
director
Gerd Oswald
(along with
cinematographer
Kenneth Peach)
supplies
the necessary
visual tone
and pacing,
but
it's evident
that
by this point
in the series
he'd lost interest
in
motivating
his cast and crew
beyond
anything outside
the routine.
Thank goodness
for
Dennis' intricate,
textured writing
and
Randell's intense
and
dedicated performance:
without them,
the film
could easily
have been
a misfire
on
the scale of
"Moonstone"
or "Soldier."
Instead,
"The Duplicate Man"
is a subtle,
strangely
uplifting episode
that too often
gets overlooked
because
of its place
in
the series'
production
and
broadcast
schedule.
Its doleful
exploration
of human
reawakening
makes it
memorable
and,
for devotees
of the series,
a little nostalgic
and sad.
Such
uncommon
elegance
in
a network
television show
was
as rare then
as
it is now,
and
the demise of
"The Outer Limits"
has only
made it
that much
more so.
—MH
+++
From
the online blog
"The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
[Found online at: http://home.earthlink.net/~markholcomb/ol/ol_duplicate.html ]
+++
Title Page
from
the
online blog:
"The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"
by
Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb:
Pauline Kael
once wrote,
with
characteristic insight
and
predictable
condescension,
that pulp
"can take
a stronger hold
on
people's imaginations
than art,
because
it doesn't affect
the conscious
imagination,
the way
a great novel does,
but
the private,
hidden imagination,
the primitive
fantasy life."
If,
for the sake
of argument,
her statement is true,
then every week
from
September 1963
to
January 1965,
the destabilizing,
incantatory phrase
that began each episode
of
The Outer Limits
"there is
nothing wrong
with
your television set"—
announced
that the series
planned
to combine
art and pulp
in a way
that had
never
been done before.
Or,
arguably,
since.
Implying that
bad things
could befall
the usually placid,
placatory piece
of living-room
furniture
that
brought the show
into our homes
wasn't
any more
commercially viable
or
artistically
self-preservative
then
than it is today
(perhaps explaining
why the colorless
1990s series
that bore
"The Outer Limits"
title,
which opened
with the same words
but
utterly misread
their intent,
aired
on a cable network
where ratings
and ad revenue
were moot).
The original series
is thus
best considered
as
the noble
and
maverick experiment
it was.
Ironically,
the unfamiliar
anxiety
this opening sentence
evokes
is
what makes
the series
both
impossible to forget
and
resistant
to widespread adulation.
Like
the gently metallic
admonitions
of its
omniscient
Control Voice,
this
boldly reflexive,
intelligently
pessimistic,
and
understatedly
humane show
is
as refreshing now
as it was
40-odd years ago --
and
as unnerving,
a sure key
to
its low ranking
in
the pop-culture trade.
Such
negligence
is particularly
misguided
because,
while
other
fantasy-based series
from
the era
had bigger audiences
or
proved
more adaptable
to
the nostalgic whims
of
their aging fans,
none remains
as vivid
or provocative
as
"The Outer Limits".
This artistic
stamina
is
all the more
impressive
considering that
"The Outer Limits"
aired only
a scant
49 episodes
over
a meager
season and a half.
Compare that
with
the roomy
five seasons
of
"The Twilight Zone",
Rod Serling's
jazzy,
pedagogical
masterwork,
or the
embattled three
of the
insta-kitsch
franchise classic
"Star Trek".
While
justifiably adored,
these shows
persist
largely because
they don't
stray far
from
the rationalism
that drives
most American
entertainment:
their
human characters
are fallible,
impulsive creatures
uniquely adept
at f**king up,
but
every emotion,
relationship,
and
deeply held conviction
they have
is still largely intact
at the end
of each episode.
However
comforting,
this refutes
the everyday
experience
of
those of us
who tuned in
to watch.
The Outer Limits
wouldn't,
or couldn't,
cater
to such needs.
Series creator
Leslie Stevens
and
producer/visionary
Joseph Stefano
had something
less conciliatory
in mind
for their
sci-fi anthology,
and
the synthesis
of their
often opposing
frames of reference
proved to be
uniquely potent.
Stevens'
predilection
for
the poetry
in science
and technology,
and Stefano's
relentless excavation
of
the heartsickness
underlying
that poetry,
revealed
a universe
ruled by
labyrinthine pressures
and
transient pleasures,
where
meaning
and morality
were
in constant flux
and
human beings
fought desperately—
sometimes heroically—
to keep up.
It's this
starkly
recognizable,
brilliantly wrought
milieu
that makes
"The Outer Limits"
television's
most
abashedly modernist
work—
and
among
its most
consistently relevant.
At
the same time,
the series
adapts
the accoutrements
of
the science-fiction
and
horror genres
for its
celebratedly
off-kilter edge.
These
familiar trappings
aren't designed
to soothe audiences
(at least
not during
the show's
first season),
but
to provide
an exhilarating,
topsy-turvy entry
into
its more
complex concerns.
That juxtaposition,
itself
a modernist device,
is the series'
trump card.
These
accomplishments
are
what prompted
the pages
you're
about to read
["The Fashion
of Dreaming:
A Critical Guide
to The Outer Limits"].
They
aren't intended
as
a minutiae-rich
reference for
or
exhaustive history
of
the series;
David J. Schow
covered
that territory
in his essential
"The Outer Limits
Companion"
(GNP/Crescendo)—
which,
if you don't
already have,
you should get.
Nor are we
attempting
to convert
the uninitiated:
If you have
no prior interest
in the series
or familiarity with
its episodes,
you aren't likely
to get much
from
what follows.
Our goal instead
is
to explore in detail
the aesthetic,
narrative,
and
structural conventions
of the episodes,
and --
with luck --
divine from them
the show's
deeper,
more
enduring implications.
If we succeed,
this
ongoing project
will be
an extension
of
The Outer Limits
itself:
lofty,
groping,
honest
(sometimes clumsily so),
and
altogether human.
Eventually,
we plan
to cover
all of the series' episodes,
even when doing so
will tax
our interest and ability
(don't expect more
than
a couple of paragraphs
on "The Probe,"
for instance).
For now,
we've covered
those episodes
that have had
a lasting impact
on us
as individual viewers
(and, we believe,
on the medium
of television),
as well as
those that have been,
for one reason
or another,
overlooked
and deserve
to be given
their due.
In an attempt
to
further categorize
an essentially
un-categorizable
group of films,
and
as
a kind of
critical shorthand,
we've also
developed
a (hopefully)
useful method
of
rating the episodes.
Each review
includes one
of the following
three icons:
ICON #1
The
important episodes
that ensure
The Outer Limits
a lasting place
in television history.
These
are the classics,
and
each one
contributes to
the series' permanent,
broadening effect
on the medium.
ICON #2
Episodes
that are interesting,
but
perhaps not seminal.
These entries
may
not live up to
the best of
The Outer Limits,
but
each one
achieves something
uniquely intriguing
and
characteristically
profound.
ICON #3
These episodes
are inconsistent
with the series'
established themes
and style.
Far from
the worst
The Outer Limits
has to offer,
they are simply
problematic in structure
or intent,
or both.
Among
the recurring themes
in The Outer Limits
is that of
the clarifying effect
of dreams.
Aabel,
the misguided,
insectoid
Erosian
from
Anthony Lawrence's
"The Children
of Spider County,"
equates
dreaming
with spiritual
and
biological fertility;
he refers to
the human soul
as
a "dream machine."
Perhaps
what
The Outer Limits
does best
is remind us
to dream
of
our better selves
in
the face of
cosmic
and
intrinsic indifference.
We hope to
do justice
to
this ideal
and
to the series
that
contained it,
because
it represents
not just
a high watermark
in television,
but
a time
when
that medium
adopted,
if only briefly,
the fashion
of dreaming.
—Mark Holcomb
and
David C. Holcomb
+++
[Found online at: http://home.earthlink.net/~markholcomb/ol/front.html ]
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