Voices from The Twilight Zone: Shadow Play
By Pat Brennan
Previous ⬅ Voices from The Twilight Zone: Kentucky Rye
There was an undeniable mystique to Charles Beaumont.
While many writers of speculative fiction stand in stark contrast to the people who populate their stories, it was as if he was one of his own characters brought to life. Intense, exuberant, and in possession of the same kind of morbid sense of humor that appeared in the tales that spilled out from his mind, Beaumont was the picture of magnetism. Remembered as a “meteoric type of person,” by friend and fellow literary legend Richard Matheson, his rise and fall would sadly be one of the defining images of him decades later: a man who enjoyed an astonishing ascent as an author and screenwriter only to be set upon by a strange degenerative illness that would first rob him of his ability to write before ultimately stealing his life.
But at the very least, the work he left behind stands as a testament to the beautiful imagination he possessed. Ray Bradbury once said of his friend, “he was, and remains in his work today, a writer of ideas, notions, fancies.” That’s one of the reasons why Beaumont has long been my favorite non-Serling Twilight Zone writer. So often his episodes feature a simple but ingenious concept at their core that makes them instantly unforgettable. “The Howling Man,” “Perchance to Dream,” and “Long Live Walter Jameson” all rank amongst his best examples of this, but the one that has continued to haunt me for years is his season two outing, “Shadow Play.”
An exploration of both the nature of reality and the complexities of the human mind, “Shadow Play” is the kind of story that returns to you in the wee hours of the night and makes you question things you normally wouldn’t in the rational light of day. It follows Adam Grant (Dennis Weaver), a man who has been convicted of murder and sentenced to a date with the electric chair. Predictably, he pleads his innocence, but nobody is ready for the explanation he presents. According to Grant, everything that is happening and every person that stands amongst him is part of a horrible dream that visits him night after night. It always begins with his guilty verdict being passed down and ends with his execution, while everything else that happens in between plays out in excruciating real time.
At first, people take these as the rantings of a madman. What else could you think after hearing someone shout that they “won’t die again” before being dragged away kicking and screaming? But soon District Attorney Henry Richie (Harry Townes) and court reporter Paul Carson (Wright King) start to wonder if there’s any substance to Grant’s claims. In addition to his uncanny ability to point out the massive gaps in logic that surround his situation, there are just too many instances of him having knowledge he couldn’t possibly be in possession of. And of course, there’s also the question that’s of particular concern to Richie and Carson: if they truly only exist in Adam’s mind, then what happens to them when the man finally wakes up?
“Shadow Play” initially had a drastically different form, both in structure and medium. Originally titled “Träumerei,” it began as a short story that appeared in an issue of Infinity Science Fiction magazine in February of 1956. In it, a district attorney and courtroom reporter argue about a death row inmate who is moments away from being executed by hanging. The man claims that if he dies, the entire world will cease to exist as it is merely a dream playing out in his fevered mind. They debate his story until the final hour strikes and the truth of his claims is revealed.
Beaumont would expand the plot significantly in his adaptation of the tale for the small screen five years later, most notably giving the audience more time with the character of Adam Grant and adding the now iconic courtroom scenes that bookend the Twilight Zone episode. Along with fleshing out the narrative, these additions gave more room for the story’s core idea to work its way under your skin. To borrow a portion of Rod Serling’s closing narration, “We exist, of course, but how? And in what way?” It’s a riddle that’s plagued humanity forever, and it goes hand-in-hand with our fear of what comes after our lives are eventually extinguished. Our mortality is the dark half of our existence, and the incomprehensible possibilities of the great beyond are almost as terrifying as the questions that surround the meaning of our lives as a whole.
Perhaps more striking than the episode’s mind-bending qualities is the subtle way it speaks out against capital punishment. Like Serling, Beaumont was no stranger to social commentary (look no further than his 1959 novel The Intruder, which would eventually be brought to the silver screen by Roger Corman). As Grant narrates his own execution to his horrified fellow death row inmates, Beaumont forces us to experience the sheer terror of what those final moments must be like.
“And then you wait, every muscle tense, straining,” he says, as the anxiety rises in our collective stomachs. “Any second, any second then you can almost hear it. They pull the switch…” It’s an incredibly grim moment that’s enhanced ten-fold by the fact that it’s being forced upon an innocent man. How many other wrongfully convicted individuals have met the same fate? And does putting the guilty through such a cruel process truly do anything to change what they’ve done? These are the questions Beaumont forces us to grapple with. It may not change the minds of anyone on either side of the debate, but the importance of the discussion itself is indisputable.
Interestingly, just as its protagonist’s dream is rebuilt nightly, “Shadow Play” itself has been reborn twice since its original airing back in 1961. Nearly 25 years later, when The Twilight Zone was brought back from the dead for the first time, the teleplay was remounted with Peter Coyote (perhaps best known now as the narrator of choice for the documentarian Ken Burns) in the role of Grant. It was remade again in 2011, this time taking the form of a radio drama featuring the voice talents of Ernie Hudson.
Unfortunately, while they both have their merits, neither is able to replicate the effectiveness of the original. The 80s version comes the closest in tone and overall production quality, but what’s painfully lacking in both is the sense of urgency that’s palpable in the source material. More than anything, this is a testament to the quality of Dennis Weaver’s performance as Grant. The desperation, exhaustion, and eventual quiet resignation he shows feel so deeply human. It’s impossible not to identify with him, and that sense of empathy it creates is why this version of “Shadow Play” leaves such an indelible mark on you.
During an interview with Matthew R. Bradley, science fiction writer George Clayton Johnson spoke of his time spent working on The Twilight Zone. Reminiscing about past episodes of the series, he said: “You know what I think is the best show, the one that has, for me, the greatest power? It’s the one with Dennis Weaver that Beaumont wrote.”
The name of the episode had escaped him, but the imprint it had made on his mind and heart had not. 🩸
Sources:
Beaumont, Charles. Perchance to Dream: Selected Stories. Penguin Classics, 2015.
Grams, Martin. The Twilight Zone: Unlocking the Door to a Television Classic. OTR Publishing, 2008.
Rubin, Steve. The Twilight Zone Encyclopedia. Chicago Review Press, 2017.
Zicree, Marc Scott. The Twilight Zone Companion. 3rd Edition. Silman James Press, 2018.
About
Pat Brennan is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in Fangoria, Bloody Disgusting, Dread Central, and Rue Morgue. He lives in New Brunswick with his wife, son, and very needy cat. Follow him on Instagram @ horrordad87.
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