Even those who remember the past are compelled to repeat it. I can't recall whose quote that paraphrases. Santa somebody. Santa Claus? That can't be right.
Well, no matter. Dana Andrews is a modern scientist who looks around him and sees nothing but threats, dangers, misery, mishigas. The world is going to hell in a handbasket -- and this is only 1963. He should see the world 40 years later.
So he decides to straighten things out by projecting himself into the past and trying to prevent the disaster written into modern history books. The science-fiction apparatus is perfunctory: a tight shot of Andrews' face, a cloud of smoke, the subject looks groggy, and -- poof -- he's back where he wanted to go, with no explanation of how it works.
But every attempt fails. First, his warnings to evacuate Hiroshima are ignored; then his attempt to assassinate Hitler is aborted; then he can't convince the captain of the Lusitania to alter course.
So he decides to hell with it. He picks out a nice, small, peaceful little town in Indiana, 1888, and projects himself there, with the intent of staying there for good, living a serene existence. He's vowed to change nothing because, you know, the butterfly effect and all that? But circumstances get the better of his intentions. He and a pretty school teacher, Pat Breslin, fall for one another. At the Fourth of July, he notices in the modern guidebook he's brought with him that the school house will burn down and a dozen children "severely injured." The disaster will be caused by a broken kerosene lamp from a salesman's wagon.
Minutes before the fire is scheduled to start, Andrews does his best to unhitch the horses from the peddler's wagon. The peddler takes a crack at him with a whip, the horses bolt, the wagon rattles off down the street, the lantern is flung from its hook, and everything proceeds on schedule.
Andrews kisses his girl good-bye and returns permanently to the present, determined now to try to solve current problems and improve the future, which is much more sensible, even if equally futile.
You have to hand it to Dana Andrews. He's older, of course, almost twenty years past his heyday, and the last couple of those years were given over to booze. Yet, he's professional and convincing enough, and Rod Serling has given him some good lines. I wish I had noted some of them. "The arts we admire the most are designed to kill" -- something like that.
Patricia Breslin, not a glamorous beauty, is attractive and appealing, despite the fact that her close ups appear to have been filmed through somebody's stretched pantyhose. She brings something to the role, too. In one shot, she's facing away from Andrews, chatting about something, then stumbles over her lines, turns around and asks firmly, "Paul, who are you? Where did you come from?" It's a small thing but she handles it nicely.
As for the logic behind the scientific part of the plot -- how did Andrews manage to wind up in a hotel room directly across the street from Hitler's platform, that sort of thing -- it's best not to ask.
Well, no matter. Dana Andrews is a modern scientist who looks around him and sees nothing but threats, dangers, misery, mishigas. The world is going to hell in a handbasket -- and this is only 1963. He should see the world 40 years later.
So he decides to straighten things out by projecting himself into the past and trying to prevent the disaster written into modern history books. The science-fiction apparatus is perfunctory: a tight shot of Andrews' face, a cloud of smoke, the subject looks groggy, and -- poof -- he's back where he wanted to go, with no explanation of how it works.
But every attempt fails. First, his warnings to evacuate Hiroshima are ignored; then his attempt to assassinate Hitler is aborted; then he can't convince the captain of the Lusitania to alter course.
So he decides to hell with it. He picks out a nice, small, peaceful little town in Indiana, 1888, and projects himself there, with the intent of staying there for good, living a serene existence. He's vowed to change nothing because, you know, the butterfly effect and all that? But circumstances get the better of his intentions. He and a pretty school teacher, Pat Breslin, fall for one another. At the Fourth of July, he notices in the modern guidebook he's brought with him that the school house will burn down and a dozen children "severely injured." The disaster will be caused by a broken kerosene lamp from a salesman's wagon.
Minutes before the fire is scheduled to start, Andrews does his best to unhitch the horses from the peddler's wagon. The peddler takes a crack at him with a whip, the horses bolt, the wagon rattles off down the street, the lantern is flung from its hook, and everything proceeds on schedule.
Andrews kisses his girl good-bye and returns permanently to the present, determined now to try to solve current problems and improve the future, which is much more sensible, even if equally futile.
You have to hand it to Dana Andrews. He's older, of course, almost twenty years past his heyday, and the last couple of those years were given over to booze. Yet, he's professional and convincing enough, and Rod Serling has given him some good lines. I wish I had noted some of them. "The arts we admire the most are designed to kill" -- something like that.
Patricia Breslin, not a glamorous beauty, is attractive and appealing, despite the fact that her close ups appear to have been filmed through somebody's stretched pantyhose. She brings something to the role, too. In one shot, she's facing away from Andrews, chatting about something, then stumbles over her lines, turns around and asks firmly, "Paul, who are you? Where did you come from?" It's a small thing but she handles it nicely.
As for the logic behind the scientific part of the plot -- how did Andrews manage to wind up in a hotel room directly across the street from Hitler's platform, that sort of thing -- it's best not to ask.