Conformity was a recurring theme in the series, always treated as a problem. Well, consider the period. The 1950s were enjoyable in many ways -- the streets were safer, all the girls were virgins, divorce was uncommon, our goals were clear, we had a common enemy. But its downside was that, when all was said and done, everybody held pretty much the same values and aspired to the same life style, at least until challenged by the Beatniks and existentialists. Nobody wore a beard except bums and ancient professors. This story reflects the values of the 50s.
Collin Wilcox Paxton is a 19-year-old girl whose time for her physical and mental transformation has come. Paxton isn't exactly ugly but she's no beauty either. You may remember what she looked like when she was Mayella, the false accuser, in "To Kill a Mockingbird." The time is now here for her to choose what she will look like and think like. She has her choice of about a dozen models, apparently, all of them beautiful and shallow.
The men undergo transformation too, but they all seem to have chosen to look like Richard Long. As a result, Long has to play three or four different roles of varying importance. The central role is that of the guy who manages the transformation unit. And Long does something odd with the character. He makes him effete, almost a stereotype of a gay hairdresser. Not too obviously, of course, but in the pitch of his voice, his port de bras, the way he tucks his pinky into the corner of his mouth. I assume this was deliberate because he's never done any similar bits of business in other roles, either in this story or in his films. It's a neat touch that enables us to tell that although the characters are similar after their transformation, they're not identical.
Paxton objects strenuously. Love and internal strength and curiosity and talent are more important than looks. Her father was a great man despite his ordinary appearance. He gave her Aristotle to read. (If he'd given her Plato, she'd be carrying on about accidents and essences.) But she reluctantly chooses to look exactly like her friend, Pamela Austin, which isn't a bad choice if you ask me. Suzie Parker is the lovely mother whose age doesn't show.
It's all a morality tale, of course, which none of us here in the present need. We're far more mature than these stick figures of the future (2000 AD). We're all satisfied with the way we look and think. That's why we have buns of steel, rock-hard abs, thigh gaps and thighmasters, surgically enhanced breasts the size of basketballs, liposuction, anorexia, collagenic lips, Grecian formula five, hair transplants, Viagra, Niagara, steroids, beta testosterone, and about half of high school seniors can't name the correct half century in which the American Civil War was fought.
What a relief that Serling's warning turned out to be unnecessary.
Collin Wilcox Paxton is a 19-year-old girl whose time for her physical and mental transformation has come. Paxton isn't exactly ugly but she's no beauty either. You may remember what she looked like when she was Mayella, the false accuser, in "To Kill a Mockingbird." The time is now here for her to choose what she will look like and think like. She has her choice of about a dozen models, apparently, all of them beautiful and shallow.
The men undergo transformation too, but they all seem to have chosen to look like Richard Long. As a result, Long has to play three or four different roles of varying importance. The central role is that of the guy who manages the transformation unit. And Long does something odd with the character. He makes him effete, almost a stereotype of a gay hairdresser. Not too obviously, of course, but in the pitch of his voice, his port de bras, the way he tucks his pinky into the corner of his mouth. I assume this was deliberate because he's never done any similar bits of business in other roles, either in this story or in his films. It's a neat touch that enables us to tell that although the characters are similar after their transformation, they're not identical.
Paxton objects strenuously. Love and internal strength and curiosity and talent are more important than looks. Her father was a great man despite his ordinary appearance. He gave her Aristotle to read. (If he'd given her Plato, she'd be carrying on about accidents and essences.) But she reluctantly chooses to look exactly like her friend, Pamela Austin, which isn't a bad choice if you ask me. Suzie Parker is the lovely mother whose age doesn't show.
It's all a morality tale, of course, which none of us here in the present need. We're far more mature than these stick figures of the future (2000 AD). We're all satisfied with the way we look and think. That's why we have buns of steel, rock-hard abs, thigh gaps and thighmasters, surgically enhanced breasts the size of basketballs, liposuction, anorexia, collagenic lips, Grecian formula five, hair transplants, Viagra, Niagara, steroids, beta testosterone, and about half of high school seniors can't name the correct half century in which the American Civil War was fought.
What a relief that Serling's warning turned out to be unnecessary.