Summing Up: Season One

To me (and I suspect, most fans), Season One is the overall best in terms of story values, detail, continuity, and excitement.  Under the tutelage of Sam Rolfe, the series told exciting stories in a fast-paced visual way new to episodic network TV.  Indeed, until the advent of "Star Trek," MfU gave us the widest variety of vivid stories ever seen in a series with continuing characters, and told against a wholly created background to boot.  Just look:

- An assassination plot that wasn't
- An attempt to revive Der Fuehrer
- A battle with a modern-day Antony and Cleopatra
- A pirate preparing for the end of the world
- Two different stories about switched identities
- A scheme to smash a new von Ribbentrop
- A high-tech safecracking
- An artifact from the past, turned out by accident to infect the present
- Intrigue in a night-shrouded Balkan nation
- A story about lost love, and another about loyalties
- A fall down a deadly rabbit hole
- A female Walter Mitty who actually gets to live her dream of spy excitement

And now, my coveted Silver Cigarette Case Communicator Awards.  Feel free to join in with your own winners:

Best Overall:  "Project Strigas" and "Fiddlesticks" (tie)
Best Performances by Robert Vaughn:  "Double" and "Dove"
Best Performances by David McCallum:  "Bow-Wow" (of course) and "Hong Kong Shilling"
Most Original Innocent: Chris Larson in "Finny Foot"
Most Original Villain:  Captain Shark
Most Effective Villain:  Brother Love
Most Delightful Stories: "Mad, Mad Tea Party" and "Never-Never" (a coincidence that both involve U.N.C.L.E. HQ and its personnel?  I think not)
A for Atmosphere:  "Dove" and "Yellow Scarf"

And the Tarnished Medals go to:

Dullest:  "King of Knaves"
Silliest:  "Girls of Navarone"

Onward to Season Two!

"The Odd Man Affair" (ep. 1/29)

Here we are at the end of the first season, which has given us some of the 1960s' best hours of TV.  It seems odd to us now, but the season doesn't end with a cliffhanger (that tradition, I think, began with the "Who Shot J.R." storyline on "Dallas" in the 1980s).  Instead we finish with a spy story from the writer of "Deadly Games" and "Mad, Mad Tea Party," featuring one of the most interesting Innocents -- at least in part because he's not really innocent.

We open with an exciting sequence on the plane.  (Strange, but of the last five episodes, four have featured Illya on his own in the opener.)  The sequence gives us a glimpse of a vanished time when you didn't hate flying, because it was comfortable and pleasant.  When Raymond shoots the flight captain and the passenger screams, that should be enough for Illya to spring up; but he doesn't move until Raymond has seized the stewardess.  And oddly, the explosion blasts only outward and not into the passenger compartment . . . but this sets up the delightful shock of Illya nearly being sucked into space.

Mr. Zed, who seems to be into nuclear explosion porn, is played by Ronald Long, whom I recall from one of Stan Freberg's live Sunsweet prune commercials of this time period.  ("They're still rather badly wrinkled, you know." "Today the Pits -- Tomorrow, the Wrinkles!  Sunsweet Marches On!")

This is one story that could have used a few more scenes.  Albert Sully's apartment, with its stacks of newspapers and its TV with rabbit ears, perfectly suggests the dull lonely life of its occupant, as played by Tony winner Martin Balsam.  Yet I still wish we'd had a scene in Waverly's car on the way to Sully's, in which Waverly fills Solo and Illya in on Sully's background.  We gather, eventually, that he'd done assassin work for the OSS, and had been a Command field agent before his Inactive Files desk job.  But the summing-up given us at the end by Solo and Illya ("Men like Sully are only really alive," etc.) comes so late that Sully's determination to continue as Raymond seems strangely quixotic until we get that explanation.

The story also foreshadows today's world of terrorism.  Of course there were fascist and Communist terror organizations then; see "The Day of the Jackal."  And Waverly mentions that Raymond's group (far-righters, I suppose, if they were so opposed to alliance with the "far left"?) used plastic explosive "very successfully in their campaign to bring down the government of France."  Does this mean they were successful in spreading terror, or successful in toppling the ruling clique in France?

Yeah, I Had to Look It Up Dept:. Sully's book, "La Chartreuse de Parme" ("The Charterhouse of Parma") is an 1839 novel by Stendhal.  There's an in-joke with it: According to Wikipedia, the novel's early section is largely focused on the young hero's quixotic effort to join Napoleon when he returns to France in 1815.

Doesn't cat's cradle seem an odd game for two grown men to play?  Why not cards?

Clever of Sully to realize that Solo stuck him with a homing pin . . . and cleverer of Illya to put in a backup.  But why would it take fifteen minutes for Solo and Illya to explain to the customs agent?  A flash of the ID cards and a quick explanation should have done it in less than five.  And isn't "nine-seven degrees" slightly south of east, not west?

Why, too, does Mr. Wye (note how manfully I'm resisting making puns here) give Sully-as-Raymond the pointer to the nightclub, which will lead him to the meeting?  If he thinks the fellow with the blue button is Raymond, the last thing Zed would want Wye to do is steer him to the meeting!  Of course, Raymond was supposed to be dead, so Wye must have assumed this was someone else (though, oddly, Ecks recognizes "Raymond").  And how does Miss Watson know who Wye is?  Does she still skirt the fringes of extremist groups in between compiling quarterly accounting reports?

Illya seems very concerned for Solo when Wye shoots him on the bus.

Illya in trench coat and glasses prefigures Michael Caine as Harry Palmer in "The Ipcress File" and other films.

Verdict: Less a story about Solo and Illya's mission and more about the Innocent, Albert Sully, it's a fast-moving spy tale, the black-and-white photography echoing 1940s films.  (But why the title? Could Albert be considered to be an "odd" man?)

Memorable lines:
Illya: "When Raymond was getting on the plane, I took the precaution of removing his wallet."
Solo: "In other words, you picked his pocket."
Illya: "If you prefer such a bourgeois description of an act of pure presence of mind."

Solo: "Don't play Uriah Heep, Sully.  It really doesn't become you."

Illya: "I have a hunch someone packed a peck of pickled peppers in our bag."

Illya (as Sully pops the homing pin into the customs agent's jacket):  "It's like playing the game of Pin the Tail to the Donkey."
Solo (wryly): "Donkeys."

Solo (to Illya): "You are a sly Russian.  Someday when you grow up you should make someone a marvelous secret agent."

Illya (at the Soho nightclub): "Remarkable, the number of people who find it necessary to protect their eyes in such a dimly-lit room."

"The Girls of Nazarone Affair" (ep. 1/28)

The title of the 27th episode filmed is apparently a pun on the 1961 Gregory Peck WWII thriller "The Guns of Navarone."  Otherwise why such an unusual name for the "lady race-car driver"?  How the pun connects to the story I don't know, since there are no German soldiers, anti-aircraft guns, or impregnable fortresses to be seen -- and the "girls" of the story are Dr. Egret's, not Nazarone's.  It's a lightweight story with some oddly silly moments, but fun.

The first act is quite solid, however.  Our heroes do good detective work examining Lavinia's hotel room for traces of Dr. Kellwin.  "Methylated cobrox" may not exist in our world, but it should.  Cobra venom dissolved in methyl alcohol, maybe?  It just sounds evil.

It's never stated, but was Dr. Kellwin himself the "something heavy" that Solo theorizes was raised from the balcony?  Isn't that a roundabout way to get your hostage out to your car?  And the gardenia vendor was paid off, then killed -- because he saw this?  Some unanswered questions here.

Part of the fun is that Solo and Illya really have to work at the case, having to tramp to garage after garage to track down the solenoid clue.  And they both look rather rumpled and weary, as anybody would after hitting fifteen garages in an afternoon.

Their scheme to retrieve the formula from Thrush is quite clever.  Naturally Dr. Egret wouldn't want a competitor in the market!  But if I were her, I'd suspect Solo and Illya's setup dialogue.  She probably had them sized up as U.N.C.L.E. agents, and would know they wouldn't discuss such matters where there could be microphones.

Transports of Delight: Nazarone's sports car looks like the famed AC Cobra roadster, one of the fastest cars of its time ("Hey, Little Cobra, don't you know you're gonna shut 'em down. . . .").  Mme. Streigau's elegant sedan is a top-of-the-line Mercedes 300SE “fintail," nicknamed that even at the time; Mercedes was aping, however mildly, the fins on American cars.  Very appropriate car for the Riviera.  And Lavinia's new car is the famous Jaguar E-Type or XKE (". . . there were plenty of Sting Rays and XKEs. . . .").  Were they as fast as an AC Cobra, though?  In the driving scenes, both cars look like they've been fired from colossal slingshots.

It occurs to me that even if the resurrection formula didn't work in the long run, Thrush could have sold it on the international black market as a short-term revenue-generating -- and deadly -- swindle.

The silly moments are confined, mostly, to the "fight" scenes between Solo and Nazarone ("You're not being very feminine!") and the girls at the clinic/garage.  Only Nazarone is shown to have super-strength, and both Solo and Illya outweigh the clinic girls and are masters of unarmed combat as well.  Was this supposed to be a startling role-reversal? Or to show how even our heroes would be handicapped by ingrained chivalry?

Solo's "What's up, doc?" to Dr. Baurel makes me wince every time I watch it.  Surely a man with such a gift for sarcasm and drollery as U.N.C.L.E.'s Chief Enforcement Agent could come up with something better than to quote Bugs Bunny?  (I suspect the line is there to round out the routine where he totes the flotation pad in front of him as concealment, which comes straight out of Warner's old cartoons, too.)

Why the squabble at the end?  I mean, Solo, after having reported the loss of the serum to Waverly, is understandably upset with Illya when he finds Illya has concealed the fact that the serum is a failure.   But why does Illya do this in the first place?  Some of the raillery between them (in Fields's scripts especially) is irritating.

Verdict: Not one of the gems of the first season, though it sustains its energy all the way through.

Memorable lines:
Lavinia (to Solo, holding up the Do Not Disturb sign): "Do glance at it from time to time.  Flash cards still work with children of all ages."

Solo (to Nazarone, re: Illya): "Tovarisch, here, always thinks he knows -- "

Nazarone (to Solo, at the clinic): "Signor, I neither know you nor like your face."
(How dare she not like Napoleon's face!  Da noive of some people!)

Solo (to Nazarone): "I am seeking to find out why you are not a mite more chilly than you are. . . .   Seems to me the last time I saw you, you were rather well-ventilated.  By a number of bullets."

Solo (to Baurel, clearing his throat after Nazarone chokes him without breaking a sweat): "What seems to be your patient's trouble?  Malnutrition, loss of energy, vitamin deficiency, or --?"

Illya (dourly, about Lavinia): "Bored, lonesome, and doggedly determined to enjoy every minute of it."

Lavinia (to Illya): "Oh, good.  One of you learned how to knock on a door."

Illya (about Nazarone and her supercar): "How do you suggest I stop that female rocket?"
Solo: "I don't know, maybe you should show her your legs!"

"The Gazebo in the Maze Affair" (ep. 1/27)

This one displays the fine Hollywood hand of co-writer Dean Hargrove.  While the tongue-in-cheek humor makes it resemble a second-season episode, it never crosses the line into silliness, thanks to Hargrove's deft lines, and to George Sanders and Jeanette Nolan as a modern Thane of Cawdor and his Lady Macbeth who've survived to enjoy murder and mayhem in their golden years.

Folie a deux incarnate: Both Partridges, despite their upper-crust English manners, are truly nuttier than twin fruitcakes.  Edith is flirtatious and kittenish with Solo and Illya . . . but watch the schizophrenic sparkle in her eye when she levels and fires that shotgun, stretches Solo on the rack, and waves that red-hot poker in Peggy's face.  Emory seems rather squeamish at his wife's torture hobbies, and thus less dangerous -- until his paranoia/sexual obsession with Peggy shows its teeth ("And don't think I don't know what you've been trying to do to me"; "Flaunting yourself about the place, trying to catch my fancy").  One imagines Edith and Emory playing dice of a winter's evening, dice made from the knucklebones of someone who fell victim to the wolf out in the maze, and chuckling over the memories. ("Oh, Emory, didn't he scream when Lupus got him!"  "Poor breeding, my dear Edith.  It always tells.")

Solo's previous encounter with Partridge was in 1958?  Presumably Solo was not yet Chief Enforcement Agent, not at ca. 26.  Perhaps it was one of his first big assignments -- team leader, perhaps, explaining Partridge's vendetta against him specifically.  Since Illya does not recognize Partridge, perhaps he wasn't on that mission.  But how does Partridge know him? 

Also, Partridge scoops up Illya just outside Command HQ in New York, and sends his tiny-tree-and-bird message to Del Floria's.   Obviously he knows it's the agents' entrance.   Though I suppose that once Thrush knew, it would hardly be a secret in the criminal world any more.

Edith's references to "that awful rainforest business" make me think she was relatively sane until then, and whatever they went through in escaping drove her completely `round the bend.

The black-and-white photography adds immeasurably to the tone and atmosphere, doesn't it?  Color would make it seem much more cartoon-like.  (Somehow, though, it still reminds me of a '60s-era "Batman" comic, where the Penguin/Joker/Riddler has captured Robin to lure Batman into his revenge trap. . . .)

No, that's not Robert Shaw playing Jenkins, the wolfkeeper/darts champ -- though he does remind me of Captain Quint from "Jaws."

Solo points out that his overseas call to Waverly "has to bounce off the Telstar satellite."  (According to Wikipedia, due to high-altitude nuclear testing, Telstar I [launched in 1962] went out of service in
February of 1963 -- though more Telstars were in service by 1964.)  The problem with the scene is that you'd think Solo would insert a code phrase to warn Waverly that he is operating under enemy control.

Why do the chair's entrapping arms spring out when Solo knocks Jenkins into it -- yet earlier, Partridge had to press a button on the table to activate it?

Bill Koenig has mentioned that Illya's "Bon appetit" line was used in several James Bond movies after this.  So we have a case of the original property drawing inspiration from a property it inspired!

After being rescued by Solo, why does Illya leave Solo in the lurch to explain to Mr. Waverly?  I could see it if Solo had embarrassed him or stuck him with some unpleasant duty.  Or was Hargrove, in a bit of inside humor, playing off the scene in Fields's "See-Paris-and-Die" where Solo sticks Illya with the thankless legwork?

Verdict: A great romp.

Memorable lines:
Edith (re: Illya): "He was very sort of physical looking, in an unusual way."

Illya (examining the dungeon): "Every home should have a recreation room."

Jenkins (re: the snarling wolf inches from Illya): "Would you like for me to open the gate?"
Illya: "No, that's not necessary, thank you.  I'll consider myself captured."

Illya (to the chained skeleton next to him): "You expecting anyone?"

Illya (dryly, to Solo): "I see you've come to rescue me."
Solo (testing his chains): "Wait'll you hear my plan --"

Illya (re: the madness of the Partridges): "I believe they have March hares in the garden, too."
(Which suggests that Illya, as part of his English lessons, read and possibly even enjoyed Lewis Carroll.  One imagines his English teacher in the U.S.S.R. saying, "A capitalist fantasy, but entertaining. . . .")

Solo (to Waverly, about Partridge): "Now I think it's time to give him the bird."
(If that was the crude slang then that it is now, how did they get that past the censors???)

Solo (realizing he has neglected to tell Waverly to cancel his trip to Eastsnout): "I forgot to turn off the bath water. . . ."

"The Love Affair" (ep. 1/26)

This script (by Albert Aley of "Deadly Decoy") is, along with "Dove" and "Green Opal," one of the more Bondian episodes.  Like Bond, Solo here goes up against a colorful villain whose name furnishes the title, and against whom Solo must play his endgame without aid -- in his case, from Illya or U.N.C.L.E.

I wonder if Aley was inspired by Burt Lancaster's turn as con artist/fire-and-brimstone preacher Elmer Gantry about four years earlier.

Eddie Albert's performance here shows us why he was a top Hollywood player for more than four decades. His Brother Love is one of the series' most believable and effective villains: unctuous, folksy, calculating and manipulative -- and hard-edged, especially in Act III when he roars at Dr. Hradny, "Will you stop this sickening family sentiment --!"  It shocks us; and then, in the very next instant, Love realizes that he has let his mask slip, and swiftly adjusts it . . . but Hradny, and we, have glimpsed the real monster inside the pious shell.

This, I believe, is the first mention of "satraps" -- though, as Waverly uses it, it could apply to either a division of Thrush, or to an individual.

The ticket that Illya brandishes in Act I is to a show called "Eat, Little Fishie, Eat" -- an early episode of Norman Felton's previous series, "The Eleventh Hour"!

It's nice to see Sarah get out of HQ for a change.  She has a wry woman-of-the-world edge about her.  Perhaps after April Dancer's success as a Section II agent, Waverly tapped Sarah for Survival School?  (Read a neat interview with actress/writer Leigh Chapman, who played Sarah, here.)

Neil Diamond nailed it: "Room gets suddenly still and when you'd almost bet/ You could hear yourself sweat/ He walks in --" Here, though, the audience for this "Brother Love's Travelling Salvation Show" is too restrained, too well-behaved, but then it's New York, not backwoods Louisiana.  True, the script makes no commentary on religion per se, but Love's loyalty to Thrush, and our peek at his real personality, are commentaries in themselves.

If this is supposed to be September, as the ticket indicates, then Sarah's heavier coat and gloves are out of place.  So are Magda's coat and furry beret, if that's what it's called, at the garden party.  Of course, men and women dressed up, and women wore gloves for shopping and other activities, more in those days. (Or maybe it was an unusually cool week in the tri-state area.)   If we accept the evidence of the ticket, Love's show was on Saturday, Sept. 19, 1964, the garden party on Sunday the 20th, and the climax in LA on Monday the 21st.

I love nighttime scenes in Waverly's office, here and in "Shark" and "Quadripartite": that view of Manhattan lit up at night, while Solo and Illya confer with Waverly after a long day.  Very homelike.

In the car with Solo and his men, Bro. Love is wearing what looks like a no-date Rolex Submariner, the model Sean Connery made famous in "Doctor No."  Even in 1965 it was not a cheap watch.  Clearly Bro. Love believes in treating himself to some of the finer things in life, along with his massage from Magda. (In the scene the Sub indicates 4:00, which is about right for a garden/tea party.)

Solo's cover story, that he is the late Dr. Armindel's lab assistant, is plausible, as is his insistence on cash. I'd think Bro. Love, knowing human nature, would be much more likely to believe that than any twaddle about "wanting to carry on her work."  And it gets Solo into Love's sanctum, much like Bond in "Goldfinger."

When Love has them captive in the cell, his hooded robe makes him resemble Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius making a sacrifice to the Roman gods, rather than a pious Christian.

"Love" also sports one of the most exciting climaxes in the entire series.  The clock ticks as Solo sears his own wrists to free himself from the wire, then tucks Love's own bomb into the rocket model and delivers it to Love's helicopter.  "Love Is a Big Boom," indeed.

The scene at the airport between Solo and Illya, despite the clumsy line about "love affair," is charming.  Illya, on medical leave (at least I hope Waverly gave him some time off!), went all the way out to Kennedy to meet Solo.   I picture them hoisting a few at the airport lounge, and having to pour themselves into a cab to get back to Manhattan.

Verdict: A thriller Ian Fleming might well have approved of.

Memorable lines:
Sarah (pretending to use the pay phone, to Solo): "Can you keep [Pearl Rolfe] interested that long?"
Solo: (snorts and says nothing more)

Illya: "[Brother Love's] cult must be a cover for Thrush. There's that scent of bloodstained events trailing in its wake."

Illya (scowling over the conspicuous consumption at the capitalists' garden party): "Suddenly I feel very Russian."
Solo: "That's just your proletarian blood."

Solo: "All right, if I'm not out in a half an hour, start a revolution."
Illya: "That would be a pleasure."

Solo (examining his monastic cell): "Do you have something a little less pretentious?"

Love: "It's the world I see around me that's mad. A world filled with spineless, aimless, submissive creatures passing themselves off as human beings."

Love: " 'He who establishes a dictatorship and does not destroy Brutus, or he who forms a republic and does not destroy the sons of Brutus, will reign only a short time.' "
Solo: "Thank you, Brother Machiavelli."
(This is from "Discourses on Livy," not the more famous "The Prince."  Solo's recognition of the line, like his quoting Shakespeare in "Deadly Games," suggests his education is much more far-ranging than he lets on)

"The Never-Never Affair" (ep. 1/25)

With this story and "Love," next week, we have two of the major highlights of the season and the series.  As Jon Heitland puts it in his "Man from U.N.C.L.E. Book," writer Dean Hargrove “had hit upon a blend of adventure and humor where the latter did not detract from the former.”  Like "Mad, Mad Tea Party" and "Four-Steps," this one plays out in one day and delivers a sense of snug peril, like a classic Sherlock Holmes story, while clicking on every level.

Why the title?  Is it to suggest Mandy's dream of exciting espionage, a glamorous "Never-Never Land"?  Or to suggest her vow to herself after this adventure, "Never, never again"?

Cesar Romero's Victor Gervais is a master of sarcasm.  He certainly believes in ostentation, doesn't he?  An elegant vest, gold rings, watch, and bracelet, and a massive dark Rolls-Royce.  No wonder Thrush looks attractive to some people.  Good thing Thrush never showed up at Career Day at my high school; I knew lots of folks who'd have been tempted.

Mandy Stevenson is introduced just as an Innocent should be, showing her normal dull workaday life before her involvement with U.N.C.L.E. intrigue begins.  (The difference here, of course, is that her workaday life is already involved with U.N.C.L.E.!)  Barbara Feldon is terrific, from her gawky but charming start (hey, I like the sexy librarian type.  So sue me) to her realization that this is not a game and her level-headed handling of it.  She isn't fearless, but courageous and realistic ("The moment I give [Gervais] the microdot, he's going to kill me anyway"). 

In another wonderful detail, the phone in Mandy’s control room doesn’t ring -- it whistles with the communicator tone!

Truly Iconic Illya Moment:  when he hitches a ride without permission on the lady's Volkswagen bug, then reaches down through the sunroof to tell her, "This is my stop, thank you --!" 

"Air Cooled" was a big selling point for theatres, bars, and restaurants even as late as 1965.  The creepy, shadowy theatre battle is justly famous.  One wonders, however, how Waverly's going to explain all this to the NYPD and to Mayor Wagner.  ("Alexander, we just can't have this sort of thing in my city!")

The fantastic fight in the garage really uses the set, doesn't it?  All the way up to the classic climax, Solo looks uncharacteristically, and believably, weary and rumpled. 

One quibble, though.  Why doesn’t Waverly send someone to the tobacconist on E. 76th Street to intercept Mandy there?  A line or two of dialogue would have addressed this.  Solo:  “We know she’s going to the tobacconist; I’ll go directly there --“  Illya:  “No, the area is swarming with Thrush agents.  We can’t be sure she hasn’t already been spotted.  I’ll go and act as decoy . . .”, etc.

The “Mandy gets the microdot” concept is a little confusing, too, until you re-watch it.  Solo tells her to pick up Waverly’s “dangerous” humidor and deliver it.  Then she tells her friend Baker in the lab that she’s Waverly’s special courier, and he (offscreen) gives her the microdot.  True, Solo tells her that the man at the tobacco shop will put something into the humidor.  But we should have seen Baker show her the microdot, and then we should have seen Mandy jump to the conclusion that the microdot is what will get placed in the humidor.  (In our world, I think Mr. Baker would find himself reassigned to northern Finland or Antarctica!)

Verdict:  A-Plus in every way.

Memorable lines:
Solo (as he and Illya kneel in the movie theatre over the dead Thrush sniper):  "Too bad.  He'll never know how it came out."

Mandy:  "And let me warn you, I don't crack under pressure."
Gervais:  "Not at all?"
Mandy [swallowing]:  "Not . . . noticeably, no."

Solo (re: Illya's loosening the distributor cap as a pretext to get into the Thrush garage):  "You're a smart Russian."

Illya (leaning close):  "How did you manage [the trick shot that stopped Gervais]?"
Solo:  "Smart American."

Gervais (re: Solo's threat to shoot him, aiming via the mirror):  "Do you really think you can fire accurately that way?"
Solo (levelly):  "Oh, I hate to count how many times I've done it."

Waverly (re: Mandy’s clever hiding place for the microdot):  “Most inventive, I must say.  Wouldn’t you think so, Mr. Solo?”
Solo:  “Da, da, da . . .”
(Implying that Mandy is yet another “smart Russian”?)

"The Hong Kong Shilling Affair" (ep. 1/24)

While this Alan Caillou script isn't one of my favorites like "Fiddlesticks" and "Mad, Mad Tea Party," a foreign location, exotic details like the geese as watchdogs, an unusual male Innocent, and a mysterious mastermind revealed at the climax all make it enjoyable.

Glenn Corbett was fresh off "Route 66" at this point.  His Bernie Oren (former Marine, two tours of Vietnam) makes me wonder:  Wouldn't ol' Bern have made a good U.N.C.L.E. recruit?  Once he learned to follow instructions, of course.  All through this episode, Solo and Illya make clear the gulf between the amateur like Bernie and the professionals like themselves, and yet Bernie acquits himself well.

The exterior of Command HQ in Hong Kong could be a tailor shop, just as in Rome.  Interesting that, unlike New York's offices, the steel-walled rooms are decorated -- here, in Far Eastern fashion.  Possibly Mr. Samoy's office in Calcutta boasts brass sculptures of the god Ganesh and paintings of Krishna and Lord Shiva.

There's a 12-hour time difference between NYC and HK, and Mr. Waverly and Solo speak live.  This is possible; if this is summertime, the scene in HK could be taking place at 7 pm, and Waverly could be in the NYC office at 7 am -- earlier that same day.

Why does Solo refuse to tell Bernie who he is, and about U.N.C.L.E.?   They might have been able to get his cooperation without the thousand-buck bribe.

Illya touch-types!  I wonder where he picked up that skill.

While I don't know about geese being used as watchdogs in the Orient, I do know the ancient Romans used them that way.  Our word "admonish," "to warn," comes from the use of geese as a warning system outside the Roman mint (from Latin "moneta," whence also comes "money."  See what you learn reading U.N.C.L.E. reviews?  And your mother used to say, "You'll rot your brain with that U.N.C.L.E. stuff!")

Hard to believe that Solo, as he approaches Cleveland's place, wouldn't have heard Heavenly's shoes clicking behind him, she was so close.  Better if we saw him break in, then cut to a shot of Heavenly at some little distance, watching.  (In fact, the more shots of Heavenly, the better.)

Yes, that is Gavin MacLeod as well-dressed thug Mr. Cleveland.  For those of us who grew up with him as Capt. Steubing on "The Love Boat" and witty news writer Murray on "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," to see him as a criminal is startling.  (I still recall his nasty turn as a convict nicknamed "Big Chicken" in an early episode of "Hawaii Five-O" -- as unlike Cleveland as Cleveland is unlike MacLeod's more cuddly roles.)  Intriguing here that his sidearm should be the big Colt Peacemaker revolver!

Illya first poses as a rickshaw coolie (I suppose that broad straw hat might keep people from noticing he wasn't dark-haired, let alone Chinese) and then as the irascible, misogynistic Mongolian warlord -- kind of an Oriental Nero Wolfe.  Now I knew before I saw this episode, thanks to a fan magazine, that the warlord was one of Illya's disguises.  But the makeup is so good he's really hard to recognize.  Were any of you fooled the first time you saw this story?

This is the other episode to feature the Command ID disc from the back of Solo's watch.

Bill Koenig mentions on his site that Glenn Corbett actually injured himself while filming the fall shown in Act IV, and that's why he doesn't appear on camera at the end -- that Solo, Illya, and Heavenly all play to him as though he's on the floor behind the bar.  This works fairly well, thanks to the hand gestures from Heavenly and Bernie, plus Illya's line, "Well, he's safe now . . . in the arms of the law."

The identity of Apricot is held until the end for maximum suspense.   It's hard to judge whether a mystery or surprise in a story really works when you know the answer.  The zoom-in on the dragonfly emblazoned on the purse of the female sampan pilot, followed within minutes by Max's muttering of the word as he dies, seems a giveaway . . . but you could also say it's a fairly planted clue.  As with Prince Fasik in "King of Knaves," though, I question that a criminal mastermind would spend her days doing something so mundane!

Verdict: Fun, with a strong international flavor.

Memorable lines:
Illya (in disguise as coolie): "My feet are getting cold."
Solo: "Well, your suffering distresses me.  But not very much."

Illya (roped to Bernie as Apricot interrogates him): "I refuse to talk in this debased posture."

"The Brain Killer Affair" (ep. 1/23)

What a difference a week makes! This, only the third episode filmed and the second in regular production, was held back to this late in the season, I've read, because Sam Rolfe disliked it. Compared to last week's "See-Paris-and-Die" (and several of the episodes to come), "Brain-Killer" is rather grim and film-noirish, almost as if it belongs to a different series.

The grim flavor has advantages, mainly in atmosphere. As in "Deadly Decoy," a hospital -- here, the Hobart Clinic -- is painted as a spooky, dangerous place where patients are helpless before their doctors' mysterious knowledge, and assassins masquerade as healers.  One wonders if the writers of these episodes, or Rolfe or Felton, once had a poor experience in a hospital.

All sorts of clues -- the small Mark I Mauser Special (especially toylike in Roosevelt Grier's huge hand), the shoulder holsters on the Section II men, Solo's shorter hair, and the general lack of humor -- point to a time when the production people were still feeling their way. That said, I sort of like the notion of a "bullpen" where the Enforcement guys hang out, something like the squadroom in Ed McBain's 87th Precinct stories.

The moment at the club when Waverly chokes, and Solo whips out his Special and announces, "All right, I'll take care of this," is clumsy.  Drawing the gun: fine.  Announcing that he, Solo, is in charge: completely unnecessary.  Also, at the clinic, he actually expects Dr. Tower to be willing to shoot to protect Waverly?

At the club, Solo is leafing through a large-format magazine, the size “Life” and “Look” used to be. So I zoomed in, then Googled. The second article Solo is perusing, “A Wolf in the Family,” appeared in the October 12, 1963 issue of “The Saturday Evening Post.”  So, in U.N.C.L.E.’s universe, this story begins no earlier than the date that issue came out, ca. 10/6/63 -- though it could be much later, given how discarded magazines can stack up in places like salons and clubs.

Cecille and Niels's loft is quite creepy, with all those mannequins posed like frozen people.  So is Illya's tone of voice as he reports to Solo that the waiter is beyond the reach of earthly justice.

The appearance of Mr. Samoy (Abraham Sofaer) from Calcutta is important.  It shows us that U.N.C.L.E. is worldwide and not only staffed with Americans.   More important still, his statement that Section I and Section II forces "have pledged [their] lives" and have sworn an oath to accomplish the Command's mission resonates with the viewer -- something I wish the show had followed up on in other stories.

In that same scene in the loft, Mr. Samoy appears to be checking out Cecille's figure.  Not that I blame him.

Take a look at Cecile's shopping list once Solo has promised her the $1000. In a cute character touch, she misspells "champagne"!

In the '80s, CBN cut the sequence where Solo is in the emergency room while they try to revive Waverly (nice use of dissolves to show the passing of time), and where he meets Dabree.  Without that, the moment when Cecille mentions the good doctor in Act III would come out of nowhere.

When did Solo get his gun back from Dr. Tower?  Or did he just draw another one from the armory?

The clinic nurse watches as David zings Illya with the trance pistol, which suggests she is in on the scheme.  Yet when Solo shows up she doesn't warn Dr. Dabree.

Personally I think the Schmeisser-toting David and the other Thrush would have ventilated Illya's hide without any trouble; all he had protecting him were stair rods. I've have liked it better if Illya had sprayed bullets at them with his gun on full auto.

The elevator sequence is exciting and edgy, and I love the moment when Solo, gun in hand, kicks open the door to the treatment room.  Both are very Bondian.  Unfortunately, the payoff -- Cecille hopping to the control board and switching on the mind machine with her nose (or maybe with her boobs) -- is hard to swallow.  True, she watched while they set the process up -- but how would she know which switch energized the machine?

Elsa Lanchester's Dr. Dabree is one of the most memorable villains of the series; it's a shame she never got to make the return appearance the final scene sets up.   Imagine a script about a Thrush power struggle in which Vincent Price's Victor Marton (“Foxes and Hounds”) battles Dabree for a Council seat.  There'd have been no scenery left for anyone else to chew . . . and we'd have loved it.

Verdict: Despite some clumsy moments, an intriguing and subtle idea (that of "half-killing" crucial people by tinkering with their higher brain functions) is generally well executed. James Goldstone's direction (shooting up through the glass tabletop and down from the ceiling) is imaginative for the time, too.

Memorable lines:
Cecille: "Thrush?"
Solo (grimly): "An organization with one simple ambition in this world: to dominate it."

Dabree (with mad relish): "And before we are finished, we shall have ground U.N.C.L.E., along with Mr. Waverly, into the mud beneath our heels!"

Dabree (recuperating in bandages and splints after her fall down the elevator shaft): "I shall make Mr. Solo pay his pound of flesh."

Waverly: "You didn't drop by to ask about my health?"
Mr. Samoy (jovially): "Good heavens no! Let me assure you, my dear Alexander, if [your being captured] happens again, we shall simply dust off our hands and let them keep you!"

"The See-Paris-and-Die Affair" (ep. 1/22)

For some reason, I recall the title of this one (and the reappearance of the U.N.C.L.E. helicopter) from my original viewing in 1965.   Bill Koenig calls it "a fairly frothy romp," and it is, rather like a high-spirited mix of the first "Pink Panther" movies (which date from '63-`64) and "Mission: Impossible."  Here, as in "Vulcan," our heroes use an old girlfriend of their target to manipulate him -- but that's only part of their plan.

Project Gutenberg has a 1919 text called "Marse Henry," by Henry Watterson, who writes in Volume 2, Chapter III: "'See Naples and die,' say the Italians. 'See Paris and live,' say the French."  Of course the title here could also have been a play on a travel slogan of the early `60s.  "See Paris and Live!" sounds like the kind of thing Pan Am or TWA would have done.

The Van Schreeten cousins are supposed to be Dutch, and more than once Josef uses the Dutch term mijnheer ("mister"). Nice touch.

Max says that his emissary will seek out Mary in NY.  Instead we see Solo "recruiting" her by stuffing her in a cab – a high-handed move (see below), and one that would get him arrested today.  We should have seen Max's man making the offer.  Then Solo could enter and explain what is really behind it.  Nor am I ever sure why Mary agrees to work with Solo at all, other than his bribe of the marvelous makeover at HQ.

Puzzler: Early in Act I, it's dark in NY, but light in Paris.  Since Mary was leaving in the dark, I think it must have been about 6 am there, which means it was about 12 noon in Paris.  Rather late for the streets of the City of Light to be so empty, n'est ce pas?  If it had been 6 am in Paris, fine, but why was Mary leaving at midnight?

Illya really is painted as the hapless sidekick in this one, isn't he?  Solo refers to his "repulsive countenance," he fails to imagine that the diamonds could be in the furniture, gets knocked out, and then is stuck with a thankless legwork job at the end by Solo.

In his French cop act Solo gives the name "Inspector Javert," a reference to the policeman who hunts Jean Valjean.  Good thing Josef never read "Les Miserables."  Solo’s "Javert" seems rather like Inspector Clouseau -- he's supposed to be a Frenchman speaking English with a thick French accent, which (as with Peter Sellers' bumbling cop) is part of the joke.  But he uses phrases like vitement ("quickly"?) and "this grassy snake," which does sound like a French speaker's attempt at the English idiom "snake in the grass."  Josef and Corio are not fooled, however.  Was that part of Solo and Illya's plan?

For some reason I've always pictured Philip II of Spain (he of the ill-fated Armada) as looking like Kevin Hagen, who plays Krolik.

Mary recognizes Illya on the street outside the train station, but we never saw them meet.  Also, when Solo is escaping, why wouldn't she tell the French sergeant that he's with U.N.C.L.E.?

How could Corio hide from Max in the dining car?  And if you say he came in after they were seated and sat behind Max, Mary should have recognized him; they'd worked together at Max's club.

Darned high-handed of Solo (again!) to swipe a police car!  And then a private citizen's convertible!  Of course no one was hurt, and he was desperate to follow the train.  On the other hand, setting fire to the farmer's hay wagon --!  I hope the Command reimbursed the poor guy!

Scripters Fields and Stark lead up well to the climax; the passage of time from day to night is well done.

To settle a helicopter atop a moving truck takes tremendous skill, I'd expect.  We saw Solo flying the U.N.C.L.E. 'copter in "Finny Foot," but I think this is Illya's debut as a pilot.  (Come to think of it, the story could be subtitled "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.")  But why does settling the `copter on the truck make the truck driver stop?

Verdict: Despite some unanswered questions and plot holes, it's still more exciting than a simple plot summary would indicate, with the humor in the right places.  And it's rather neat that Solo and Illya are not always in control of the situation, as they often seem to be.

Memorable lines:
Illya (to Solo): "So now you can indulge yourself in your nefarious flair for the dramatic."

Solo (grimly): "T-H-R . . ."
Illya (just as grimly): ". . . U-S-H."

Illya (glaring at Solo over his gigantic sandwich): "Must you put ketchup and mustard on everything?"

Solo (as "Inspector Javert," to the hapless Illya): "We go to sweat you a little bit, eh, pussycat?"

Solo (to the police sergeant, as he appropriates the police car): "In no way do I represent American foreign policy, monsieur!"

Solo (over the barrel of his gun, to Corio): "For such a despicable fellow you have an amazingly accurate memory."

Mary: "Napoleon?  [Corio's] going to kill us anyway, isn't he?"
Solo (nods ruefully): "Unfortunately, Thrush's handbook bears no similarity whatever to that of the Boy Scouts of America."

"The Four-Steps Affair" (ep. 1/21)

This one is hard to assess because, as we all know, it was an "envelope" story written to make use of the additional footage shot for "Vulcan" and "Double" to create the films "To Trap a Spy" and "The Spy with My Face," respectively. When the episode aired, the U.S. release of those films was still a year in the future -- so that when viewers saw "Four-Steps" in February '65, they were looking at a completely new episode.  Of course "Star Trek" did the same thing two years later, incorporating pieces of the first pilot into their only two-parter.  Here, however, the segments integrate well with the U.N.C.L.E. series as established in the first 20 episodes.  Unlike "Trek," there's no tremendous disconnect between the look and feel of the earlier footage and the footage shot for this one. (Yes, my children, we'll discuss Robert Vaughn's change of hairstyle in the proper place.)  Writer Peter Allan Fields did a top-notch job melding the pieces into a whole.

"Four-Steps" (why the hyphen?) hangs together well and is an exciting spy story with tricky plot switches, deft dialogue (in the "To Trap a Spy" pieces especially), humor, and an unusual Innocent.  Oddly for this late in the season, Solo and Illya have only one exchange of dialogue. It's also neat in that the action, aside from the tag, all takes place in one night.

I want that Lincoln Continental ragtop Solo drives; it's one of the most beautiful cars ever made.  Nowadays, though, a car that gets 10-12 mpg is none too attractive.  Could I just park it and sit in it?

Solo’s line, "I shall retreat to the other room discreetly," while I know it was inserted because of the censorship of those days (couldn't have Solo and Angela actually tuning up for sex, could we?), makes me wince.  I can't imagine anybody saying that who wasn't born in 1890.

Okay, let's deal with it and move on.  During the Angela sequence, Solo's hair is in its right-parted, brushed-back style.  Then, back at HQ, he carefully parts his hair on the left and combs it into the "Napoleonic" style we've become accustomed to.  Now this might seem kind of silly -- in the middle of a dangerous case, during which his friend Illya has been taken by Thrush and Waverly is waiting for his report, he pauses to rejigger his hair?  Well, I'd rather this character touch (he even murmurs a cha-cha beat to himself) than simply presenting us with the change in the second half of the story and assuming we'd never notice!  Besides, isn't this part of the essence of U.N.C.L.E., as Dr. Cindy Walker has said -- extraordinary people doing ordinary things?

Solo and Waverly's trick to get Kaza to lead them to his lair is quite a shock when you first see it.  Kaza is no stranger to gunning people down; note how he pauses before going through the window, waiting to see if his victims move.  A real pro, now, would have made sure to deliver a coup de grace shot to each of them before he left.  On the other hand, Solo was betting Kaza would be in a hurry to escape.  Or it was Waverly's bet; which one do you think devised the scheme?

When Solo hands the unconscious nurse back to the hospital staff, his "Hi, there" wastes a chance for a memorable line.  How about "Hold this for me, will you?"

Illya's scenes with the young Lama are winners.  Illya speaks to Miki as if he were an adult, albeit a naïve one, and this (along with the boy's serene, mature manner and dialogue) sets up the wonderful and very human scene with the bubble gum.  ("You did not fail me?"  "I did not fail you.")

"Kit" Kittredge is a southpaw; twice we see him fire his Special with that hand.  Yet his holster is the standard right-hander's model, hanging below his left armpit.  Oops.

Also, I believe the machine gun Solo totes and uses at the mansion is a Schmeisser.  One wonders why Command agents would use the almost 30-year-old technology of the German machine pistol, instead of the carbine-fitted Special on full or semi-auto.

Verdict: An exciting story.

Memorable lines:
Solo: "I have a nervous grandmother back home in Topeka, Kansas.  I'm afraid I've inherited some of her genes."
Angela: "Oh, are you from Kansas?"
Solo: "Of course; isn't everybody?"

Angela (watching Solo probe within her closet with the sword): "And I imagine that every time [your nervous grandmother] entered a room, she would look through the closet just to make sure nobody was hiding there?"
Solo: "Of course not.  Why would she do a crazy thing like that?"

Angela: "What would you like me to change into?"
Solo: "Anything . . . but a boy."

Illya (to the young Lama, who has just discovered that his guardian plans to kill them): "So, my little friend.  Now you learn even more of the ways of men."

"The Bow-Wow Affair" (ep. 1/20)

This Alan Caillou script is justly famous among Kuryakin fans as the first Illya-centric story. It works well, if you accept the idea that gypsies have "an uncanny power over animals." This one is also Waverly's "personal" story. However, the difference here is that the personal favor uncovers a criminal plot that falls within the scope of the Command; in "Terbuf" and "Secret Sceptre," Solo and Illya operate on their own. Beyond that, it's a good mystery; and we see what we've suspected since "Terbuf," that Illya is not merely a sidekick to Solo but an excellent agent and detective in his own right. (Illya: "It establishes a pattern. Like Sherlock Holmes, I like patterns.")

The other neat thing here is that we see how Solo, Illya, and Waverly are backed by a global information network with speedy data access that rivals our own Internet.  Sarah's quick search of license plates, and the data which establishes the pattern of Delgrovia's scheme, are examples.

Music can make or break a scene.  When Delgrovia creeps in his Dracula-like cape into Lester's home, comic "Batman" music would have made it a joke.  With the music here, however, the scene walks the line toward, but never becomes, parody.

"He tripped over the office cat": This is the first episode to show Solo as less than super-competent.  As a Solo-phile, of course, I'd prefer his knee had indeed been sprained in a battle with, as Illya puts it, "the Mafia, Thrush, [or] the narcotics mob."  I guess an office cat is no harder to accept than the idea that staffers could keep a pet close by while on a long shift, as we saw with Heather and her dachshund in "Neptune."   I imagine Lisa Rogers, when she becomes Waverly's assistant three years hence, may well find her duties include cleaning a litterbox.  No wonder she doesn't smile much.

Leo G.'s performance as Lester Baldwin, Waverly's cousin, is neatly done.  He's quite unlike the businesslike Waverly -- cheerful and "jolly good, what?", rather like a character out of Somerset Maugham.

I don't think any small birds have their eyes at the front of the head, as the little skull does.  And the skull has tiny teeth!  But it is a neat way to explain the trick, and to show Illya's range of knowledge.

Illya seems as impressed with Alice Baldwin as he will be with Tavia in "Birds and the Bees."  Something about petite, feline-eyed blondes, I guess.  Their dialogue together really zings.

Solo quotes the medical report's conclusion that Lester's Great Dane isn't rabid.  I thought the only ways, then and now, to determine whether an animal was rabid was by quarantine, to see if it develops the symptoms, or by killing it and examining its brain?

Illya uses the British term "conjurer" to refer to a stage illusionist, rather than the American "magician," and pronounces "VIGH-ta-min" as "VITT-a-min."  I'd guess his English teachers were British.  Weren't we told, later, that he attended Cambridge, in England?

Illya's scene with the elderly lady at the hospital (who refers to her "S.A." -- sex appeal?) is charming.

"Young man -- are you married?"  "Had I but world enough and time!"  A glimpse of a day when TV audiences were assumed to be somewhat familiar with classic poetry like Marvell's, and when male TV characters could quote said poetry without seeming like nerds or pantywaists!

Somewhere on the 'Net I've seen a copy of the TV Guide Close-up on this episode's rerun.  It points out that Pat Harrington Jr.'s Italian dog expert, Panzini, is an in-joke, a reprise of a character he created on "The Jack Paar Show" some years before.  (Otherwise they'd probably have cast Vito Scotti!)  You'll remember Harrington as Schneider, the chatty super on the "One Day at a Time" series about nine years later.

Verdict: Featuring clever dialogue that repays a second viewing, this one is loads of fun.

Great Lines:
Solo: "Are you free?"
Illya: "No man is free who has to work for a living.  But I'm available."
(The quintessential Illya line, as you see above!)

Illya (to Alice): "My name is Illya Kuryakin."
Alice: "And I'll bet you're the only man around here who could make that statement honestly."

Alice: "Do you believe in gypsies?"
Illya (deadpan): "No, of course not.  They're just a figment of the imagination."

Lester: "Remind me to commend you to my cousin Alexander for your great devotion to duty."
Illya (glancing, amused, at Alice): "It's almost my only weakness."

Solo (to Waverly): "One of the first things you taught me was never to trust coincidence."

Alice (playfully): "You are people, aren't you?"
Illya: "In a vague sort of way, I am."

Illya (exasperated that Solo has made him a target by announcing that he, Illya, now owns Baldwin's stock): "I'll have his teeth for cufflinks."

Panzini: "I teach you a few things about dogs.  Is a good idea, maybe, no?"
Illya: "I think it's a good idea, maybe, yes."

Alice: "Why don't you just fold your tents and steal silently away?"
Delgrovia (miffed): "That was the Arabs, not the gypsies!"

"The Secret Sceptre Affair" (ep. 1/19)

The 20th episode filmed is the second of only two "personal" stories in the series, the other being "Terbuf."  An odd story it is. There is no innocent; Zia, who comes closest, proclaims herself a soldier, and is apparently no stranger to risk.  The only moment resembling humor is when Solo growls at Illya, "You could have saved a few shots for the bear!"  This rather grim tone presages the darker episodes that the writer of "Secret Sceptre," Anthony Spinner, would bring to the show as producer in the fourth season.

Read between the dialog, this is a story about loyalty, both properly placed (that between Solo and Illya) and misplaced (Solo and Morgan, and the loyalty Morgan's soldiers have to him, especially Zia). We're not sure why Illya comes along with Solo on this one.  And Solo admits he doesn't know why either. Asked point-blank by Morgan, Illya gives only his enigmatic "It is inevitable.  A man must die a little every day," which apparently is enough for Morgan.  Solo remains steadfast in his loyalty to Morgan, despite what he hears from the premier, until the evidence -- the jewels hidden in the sceptre -- makes it impossible for him to believe in Morgan's altruism and patriotism.

So Solo served in Korea!  Michael Avallone's "Thousand Coffins Affair" (1965) also postulates that Solo attended that little party. Avallone was a fast writer, by all accounts, and could have seen this episode while finishing his novel (it also has Solo and Illya doing a parachute drop).  On the other hand, what other military action could Solo, who is apparently about 32 in 1964, have been the right age for, if not Korea? (Imagine:  Solo, N., 1st Lt., U.S. Army Rangers, age 20, is wounded and passes through the MASH 4077 unit, and works his even-then-winning charm on Margaret Houlihan. . . .)

Morgan's references to Ethiopia, Spain, and Dien Bien Phu fit with his apparent age of 50.  He comes across as an authentic career soldier: "I fought my wars, the right wars, for the right causes. And you know what I have today?  A body full of scars, inside and out.   If I died tomorrow, they'd have to put me in a pauper's grave."

This country is a Moslem nation, as indicated by the premier's invocation of Allah.  On the arch as Solo and Zia approach the dress shop is a logo, "Ecole de Dance," a weird French-English hybrid for "school of dance."  Perhaps this country was once under French domination, like Algeria?  Throwing off the French yoke was the "revolution" referred to several times?  Yet, at the beginning of Act II, we see that traffic drives on the left in the British (not French or American) fashion.

I have to wonder: Who gets the job of feeding the viper and cleaning its box?  "Here, Achmed, it is your turn.  Bring this mouse to the snake.  Try not to get bitten; we are short on snakebite antidote."

I also find it a little hard to believe that Solo managed to hide the sceptre in front of the Ford's radiator.  That dark cloth would mask it, but if the captain's men didn't check that, they're lousy searchers.

Okay, we'll have to tackle it sooner or later: The Solo line "You have something which belongs to me," referring to the captured Illya.  Until I encountered slash fiction I never considered that the series could even remotely be about anything other than two heterosexual men, friends and partners in global crimefighting.  But that line!  It's not something that one partner would say about another, even among cops, whose partnerships can often be compared to marriages.  "You have one of my men," perhaps, or "You have my partner," but this?  Not even James Kirk, whose partnership/friendship with Spock is equally legendary (Kirk risked his career at least twice for Spock, and the second time lost his son and his ship in the bargain) -- not even Kirk would refer to Spock as "something that belongs to me."  Can anybody possibly come up with a non-slash interpretation?  (Compare the relationship hinted at between Scylla, the superspy, and "Janey" in William Goldman's novel "Marathon Man" nine years later.  I'll say no more in case you haven't read it.)

At least the unconvincing bear is concealed behind the mesh gate so that we don't get too clear a look. Better if they had dimly lit the bear's lair, and we only glimpsed the beast pacing around in the shadows.

Besides his "inevitable" line, Illya has a visual iconic moment: When he sends the Ford off toward the minefield, he races toward us in his black suit and turtleneck, springing past the camera at the last second.  This kind of energy-filled camera work is part of what made, and makes, the series special. 

Nearly every vehicle we see in the show this season is a Chevrolet, yet their car with the X is a Ford sedan about 3-4 years old, and Achmed's dark sedan is a recent Chrysler Imperial. The Jaguar Illya drives at the end is the popular Mark 2 saloon, which might be as much as 6 years old. Nice touches, to suggest that they are in foreign lands.

Solo's epitaph for Morgan (see below) would have been the perfect place to end this one. If we had to have a tag, I'd have liked it better if Illya, who has relatively little dialogue in this episode, said to Solo as they stand by the Jaguar, "Will you be all right?" and Solo says quietly, "Eventually."

Verdict: An unusual and rather dark story, but enjoyable.

Memorable lines:
Zia: "You'd risk the whole mission for one man?"
Solo: "Yes, I know it's rather unprofessional of me -- but then, I'm not perfect."

Zia: "Has it occurred to you that Kuryakin may already be dead?"
Solo: "Often."

Solo (to the viper): "Sorry. Next time, Charlie."
(An echo of the Starkist Charlie the Tuna "Sorry, Charlie" commercials?)

Morgan: "When you're old, it's easy to be pushed."
Solo: "Yes, and it's easy to fall."

Solo (to Zia, as they stare at Morgan's body): "He was just tired of fighting for other people's causes. He wanted something for himself. . . ."

"The Mad, *Mad* Tea Party Affair" (ep. 1/18)

In the '80s, Glenn Magee and John Peel commented in their "U.N.C.L.E. Files" review that this was possibly the best single episode of the series. The 21st episode filmed defines the U.N.C.L.E. dichotomy of insane/comic events side by side with real danger, and of an innocent everyday person tangled up with professional agents. Both story lines (Waverly's testing of his unaware agents, and the Thrush plot) are delightful, plausible, and mesh well.

Remember the Ellery Queen detective novels? The authors often threw mystery writer Ellery into bizarre situations like this for the fun of watching him make logical sense of them. The climax here, in which Solo gathers all the suspects in the conference room, harkens back to that tradition.  (In fact, EQ produced a classic short story in the Thirties called "The Adventure of the Mad Tea Party.")

"Mad, Mad Tea Party" also has an uncredited guest star: U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters itself, rather like a "Star Trek" episode set entirely aboard the Enterprise.  Part of what makes this story go is the contrast between the "chrome and gunmetal madhouse" and the workaday people of Manhattan.  On top of that, the entire story takes place in one day, from about 10 in the morning to 6 or so at night.

There is suspense in the Hitchcock manner (as distinguished from surprise) here. We know what Solo and Illya do not, that Technician Riley is a Thrush and that the conference table is topped with plastic explosive. I question whether a bomb-disposal expert such as Morgan, or someone with explosives training such as Illya, would bring a match so close to a suspicious object -- how do they know heat won't detonate it? -- but it does bring you to the edge of your chair.

Other edgy moments include Riley's swift replacement of the regular ashtrays with the detonators when Solo and Illya may walk in at any moment; and the conference room climax as Kay lights a cigarette.

Surprise, however, abounds. See the rude noise made by the dying toy airplane; Hemingway biting off the barrel of his licorice gun; and most especially when he pops into Waverly's office, only to be greeted casually by Alexander himself.

Morgan's pipe is, I believe, the style known as a "pot" pipe.  (Because of the shape, people! The shape!)  Waverly's appears to be a more traditional billiard.

You'll note Solo and Illya consider the woman radar technician to be a pro; they don't second-guess her or talk down to her -- and she sticks to her post until the last minute and doesn't panic.

Was it true that Richard Haydn was considered to step in for Leo G. Carroll, in case Carroll became ill?  If so, would they have recast Waverly with Haydn, brought Haydn back as Hemingway, or created still a third character?  Hemingway's somewhat persnickety and old-maidish persona, something like Clifton Webb's Mr. Belvedere on Valium, would certainly have been a change . . . but the tag scene in Reception with Hemingway, Solo, and Illya somehow looks very very right.

Clearly Riley is the supervisor of his section, and has been around for a while; Solo knows him and his habit of punctuality.  Was he a Thrush who infiltrated U.N.C.L.E.?  Or did he join the Command first and was subverted by Dr. Egret?  I lean toward the former; see how calm he is when he kills Morgan, calmer than you'd expect of a technician suddenly asked to kill an enemy.  He shows little nervousness until he's stuck in the suite with the table bomb, and only panics as Solo and Illya run him to earth.

Stashing Morgan's body in what appears to be a laundry hamper wasn't exactly brilliant.  On the other hand, HQ seems to lack closets suitable for body-stashing, and Riley probably didn't have time to drag the corpse down to the boat launch.

From Thrush's perspective, having the detonator ashtray take so long to ignite the table explosive was a mistake.  Once it began to smoke and sizzle, the world leaders would stampede for the door, and some of them at least would get out.  Two seconds would be about right.  As soon as Kay stubbed out her cigarette (which today would have been filmed in slo-mo), Riley should have swept it off the table, and it should have detonated before it hit the floor.

Solo is right not to wait for reinforcements when Riley is trapped in the elevator.  But his line should have been, "He's desperate, Illya. And we don't know what other surprises he might have up his sleeve."

By the way, Dr. Egret spreads her wings again to good effect in Michael Avallone's well-done Girl from U.N.C.L.E. novel "The Birds of a Feather Affair."

Nice Touch Dept.: As Riley fires his gun, the spent casings clatter to the metal floor -- and that low-level shot, as if the cameraman were lying on the floor, is excellent.

Verdict:  A dazzler.  Maybe it is the best single episode of the whole 105 at that.

Great Lines:
Illya (aghast as the tiny remote-control airplane closes in on HQ):  "We can't stop it."

Kay (about Illya's "Rasputin" act):  "And the way he talked to me -- like I was a criminal --!"
Solo:  "It's a streak of sadism.  Illya's always been a little . . . unstable."

Illya (with relish):  "Ah, you've discovered [the guppies], I see.  They're coming out of every tap in the building."

Solo (wryly):  "By the way it's going, we could have half of Manhattan in here by nightfall."

Riley:  "Wouldn't want the leaders of the free world to be presented with a dirty ashtray, would we?"
Illya (retrieving his match from the detonator ashtray):  "If we can't impress them with our security, we can at least show them that we are neat."

Hemingway: "Do you think she'll tell him what happened . . .?"
Solo: "I'd bet on it.  I'd also bet he won't believe a word of it."  (With the Solo grin) "Would you?"

"The Yellow Scarf Affair" (ep. 1/17)

I'm a Solo-phile, and so "Yellow Scarf" has been one of my favorites since the '80s reruns. It's the last Solo-only story, I think, until "Deadly Smorgasbord" in the third year, and the last to dispense with even a mention of Illya until "Man from Thrush" in the fourth.

It has several charms even for Illya fans, though. "Yellow Scarf" features some good detective work by Solo. It's the only episode, as far as I know, to show the backpack in which Enforcement agents carry the carbine attachments for the Special. And it's one of only two (along with "Hong Kong Shilling") in which Solo extracts his ID disc from the back of his watch. This is so much better than a card with a name label on it, or the flimsy ID he shows Fran in "Deadly Decoy"! I imagine the disc as a special alloy, and secret services and large police forces would be furnished with a testing chemical. One drop, and if the alloy reacts correctly, they know it's an authentic Command ID.

Beyond that, the story was rather original for its time, updating the Thuggee cult for the 20th Century two decades before "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" used them as antagonists.

It was unusual back then to see members of an ethnic group portrayed by actors of that ethnicity. (Of course people were not as obsessed with political correctness as we are today.) But Kamala Devi, born in Bombay, plays the Maharajah's niece here. An Indian actor also plays the clerk at Solo's hotel. And none of the locals are portrayed as buffoons, or as evil, because of their ethnicity. Matheson's Maharajah? Evil, yes, but he comes across with a certain dignity and majesty. The hotel clerk and Vito Scotti's airline manager may be willing to take bribes, but so are public officials everywhere. (I know; I live in New Orleans. Ever hear of "Dollar Bill" Jefferson?) And David Sheiner's Inspector Darwa would fit right in with the NYPD or LAPD's best. Much as he wants to bury Solo under the local jail, he still follows procedure to check him out. One tough and honest cop!

Neile Adams, the overconfident Thuggee agent Sita Chandi, was once married to Vaughn's old buddy Steve McQueen. She looks authentically Indian here, but was born in the Philippines.

Ever read Sax Rohmer's Dr. Fu Manchu thrillers?  Today Rohmer has been forgotten, when he isn't being castigated (not always fairly) as a racist for portraying a Chinese as evil.  But he was a master of atmosphere.  The Fu Manchu stories have a shivery air of unseen menace, of silent wheels moving behind the scenes, of sudden exotic death by night. And the Libott-Ingster script captures this spookiness perfectly: from the opening with McAllister's murder on the plane, through the attempt on Solo's life on the balcony, his stalking by the Thuggees, the discovery of Sita Chandi's body, and the maharajah's cavern.

Interesting acronyms here.  HAT, I guess, stands for Hindu (or Hindi, or Hindustani) Air Transport?  And "Unified Northern Casualty and Liability Exchange"! Ha!

I love Solo's reference to "your own [India's] secret service in New Delhi."  The "Feast of Lights" the Inspector mentions, Diwali (thanks, Google!), is real and is held during October/November.

With all this going for it, the episode falls down on a couple of points.  You might ask how the Maharajah manages to strangle Mac on the plane without detection.  Well, his men, and women, were on board, and could keep the passengers quiet while the Maharajah disposed of Mac.  (I'll bet they were all in first class anyway. Anything goes up there, right?)

Simpson the Thrush (Linden Chiles) is obviously some satrap's nephew or son-in-law, sent in at the last minute or to allow him to make his bones.  He's sneaky, yes, but in the long run he's so ineffectual, nepotism is the only answer.

Somebody on the production crew wasn't paying attention.  Several times, the stock establishing shots of India are daylight shots; but the very next scene is set at night at Solo's hotel, the maharajah's palace, etc.  Normally I don't notice technical slipups, but this is jarring.

I've always wondered why the Maharajah's Thuggees kill the Thrush sniper after his attempt on Solo.  It's not like they were punishing him for failing the Maharajah; he'd been sent by Simpson! Maybe the Thuggees were out on patrol, thought the sniper was planning to kill their boss, and rubbed said sniper out as a precaution.  Then the rifle and his suspicions of Solo tell the Big Guy his cult is in danger of exposure.

The biggest glitch, for me, is that the lie detector's case has been rigged to explode . . . and yet Solo uses it as a weapon in the rather silly fight at the climax, bashing the Thuggees as if it were only a typewriter case.  True, Waverly implies that the nitro will only go off when you try to open the case.  But then, when Solo has the maharajah's man bring it over to "buy [his] life," doesn't he expect the thing to blow up in his face?  (Or still lower, given that he's kneeling right by it?)

Verdict: A-plus on atmosphere and mystery, B-plus on execution.

Memorable lines:
Inspector Darwa: "India is a very poor country.  Its jails reflect that poverty."

Solo (eyeing the statue of the goddess Kali):  "I must say she is a . . . demanding . . . mistress."

Solo (regarding Sita Chandi's lifeless body):  "It seems the goddess Kali has called for one of her own."