Alfred Hitchcock Presents S03E01 The Glass Eye

Season 3, Episode 1, Aired 10/6/57

A shocking surprise awaits a woman who is about to meet her favorite star.

Good evening.

Tonight's narrative
is about a private eye.

A very private eye.

A glass eye
is a very interesting object.

For one thing,

I've always thought
a glass eye would be better
than the real article.

It never gets bloodshot.

And being made of glass,
it will certainly be easier
to see through.

This evening, due to one of those
delightful coincidences,

our story happens to be
about a glass eye.

It is entitled,
"The Glass Eye."

You see, everything fits in.

What appalls me is that cousin Julia had no one
to leave her things to.

No one except us, that is.

Did she ever let you know
how lonely she was?

Nobody in the family ever knew
much about Julia. She was impossible to know.

She never talked
about herself.

Well, I simply
don't understand

how she could possibly
have stood it,
living here so alone.

I wonder what went on
in her mind.

Do you suppose
she ever stood here,
staring at these ships,

and dreaming
that she one day might sail

right out of
this drab little room?

Once she very nearly did.

Just once.

Let me show you
something, Dorothy.

Oh, how horrible. What is it?

An eye.

A glass eye.

What a strange thing to keep.

Stranger than you think.

If ever a life was symbolized
by any one single object,

Julia's was, and by this.

This glass eye.

How do you mean?

I only got to know about it
long after it happened.

Julia was still
in her 30s then.

Many years ago.

The loneliness,
the desolation of her life
were beyond belief

for she herself
was unaware

of just how lonely
and desolate it really was.

I imagine that long ago,
she had found a way to escape

into a world
where emotion and feeling
never intrude.

In her own way, I suppose,
she was happy.

She'd, well, adjusted to it.

Every morning she made tea
on the single flame.

Then she would dress,

go to work as a clerk for
an old-fashioned solicitor,

a man named Maufry,

who wrote to his clients
by hand,

making copies by the old
moist-paper method.

And each day,
like clockwork,

she lunched cheaply
at a teashop

where she read steadily
from the volumes
of the Tauchnitz edition

of the best English authors.

She had worked her way
down to the L's.

Did she look
at those two young people

and wonder why
life had passed her by?

I wish I knew.

In the evenings,
she cooked a simple meal.

Fried some ham perhaps,
or a chop
and boiled vegetables,

all on the same single flame,

a complicated conjuring trick
involving much juggling
of pots and pans.

She had nothing to anticipate
but retiring early,

seldom later than 10:00
or 10:30.

Did she hope
that the young man
in the flat above

might come home one night
and, by mistake,
enter the wrong room?

Did she ever dream
of a life with a husband,
a home and children?

How could Julia,
whose life had been
so loveless,

possibly have known

that when love did come,
it might lead
to something dangerous

and horrifying?

Yet, there is
one small twist in it.

One odd
and unaccountable thing.

Late one summer,
as she was accustomed to do
every Saturday afternoon,

Julia took the small son
of a neighbor

to the Old Music Hall
in Fulham.

She worshipped the boy,
lavishing all her love on him,

looking forward
to the one day a week

when her neighbor
entrusted the child
to her devoted care.

She fed him lunch
on those days.

She bought him toys
and books.

And the only reward
he ever gave her was a smile.

Still, it was enough
for Julia.

Enough
until this summer afternoon.

The day she first saw

Max Collodi.

Ladies and gentlemen,

the management
of the Music Hall
takes pride in presenting

the high spot
of this week's program,

the great Max Collodi,

gentleman ventriloquist,

and his amazing
dummy, George.

Well, George,
here we are back in Fulham
once again.

What do you think
about Fulham?

I can't say.

You can't say? Why not?

I haven't been around.

No money?

That's right.
I'm a little short
this week.

You forgot my lemonade.

Now, George,
before we go ahead
with our act,

I want to ask you a question.

Did you give fresh water
to the goldfish this morning?

Goldfish?

Yes, goldfish.

Fresh water?

Yes.

Did you give fresh water
to the goldfish this morning?

What for?

They haven't finished
the water
I gave them yesterday.

I'm thirsty.

I'll tell Mommy
you were mean to me.

Please, Allan, dear,
just as soon as
this act is over.

George,
do you like going to school?

I like Sunday school best.

I'm glad to hear that.

Tell me,
why do you prefer it?

'Cause I only have to go
once a week.

Do you suppose
he could be Italian?

I'm thirsty.

Oh, please, Allan,
in a moment, dear.

That name, Max Collodi.

Do you suppose
that could be Italian?

I said, "I'm thirsty!"

Why not?

What key is best
for unlocking the tongue?

Here, Allan, dear.

You buy yourself
some lemonade
or whatever you want.

I'll be right back.

You're not going
to leave me, are you?

Mommy says
I'm never to be left alone.

No, dear, I'll be right there,
at the other side
of the lobby.

Excuse me.

I want a ticket for tonight.
Just one.

Thank you.

Where are we going now?
Let's go back inside.

No, dear.

No, I have to go
straight home.

I have a great deal to do
this evening.

Such a great deal,
really, to do.

But he didn't leave you
any money, did he?

No. I am the executor
of his estate.

And he left me 500 quid
for a memorial stone.

And this is it.

George, I refuse
to work with you tonight

unless you answer
a very personal question.

You refuse to work with me?

Now that's a bit of news.

Where would you be
without me?

Please, George.

All right,
ask whatever you like.

George, have you ever met
a girl you cared for?

Have I ever met a girl
I cared for?

Yes.
It was love at first sight.

Wonderful, George. Wonderful.

Are you going to marry her?

No.

No? But I thought
that you...

Yes?

I thought you said
it was love at first sight.

I took a second look.

And so all
in a summer's day and night

a warmth came to Julia
she had never known before.

She did not know
exactly what it was
she felt for Max Collodi.

Certainly if she had known,

she could never have
confessed it to herself,

not that first night anyway.

She couldn't get his image
out of her mind.

Max Collodi, a wonderful name
she thought,
a name full of poetry.

Max Collodi.

Mrs. Max Collodi.

Madame Collodi.
Or was it to be
Signora Collodi?

Suppose she was
Signora Collodi?

She was lying
in the upper room
of their villa in Italy

on the outskirts of Rome.

Max had bean appearing
at the theater.

It was his footsteps
she heard now.

He would come in.

He would come close to her.

She would hold him.
She would comfort him.

She would send him to sleep.

Max.

That was the beginning
of Julia's romance
with Max Collodi.

And this was the end of it.

Let me show you
something, Dorothy.

This,

she managed to steal it
from one of
the theaters in London

where he appeared

and these programs.

From the Hippodrome
at Stratham,

Pavilion at Finsbury.

Every night
she traveled across London

to pay her half crown
to sit in the balconies
wherever he appeared.

How pitiful.

Was it really, Dorothy?

Or was it better
to have these programs
to look at every night

before she went to bed

and every morning
before she set off to work?

No, it wasn't pitiful.

It was frightening.

Because, you see,
Julia had made a resolution.

A resolution?
Yes.

She resolved
to meet Max Collodi.

He had to love her
as she loved him,
no matter what.

No matter
what she had to do.

Julia wrote Max Collodi
a letter.

I'm not able to quote it.

I don't know what was in it.

I do know that somewhere
in the course of it,

she asked
if she might meet him.

She'd given her employer
her notice.

She had read that
the Great Collodi was going
on tour of the provinces.

She had a small capital
accumulated through
many years of saving.

And she proposed
living on this

while she followed Collodi
about the country.

So, for a while at least,
possibly forever,

who could know,

it was goodbye
to the alarm clock,

the narrow bed,
the lonely meals,

the faded wallpaper.

Collodi had replied
to her very first letter,

saying he was grateful
for her praises,

but that
he never gave interviews.

Nevertheless,
Julia went on writing
and he went on replying.

Finally, he asked her
to send him a photograph,

and Julia,
with great trepidation,

sent him a blurred snapshot
taken long ago
when she was 23.

As she grew more persistent
in her letters,

he grew more benevolent.

He began to hint
a meeting might be possible.

Finally, in Blackpool,

it happened.

Yes?

A letter for you, ma'am.

Come in.

Are you Miss Julia Lester?

Yes.

He sent this letter by hand.

He give it to me
just 10 minutes ago
backstage.

"Take it to the lady,"
he said, ma'am.

Max. Max Collodi.

Yes, ma'am.

Oh!

Oh.

Thank you.
Thank you so much.

Thank you, ma'am.

"My dear Miss Lester,

"like all of us
in show business,

"I, too, have a certain amount
of the theatrical
within my makeup.

"Therefore, you must forgive
my exacting certain conditions
for this, our first meeting."

Our first meeting.

Oh.

"This first time
you are only to stay
five minutes.

"Later, perhaps,
if you still wish
to go on seeing me,

"we might arrange
longer appointments.

"If you do not mind
being received
with no other chaperone

"than my dummy, George,

"then, dear lady,
come to the Seabank Hotel

"on Mortimer Street
at 10:00 tonight

"after my performance
at the Winter Garden Theater.

"Respectfully, Max Collodi."

Oh.

Imagine.

Imagine him writing,

"If you still wish
to go on seeing me."

Oh, perhaps he may not notice
how much I've changed
since the snapshot.

Let me see, I...

How did I do my hair?
I had it...

What I'm trying to do
is to look as I once did
in a snapshot.

What do you think?

Most becoming.

Women of my age
must be more discriminating.

I suppose so.

What time is it?

Past closing time,
madam. 6:30.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I'll take this one,
the one I've got on.

Very well,
I'll have it wrapped.

Oh, no, no,
that's all right,
I'll wear it.

I'm in a hurry, you see.

Thank you, madam.

You would not want me
to go into details

about the hour and a half
Julia spent that night
before the mirror.

Nor will I say anything
about the agony
she must have undergone

before she could
make up her mind what to wear.

But it was 9:30,

and no turning back.

Mr. Max Collodi's room?

He expecting you?
Yes.

Number seven.

Number seven?

First floor.
Down that corridor.

Oh, help me.

Come in.

Mr. Collodi?

Max Collodi, at your service.

I... I'm most grateful to you

that you would consent
to see me.

And I am most flattered,
dear lady.

Adulation is something
one savors all too seldom
at close quarters.

Oh, forgive the darkness,

but I have an aversion
to strong light.

I suppose, because
in my professional life,

I'm constantly exposed
to the glare of the footlights.

You are...

May I say something?

But of course.

You're just
as I knew you would be.

So, so handsome.

Thank you.

There was a woman,
I remember.
She sat just behind me

during your performance
at the Old Palace at Fulham.

That was when I first saw you.

She said, "He's
too handsome for my liking."

Of course,
I was furious with her.

You're not disappointed
in my appearance?

Your devotion
touches me more deeply

than anything
in my whole life.

You are most beautiful.

Please sit down.

I thought the snap I sent you
was taken a while back.

You have mellowed with time.
Some people do not.

I'm so grateful to you
for letting me come.

Oh, I've said that before,
haven't I?

Actually, I'm...

Well, tense, I suppose.

You know, I've seen every one
of your performances

since that first one
a year ago.

It is I who am grateful
to you, dear lady.

My life,
I regret to tell you,

has been an unbelievably
lonely one.

Oh.

Of course,
you wouldn't know
how that is.

Oh, forgive me.
Did I say something to...

No, no.

I was just thinking
how lonely your life
must be after all.

We, in the audience,
never think of an artist
as being lonely.

I suppose
we only think about ourselves.

I do want to come back again.

And my time, I see,
is almost up.

Mr. Collodi,

I don't quite know
how to say this.

But ever since
I first saw you,

I've had the greatest urge
to touch you.

Oh, Max!

Max!

Madame.

Oh, Max. Max? Please.

You are Max Collodi?

Get out of here.
Get out of here!
Get out of here!

Get out. Get out. Get out.
Get out of here! Leave me!

In her desperation,
without knowing it,

she picked up the eye.

And that's the story
of Julia and Max Collodi.

And this is all she had
to remember of her one love,

of her one chance to,
as you say,

sail out of this room forever.

Oh, Jim, how terrible for her.

But what about Max Collodi?

Yes, what happened to him?

He made no more appearances.

There were no more notices
about him in Stage Magazine.

But I have heard

of a small traveling circus
somewhere in the provinces

which has a strange clown
in its company.

He has a beautiful voice.

And the children
love to watch him,
it is said,

because he is so very sad

and yet so very funny.

That was a heart-warming
little story, wasn't it?

Obviously, heaven does protect
the working girl.

Now I have a confession.

This is not a glass eye.

We were unable to find one,
but we got the next best thing.

I hope you don't mind.

Good night.