In 1972, ABC Buried Two Ladies Alive in The Screaming Woman

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From 1969 to 1975, ABC put out weekly films. They functioned as TV pilots, testing grounds for up-and-coming filmmakers, and places for new and old stars to shine. Every month, Chloe Walker revisits one of these movies. This is Movie of the Week (of the Month).

Jack Smight is not a filmmaker name that many remember today. Nevertheless, he had a career that was well worth exploring, not least for the very particular niche he carved out for himself with the ABC Movie of the Week.

He spent the first decade of it directing on a host of TV shows, including four episodes of The Twilight Zone, which included classics like “The Lonely” and “Twenty-Two.” In the mid-1960s, he started transitioning more towards feature films–a true journeyman, his output varied from fluffy Sandra Dee vehicle I’d Rather Be Rich; to John Updike adaptation Rabbit, Run; to Paul Newman PI movie Harper, to bonkers sci-fi anthology The Illustrated Man. Smight may have remained too much of an all-rounder to really make a name for himself, but he proved a solid, steady hand at the ship of whatever project he was helming.

Then in 1972, he directed two ABC MOTWs which had an uncanny element in common – they both revolved around a woman who had been buried alive.

Although they tackled the dilemma with decidedly different tones, the taut duration afforded by the TV time slot (as usual, they run just a hair over 70 minutes), and the need to pace the tension around the commercial breaks added further dimension to the action of both. The ABC MOTW excelled at the ticking clock thriller – and lying terrified underground, with your air running out? The clock could hardly tick louder!

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The Screaming Woman was first to air, in January. Loosely based on a Ray Bradbury short story, Olivia de Havilland plays Laura Wynant, a very rich woman who has just been released from a sanatorium after suffering a mental breakdown. When out riding one day, she swears she hears a woman screaming who’s been buried underground, but thanks to her recent institutionalization, she can’t get anyone to believe her–and it’s in the interest of her son (Charles Robinson) and daughter-in-law (Laraine Stephens) that she does look mentally unwell, since they’re after her power of attorney. As Laura’s too frail to dig herself, she must think laterally in her quest to help the buried woman, before she runs out of air.

Although the idea of being buried alive is obviously horrifying, The Screaming Woman holds entertainment at the forefront, always; more than anything else, it’s a whole lot of fun. There’s an element of pantomime to Laura’s quest to get someone to believe her, and to the dramatic irony involved in us knowing the bad guy before she does when she unwittingly calls by his house for help. If the MOTW had been shown in theaters, you can only imagine the level of audience participation particular moments would inspire.

Besides a gutsy performance from de Havilland, the supporting cast is littered with memorable faces from Hollywood’s golden age, all of whom would make repeat appearances in the series: Joseph Cotten as Laura’s friend (last seen playing Satan in The Devil’s Daughter ), Charles Drake as a wronged neighbor who takes pleasure in refusing assistance (he met a grisly end in Scream, Pretty Peggy ), Walter Pidgeon as Laura’s doctor (who’d star in the experimental misfire Live Again, Die Again), and Ed Nelson as the man who buried the woman (he’d appear in six other editions, most notably as a man menaced by his psychopathic stepson in A Little Game). For fans of the ABC MOTW, and/or of classic Hollywood, it’s a very Leonardo di Caprio pointing Gif kind of experience.

That extends to the offscreen roles too. Beside the Ray Bradbury source novel, this would be the last live action TV movie John Williams scored before he transitioned to composing for the big screen full time. Edith Head, meanwhile, designed the costumes for more 400 movies in her legendary career – The Screaming Woman was one of only six televisual features to which she lent her estimable talents. Despite the pulpy nature of the story, this was one classy production, and the bountiful talents of the cast and crew elevate the potboiler elements immeasurably.

The Screaming Woman wore its glossy artificiality proudly. The Longest Night, on the other hand, has a grittiness that was unusual even for the rough and ready ABC MOTW – although as is so often the case, the fact the extant copy is not in the best condition lends the action a valuable documentary feel. Even if there wasn’t a dramatic spoken prologue underlining how everything we’re about to see really happened, the unusually brutal undercurrent to the early scenes may well have clued you in.

Aired in September 1972, The Longest Night sees Karen (Sallie Shockley), the daughter of the wealthy Alan (David Janssen), kidnapped, buried underground, and held for ransom. The MOTW was based on the kidnapping of Barbara Mackle, which had riveted and horrified the nation four years earlier.

The first ten minutes are the scariest–find a copy on YouTube, or read the IMDB reviews, and there are a wealth of comments from people who remembered watching as children, and being scarred by the experience. More than half a century later, it’s easy to see why.

We open with the kidnappers storming into the motel room where Karen is staying with her mother (Phyliss Thaxter) – her mother is chloroformed and bound, and Karen is bundled into a car. She is bought deep into the woods, and a photo is taken of her holding a sign with the scrawled word, “Kidnapped”. Then she is shoved into the coffin, screaming.

She’s told of a ventilation fan that will provide her a week’s worth of air, maximum. That runs on the same power as a dangling bulb – the more she has the light on, the quicker her air will deplete. If she can bear to lie there in total darkness, her chances of survival will be a lot better. It’s a horrifying scene, made all the more so by its tactility (the wind through the trees, the sound of the power source keeping Karen alive) and Sallie Shockley’s wrenchingly terrified turn.

After that nightmare fuel opening, The Longest Night settles down into a traditional procedural, as Karen’s father tries to follow the instructions of her kidnappers, and find her before it’s too late. Still, the close attention to detail makes it a cut above most; this was a far more accurate recounting of events than many “based-on-a-true story tales.” Though there’s only so much drama you can wrench out of a girl in a box, when we do periodically return to Karen, Smight’s smart direction retains the tangible terror of those early scenes; she’s allowed to drink water via a long straw attached to a container by her feet, but when the straw falls out of the container, her efforts to put it back again really underline her hellishly claustrophobic conditions.

Jack Smight would helm two more editions of the ABC MOTW the following year–an ill-advised Double Indemnity remake, and fun-but-throwaway psychological thriller Linda. After that, he would return to his career as a journeyman, varying between TV and B movies like the first Airport sequel, Airport 1975.

Although that wasn’t exactly illustrious stuff, in those two 1972 TV movies, he showed both his artistic range as a director, and the range exhibited by the lowliest of artistic mediums. Certainly, few directors of the ABC MOTW would have been responsible for as many nightmares …

Chloe Walker is a writer based in the UK. You can read her work at Culturefly, the BFI, Podcast Review, and Paste.

In 1972, ABC Buried Two Ladies Alive in The Screaming Woman and The Longest Night