The Invisibles

Directed by Gerd Oswald; written by Joseph Stefano. Cast: Don Gordon (Luis Spain); Tony Mordente (Genero Planetta); George MacReady (Lawrence Hillmond); Neil Hamilton (General Hillary Clarke); Richard Dawson (Oliver Fair); Dee Hartford (Mrs. Clarke); Walter Burke (Recruiter). Broadcast February 3, 1964. Story: Masquerading (just barely) as a social leper, intelligence agent Luis Spain infiltrates a secret organization bent on world domination. He soon discovers that these "invisibles" have more to hide than he ever imagined: they're inhabited by belligerent alien parasites.

Consider this: the notion of a cohesive, unified human race is a hoax, and the best we can hope for in its place is tentative membership into any number of small, mutually exclusive cliques guided by elusive authorities and populated with desperate, bitterly evasive men. This bleak assessment, shared by the neurotic cast of characters in Joseph Stefano's "The Invisibles," drives one of The Outer Limits' darkest and most disquieting hours.

In many ways reminiscent of such "alien-invasion-from-within" standard bearers as Robert Heinlein's 1952 novel The Puppet Masters and Don Siegel and Daniel Mainwaring's film adaptation Invasion of the Body Snatchers from 1956 (not to mention The Outer Limits' own "Corpus Earthling"), "The Invisibles" transcends the elemental shocks of these fine works by focusing less on the invasion process and more on the underlying moral rot that facilitates it. The myriad crosses and double-crosses that occur, and the repeated images of discreet observation (characters routinely spy on each other from around corners, through half-open doors, from behind trees and from rooftops), help to build an atmosphere of secrecy and utter mistrust: everyone is watched and suspected and in turn watches and suspects, and no one is who he or she appears to be.

Stefano deftly weaves this motif of doubt and concealment into his overarching Outer Limits philosophy—namely, that the hope of an enduring human community is nearly impossible in the face of our collective frailty and universal corruption. The Control Voice opening cuts to the quick when it speaks of men who have "never been invited to join society," and who "have never experienced love or friendship or formed any lasting or constructive relationship." The implicit judgement in such a statement—that there exists a caste of humans who remain permanently outside of some larger, more constructive society—is belied by the actions of the episode's ostensible hero, GIA agent Luis Spain. Spain makes his living as an emissary of that mythical society, and proves himself to be as wholly oblivious to the simple value of human companionship as those he's been ordered to persecute. He seems to find perverse joy in midnight meetings and clandestine telephone calls, and reveals a dishonesty and insidiousness that make the Invisibles seem almost harmless by comparison. This man, like the charter member of the Invisibles he pretends to be, is willing to settle for and even thrive on the comfort of inclusion, even if such inclusion requires him to lead a fruitless, secretive life dedicated to unquestioning action. If only because such inclusion has tempted us all, Spain may be the most morally ambiguous leading character in a series known for its morally ambiguous characters, including the sublimely ineffectual Richard Bellero Jr. from "The Bellero Shield" and the repugnant Unified Earth strike-force in "Nightmare."

The "Spain as leper routine" (as the agent refers to his undercover façade) seems less like a routine the more we observe him. This is particularly true in his dealings with the wounded, childlike drifter Genero Planetta, whom Spain shamelessly exploits in his attempt to divine the Invisibles' master plan. Early on, Spain refers to Planetta's desire for friendship as his "neurotic soft-spot," and institutes a "kid brother ploy" to gain his trust (Spain and the other GIA agents show a fetishistic preoccupation with such phrases, which comfort them as only insider jargon can). In the end, however, Spain has no one to turn to but Planetta, and, fortunately for him, Genero overcomes his anger and sense of betrayal to heroically save the agent's life. (Sadly, it never occurs to the duplicitous Spain to repay Planetta's magnanimity, as the bullet-ridden finale bears out.) Initially the weakest character in "The Invisibles," Genero proves himself to be genuinely strong and humane: not only does he rescue Spain from the lurking creature intended for the agent, he also has the courage to openly acknowledge what he's seeking and reveal to Spain—and to us—his simple need for intimacy. "I liked you!" he cries at Spain, in what is at once the episode's most uncomfortable and most poignant moment. His expression of pained rejection recalls the earlier scene in which Castle, whose inoculation to the parasites has failed, dejectedly inquires as to whether Spain and Planetta have been issued uniforms (a subtle implication that the military holds the same appeal as the GIA and the Invisibles).

Such parallels abound in "The Invisibles," and Stefano links the GIA and the Invisibles at virtually every turn. When both Governor Hillmond and General Clarke are overcome by their devotion to the aliens (in uproarious fits of near-religious fervor), their cries to a "master" are little different from Spain's frequent telephone calls to his unseen GIA chief. These sequences underscore the lure of an authoritative force to which the disaffected agents and alien disciples will readily submit, and serve to further erode any differentiation between the two organizations. Spain puts it bluntly when he meets Johnny outside the Invisibles' compound: "Daddy doesn't know I'm out." Which daddy, we wonder, is he referring to—his or theirs?

Even as Stefano exposes the kinship between the seemingly villainous Invisibles and the supposedly heroic GIA, he introduces an element of homophobia into their perplexing relationship. While the intelligence agency's bullying pursuit of the alien initiates is a powerful metaphor for the blind persecution of the unconventional by those who adhere to a fictive norm, the depiction of the Invisibles as a gang of predatory dandies is potentially troubling. The GIA agents may be portrayed as comically aggressive men who speak in a nervous, formalized code to one another (when they speak to one another at all), but it is the Invisibles who giddily prey on the socially disenfranchised and coax them into joining their team. Such a notion of homosexual proselytizing is absurd today, and it's difficult to imagine that Joseph Stefano was insensitive enough to give it credence in 1964; perhaps it's simply his way of making us feel uncomfortable without really understanding why (the homosexuality is, after all, quite underplayed), and of emphasizing the absurdity of suppressing one's true nature no matter whose wrath displaying it openly might invoke. Nevertheless, many of the characterizations are stereotypically gay (Mrs. Clarke's secretary, Oliver Fair, is particularly fey), and whole sequences rely on our unease with gay sexuality (the alien inoculation process, in which the recruits lie face down as the creatures mount their backs, is only the most overt example). Whatever the intent and no matter how indelicate it may seem today, this subtextual element helps make "The Invisibles" as audacious an episode as Stefano's "Don't Open Till Doomsday," which also managed to sneak subversively sexual content past network censors and audiences alike. "Daddy doesn't know I'm out" indeed....

"The Invisibles" pulls off its daring premise with the help of a superlative cast and crew. Don Gordon's tense portrayal of Spain is among the series' finest performances: he perfectly captures the dim unease of a man who's only marginally aware of his role in a witch-hunt, and who has submersed himself so deeply in deception that his true identity has been all but abandoned. In spite of this, Gordon's recreation of the pain of Spain's broken ankle is so nauseatingly effective that we are forced to feel pity for the man, no matter what we know of his actions (it also affords him the chance to bond with Mrs. Clarke, another of the episode's marginalized characters to show real human feeling); it's a complex performance that's difficult to forget. George MacReady also brings his unique brand of cultured hysteria to the role of Governor Hillmond, and his aforementioned alien-induced rapture is a high point of the film. Neil Hamilton is equally fine as the unctuous General Clarke, and Richard Dawson's campy Oliver Fair adds an unexpected vibrancy to the episode's latter half. Such vibrancy can also be credited to Gerd Oswald's crackling direction, which, as usual, complements Stefano's story beautifully; his fluid tracking shots and frenetic pacing help give "The Invisibles" its unusually edgy tone. Attentive viewers are also rewarded with some evocativly symbolic character names, many of which are so deliberately unsubtle that Stefano surely intended for them to make us laugh. "Spain" plays on the word "pain" (a sensation the agent is well acquainted with by film's end), while "Planetta" is simply a variation of the Latin "Planeta," meaning "to wander." Other designations are more plainly indicative of distinguishing personality traits: the cuckolded, powerless Clarke is saddled with a traditionally female name, "Hillary" (which also echoes "Hillmond"), while his wife's effeminate secretary is "fair." Other names aren't as easy to decipher: Genero is assigned by the Invisibles to the "Sforza Water and Power Plant," with "Sforza" being the Latin for "to force." Is Stefano implying something significant here, or is he simply having fun at the expense of over-eager viewers willing to take such symbols too seriously? (If so, then mea culpa.)

It's safe to say that Stefano is up to something more subversive than obfuscation for its own sake, however. Perhaps by inviting us to uncover such purposely vague "clues" and feel a certain sense of superiority for having done so, he's making us experience firsthand the sterile appeal of the hidden and obscure that drives this episode. It's a frightening thought that makes this sublimely uncomfortable film all the more sobering, for it implies that we may be more susceptible to the dizzying subterfuge at work in "The Invisibles" than we would ever care to admit.

—MH