Directed by Alan Crosland, Jr.; written by Bill S. Ballinger and Joseph Stefano (story by Ballinger and Lou Morheim). Cast: Henry Silva (Chino Rivera); Diana Sands (Dr. Julia Harrison); Michael Higgins (Dr. Thomas Kellander); Hugh Langtry (Chromoite scientist). Broadcast January 6, 1964. Story: An interplanetary inhabitant exchange with distant Chromo goes terribly wrong: Earth's participant is a freedom-starved convict, while the teleported Chromoite hungers for something else
It's a measure of The Outer Limits' achievement that one of its best-remembered episodes (and the first in which the first season's aesthetic identity cohered) is shockingly prescient and bitterly relevant TK years after its debut. This is not mere posturing: TK's The Architects of Fear posits a nightmare scenario -- the baldly deceptive manipulation of the public's terror of alien attack -- that has in recent years become virtual policy. That the masterminds of this colossal ruse act in good faith in the episode, rather than from rank self-interest, hardly forgives their cynicism and hubris. It does, however, provide a clue as to how far we've sunk in the intervening years.
Honestly titled, "The Mice" is decisively focused on two characters, two subjects of an ultimately corrupt experiment: Chino Rivera (Silva), a bitter, charming, honest man imprisoned for murder; 
and the teleported Chromoite (Langtry), a repulsive unknown quantity operatively beyond the control of the Earth scientists running the test. These metaphorical lab mice (figuratively caged mice, as Rivera points out) are the soul of the story; all other characters are centralized around them, and remain subordinate to the episode's themes evoked by Rivera and his globular counterpart—the defining terrors of hunger (for freedom, sustenance, and hope) and of responsibility. To encapsulate the episode's powerful climax, one subject fails as a subject, ironically (responsibly) preserving a species he is only shiftingly fond of, while the other fails both his species and his ideals. In typical Outer Limits fashion, as much is lost as is gained, and souls— corporeal and ethereal, resilient and fragile, disciplined and errant— are the currency at stake.
As a story, "The Mice" succeeds on virtually every level, managing the balance of edification and entertainment that routinely distinguished this series. As a film, the technical efforts add to the convincing mix: Conrad Hall's cinematography is characteristically impressive, revealing a facility with brightly lit outdoor scenes that matches his known expertise with noir-ish set pieces. The special effects are consistently well done here, with two stand- outs—the eerie, strobing voice of Chromo (a race, it is implied in an interesting and ominous aside, that has become enamored of the English language), and the interplanetary teleportation sequences, which look and sound disorienting and painful—hence the Chromoite's shocking first appearance in a maddened state. The Chromoite itself (himself?) is a mixed blessing, relying heavily on audience ability at suspension of belief. With its massive tumor of an upper body (featuring an appropriately atrocious suck-hole for the Chromoite "staff of life"), furry claws, and incongruous human legs, this ranks as one of The Outer Limits most idiosyncratic bears. It's undeniably chilling, loping around the wooded grounds of the military/scientific complex (funny how often that amalgam comes up) with frightful impunity—damn scary... as long as it moves 
slowly, and doesn't try to crawl through windows or manipulate precision instruments. Unfortunately, it does both, with preposterous results. Still, this is not the effects failure that it has been described as—the Chromoite may baffle, but it works. Lastly, the episode is capped by a thoroughly successful reuse of Dominic Frontiere's creepy score for the earlier entry "Nightmare" (with, it seems, some new cues in the same vein).
—DCH
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