Come in. Welcome. I'm E .G. Marshall. Welcome
to the world of, no, no, not your imagination
this time, but that of a man, a writer, who had
more than enough for both of us. This time then,
I bid you relax, let your imagination take a
holiday, as I bring you not only a story of horror,
but of wit and brilliance. Oscar Wilde's... the
picture of Dorian Gray. But the portrait of you,
Dorian, the portrait I painted of you, it is
hideous. Dorian, what does this mean? It means
that the wish, the frightful wish I made in your
studio 18 months ago was granted impossible.
The room is damp, mildew has got into the canvas.
The paints I used had some mineral poison in
them. I tell you the thing is impossible. This
is the face of of a monster. Yes, Hallward. The
face of a monster. The face of my soul. Our mystery
drama, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was especially
adapted from the Oscar Wilde classic for the
Mystery Theater by George Lother and stars Nick
Pryor. I'll be back shortly with Act One. Nothing
is new under the sun. Women's lib is as old as
the Greeks. And the vaunted liberality of our
times, you know, do your own thing. Live today,
pay tomorrow. Whatever is pleasurable is right.
Was more than anticipated by a certain Victorian
named Oscar Wilde, who in 1891 wrote the picture
of Dorian Gray. Come with me now to the London
studio of the celebrated portrait painter Basil
Hallward. A handsome young man, Dorian Gray,
is having his portrait painted as he chats with
Lord Henry Watten, a rather dissolute, depraved
man about town. Please don't move about so much,
Dorian, and don't pay any attention to what Lord
Henry says. He has a very bad influence on people.
Have you, Lord Henry, a bad influence on people?
There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr.
Gray. All influence is immoral. Oh, why? Because
to influence a person is to give him one's own
soul. He does not think his own thoughts or burn
with his natural passions. Ah, and so when one
person influences another, if you were to influence
me, for example, your individuality would be
to that degree destroyed. Just turn your head
a little more to the right, Dorian. Well, I doubt
if you could influence me very much, Sir Henry.
I'm told you're a very... Wicked man wicked I
only believe in living my life fully completely
and giving expression to every thought Reality
to every dream Most men believe in virtue. I
believe in sin In sin Dorian don't move please,
but of course the only way to get rid of a temptation
is to yield to it Provocative thought Lord Henry
the truth nothing more You mr. Grey You yourself,
a fresh youth of twenty summers. You've already
had passions that made you afraid. Thoughts that
filled you with terror. Daydreams and sleeping
dreams whose mere memory might bring a flush
of shame to your cheeks. Perhaps. Take my advice.
Live while you're young. Youth is the one thing
worth having. Oh, I don't feel that way, Lord
Henry. Because you are young. Have your youth.
But some day when you're old and wrinkled and
ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with
its lines, and passion branded your lips with
its hideous fires, then you will feel it. You
will feel it terribly. You talk too much, Harry.
And frankly, I don't much care for these thoughts
you're putting into Dorian's head. Well, you
will not talk any longer. The portrait is finished.
Come and look at it. Oh. Dorian, what is it?
Why did you draw back from your portrait? Don't
you like it? I like it too much. Too much. What
do you mean? You have painted me as I am, but
as Lord Henry just said, someday I shall be old,
wrinkled, ugly. Come, Mr. Gray, don't take me
too seriously. Many, many years will pass before
you were old. But why should it? Be that way.
Why should this portrait keep what I must lose?
If it were only the other way. If the picture
could change and I could always be what I am
now. I'd sell myself to the devil if that could
be true. The portrait! The portrait has fallen
to the floor! God in heaven, Hogwarts, Lord Henry!
You don't think the devil hurt me, do you? Nothing
as supernatural as all that, Dorian. I've been
meaning to fix a cracked leg in that easel for
weeks, and it finally broke, that's all. Your
portrait's damaged? No, not in the least. Are
you, Mr. Gray? I? Damaged? Did you mean what
you said about selling your soul to the devil?
I... I'm not sure. But you never know. If the
portrait could grow old instead of me, I... I
think I might. I... I really think I might. Big
pardon, Mr. Breen. Yes, Parker. What is it? Miss
Breen calling, sir. At this hour of the morning.
It's not yet ten o 'clock. Well, show her in,
Parker. Thank you, Parker, but I'm already in.
Yes, ma 'am. My darling, this is indeed a surprise.
An unpleasant one, Dorian. Oh, my dear, we're
engaged to be married. How could seeing you be
unpleasant? Well, since you haven't seen me in
over a week and have broken two engagements with
me, I thought it might be. Oh, no, not at all.
It's just that I've been terribly busy. Come
now. Don't frown at me like that. Give me a kiss
to show you forgive me. Oh, Dorian, you smell
of brandy. I, uh... I had a drink, yes. So early
in the day? Well, I wasn't feeling well. I thought
it might make me feel better. Dorian? What's
happened? Happened? You've changed. You're not
the same man I fell in love with, consented to
marry. You haven't been the same since that portrait
of you over the fireplace came into this house.
That's a silly thing to say. You're certainly
not blaming my portrait for what I do. No. I
simply date the change in you from the day it
was finished. But there is no change in me. You
only imagine... Did I imagine you're not calling
on me in a week? Did I imagine you're ignoring
my messages and the stories that I'm hearing
about you? Do I imagine them? What stories? Stories
concerning you and Lord Henry Watton. Stories
so coarse, so vile that I... I dare not repeat
them. He is anything but wicked, Sybil. He lives
differently from most others, that's all. He
believes in doing what you want to do, in living
freely, without constraint. Do you believe in
that too? I don't quite know. Dorian, darling,
it's one thing to be free, another to be depraved.
You think me depraved? I think that you're easily
led. and that Lord Henry is leading you into
a life you'll have reason to regret. Oh, Dorian,
don't look at me as if you hated me. I'm only
saying these things to you because I love you.
I love you deeply, devotedly, passionately. You're
so precious to me. So precious I think I'd die
if anything happened to you. Oh, for... Forgive
me, Sybil. You are just as precious to me, as
precious as life itself. Oh, Dorian, my dear.
Oh, sweetheart. Are you free this evening? Can
you dine with me? Of course. Then I'll call for
you at eight, child. Oh, wonderful. I'll spend
the entire day looking forward... What? That's
odd. What? Your portrait. Odd? What's odd about
it? This is only the second time I've seen it,
but it seemed to me that the first time I saw
it, it seemed that it was a superb likeness.
Oh, it is. It is. Basil Holwood is one of the
most brilliant portrait painters in all of Europe.
Yes, there's no doubt of that. But there's something
a little wrong with the mouth. Darling, there's
always something a little wrong with the mouth.
Be serious. Your mouth is gentle and sensitive,
almost tender. And the mouth of the portrait...
Just see it. It has almost a cool look about
it. Nonsense. It must be the light. No, I think
it's more than that. No, you imagine things.
Tonight at eight. Dorian? Oh, Dorian. I knew
that was you turning into Bond Street. Oh, hello,
Basil. How are you? Let me look at you. Oh, by
heaven, you're the handsomest young Hellion in
all of London. Hellion? There's a good deal of
talk going on round about your escapades, Dorian.
Yours and Lord Henry. I think it's called sowing
one's wild oats, Basil. Nothing more. I'm not
sure. You certainly don't look as if you've been
leading a dissipated life. Clear eyes, healthy
skin. Ah, you delight my painter's eye, Dorian.
But, of course, that's why I wanted to do your
portrait in the first place. And why I want your
permission to exhibit it. Exhibit it? Yes. I'm
afraid I can't. You can't? Let's say I prefer
not to. Oh, I see. Well, it's yours, of course,
and you have every right to do with it as you
wish. And I don't wish it to be exhibited. No
hard feelings, I hope. Why, no, no, of course
not. Dorian, will you be home later in the day?
Yes, why? Well, it needs to be varnished, the
portrait. It's more than a month now since I
finished it. Time to give it a protective coating.
Shall we say four o 'clock? Well, shall we? I'm
afraid you've forced me to tell you something.
I'd rather not reveal to you, Basil. Oh? There
isn't any portrait. I destroyed it. What? Oh,
you don't mean that. I do indeed. You destroyed
one of my finest... In heaven's name, man, why?
I... I simply didn't care for it, that's all.
Well, you liked it well enough the first time
you saw it. Very true, but the more I looked
at it, the more I felt it wasn't me. I see that
the stories about you are true. I was afraid
they might be once I heard you'd become close
friends with Harry Wotton. Your friend too, Basil.
Yes, but I'm older than you by 20 years, Dorian,
and I'm not easily led, or rather misled. I am
not being misled. I'm being taught. Instructed,
if you will, in what real pleasures life can
hold if one will only let himself go. Remove
it, sir? You heard me, Parker. I want the portrait
taken down from over the fireplace and carted
off to the attic. Whatever you say, sir, of course.
But might I venture to suggest that if you had
it placed in a different light? What has a different
light to do about it? The light changes a good
deal during the day, and the portrait seems to
change with it. You... You've noticed the change,
then? Oh, yes, sir. The changes that take place
in the differing light altogether are fascinating,
sir. Much as I shall be sorry to deprive you
of your entertainment, Parker, have it taken
to the attic. I'll do it first thing in the morning,
sir. No, damn it! You'll do it now! It would
seem that Dorian Gray's wish is coming true.
That the portrait is beginning to show the ravages
of his dissipations not he But if that is so
and certainly it seems to be What price will
he be forced to pay before the end is reached?
Who sells his soul to the devil deals with a
harsh bargainer. I'll be back shortly with act
two Hearing the loss of youth, even though only
20 years old, young Dorian Gray states that he
would be willing to sell his soul to the devil
if he could remain young always, while Basil
Hallward's portrait of him grows old. Seemingly
the devil has taken him at his word, for as Dorian
Gray becomes more depraved and dissolute, the
portrait shows the increasing ravages of the
life he leads while he remains the same handsome
youth. who sat for the picture some months ago.
But his fiancée, Sybil Vane, is not fooled. I
beg you, as you love me, Dorie, give up this
sordid life, this life of gutter pleasures. How
do you know what kind of life I lead, Sybil?
You don't live it with me. Report of your disgusting
escapades. Yours and Lord Henry's are known in
every drawing room in London. If you love me,
you'll give them up. Ah, but you see, that's
the point. I don't love you. Don't say that,
Dorian. Even if you mean it only to wound me,
to strike back, don't say it. It's of no consequence
to me whether I wound you or not. You're not
yourself. Not myself. My dear, I am more myself
than I've ever been in all my life before. In
any case, I'm sufficiently myself to tell you
now what for so -called reasons of decency I
have not told you before. I no longer love you.
In fact, Sybil, I'm through with you. Dorian!
You gave me your heart, your very soul. My heart?
I take back. As for my soul, it belongs to another,
I'm afraid. I can't believe this. You look unchanged.
You look as you've always looked. Gentle, tender,
compassionate, and kind. But you are not. You're
cruel and vicious and ruthlessly selfish. You've
become an animal. Be grateful, then, that I'm
releasing you from any obligation we may have
had. And please, don't be tiresome. Just go now,
won't you? I... love you! Who did you say, Parker?
Mr. Basil Hallward, sir. That's who I thought
you said. Well, I'm already late for the opera.
Tell him I'm not at home. Yes, sir. I'm sorry,
Mr. Hallward, but Mr. Gray is not... Mr. Hallward,
please, you can't go in there. Hallward, how
dare you? I must see you. I thought you wished
never to see me again. I am not here from choice,
Dorian. What did you do to Sybil Vane? I? Nothing.
Whatever has been done to Sybil Vane, she did
to herself. What do you mean by that nonsense?
Simply that I told her I no longer love her and
want none other. Sybil. is dead, Dorian, by her
own hand. Pity. And now, if you'll excuse me.
You aren't going to the opera. Why, yes. You
have just heard of the death of the woman you
loved. The woman who took her own life for love
of you. And you can go to the opera. Death, my
dear Holwood, is a most unpleasant subject. And
I live only for pleasure. Good night. Help me.
Why, Mr. Dorian, sir, did you forget your key?
Damn it, man. Would I be standing out here in
the cold banging away at the door if I hadn't?
Come in, Harry. Sir Henry, let me take your health
and cloak, sir. You may go to bed, Parker. Thank
you, sir. Good night. Well, and where shall we
go after a brandy or two, Harry? I shall go home,
I think. But the evening's young. I am not. Brandy
or two, we'll revive you, and then we'll be off
to... where? I'm in the mood for a pipe, so...
No, open for me tonight, Dorian. Ah, come along
now. We'll go to that little dive down in Wapping
by the dock. No, not tonight. But you can't ask
me to go alone? I'm not asking you to go at all.
Harry, what's come over you? Age, my dear fellow.
I get tired these days. I am growing old, Dorian.
A life of pleasure does exact payment. Though
I must say, you look as if you keep up with your
payments easily. I have no complaints. How do
you do it? In the last six months, since we first
met in Hallward Studio, we have indulged ourselves
in every form of vice, every variety of sin,
giving full vent to our passions, and yet, look
at me. I have aged 20 years in these six months
keeping up with you. But you, you are as fresh
and healthy and young as ever you were. How do
you do it? Shall I show you my secret? Show me?
I keep a diary. A rather remarkable diary, Harry.
In it is recorded every single action of mine
since... since that fatal day. Fatal day? The
day we met. I thought you were grateful for our
meeting. Why do you say fatal day? Come and read
my diary and you'll see. Bring your brandy. All
these stairs, Dorian. Where are you taking me?
The attic. Keep your diary in the attic. You'll
see. Here we are. Wait a moment. Well, I light
a candle. All right, Harry. There. In that corner.
I can't see a thing. Too dark. Too many shadows.
It's a dark diary, Harry. And it has many shadows.
Here. Take this candle. Now. Go forward. Good
Lord! I thought you'd be shocked, Harry. Shocked?
I'm shattered. Where did you get this? Did this
hideous painting? Basil Hallward. Impossible.
Basil never painted anything as unholy, ungodly
as this. Well, really, he didn't. I did. You?
And you. Dorian, I am tiring quickly of your
veiled answers. What is this thing? It is a portrait
done by Basil Hallward. It is the portrait of
Dorian Gray. Of you? This? Is the portrait he
finished that day? It was. It no longer is. I
don't understand. What has happened here? What,
indeed? Don't you tell me. What? I made a wish.
In Hallward Studio, you remember? No. I said
I would willingly sell my soul to the devil if
I could remain forever youthful. No matter what
excesses of physical pleasure I indulged in.
And only this portrait aged. Yes. Now I remember,
yes. The devil heard. And remembered. Even though
you did not. This is incredible. So have been
the vile delights you revealed to me, Harry.
The gutter platoes as Sibyl Turnal. Sibyl Vane,
your fiancée? Yes. She's dead, Harry. Oh, no.
Ah, yes. And by her own hands. She was silent.
Why? Why? You're such a lovely thing, fresh as
a rose, innocent as a new fallen snowflake. You
break my heart to tell me this. Why would she
have done such a thing? Well, she didn't. I did.
You? And again, you. Damn enough of this! I say,
what in hell's name are you giving at? I think
the truth. What truth? That you were wrong. Tragically
wrong. You said that day. That day in Basil's
studio. The body sins once, and has done with
its sin. For action is a mode of purification.
Oh, Harry! Harry, how wrong you were! Not wrong.
Beaten, whipped, vanquished, conquered by my
own vices. And you led me into a life of sin.
Led who? Led you wanted it. I tell you truly
that I have never been so appalled by such viciousness
as I found in you. You said... That day, you
said... The only way to get rid of temptation
is to yield to it. But I might have added that
the only way to overcome temptation is to fight
it. What are you holding there in your hand?
I can't see in the candlelight. What? A knife.
What are you going to do with it? Kill you. Why
you deserve to die or put another way You don't
deserve to live You will never learn with you
Life isn't something you deserve. It's a burden.
You must carry and be grateful to me Harry I
am about to relieve you of your a good deed well
done do you not agree portrait speak to me my
likeness my soul have i not done well to rid
the world of this creature speak i tell you speak
oh lord what's this the hands Hands of the portrait,
bloodied. One with the blood of Harry, but the
other, ah yes, Sybil. Poor dear, innocent Sybil.
Oh Lord, I fall on my knees and beg you. Forgive
me, forgive me. I knew not what I did. How much
more! How much more! How much more, indeed! Why
is it that the pleasure of minutes must be paid
for in hours? As you sow, so shall you reap.
Is that it? It appears that way. Well, Dorian
Gray sowed much seed. And his reaping of the
harvest was not yet over, as we'll hear when
I return shortly with Act 3. The mills of the
gods grind slowly, but they grind exceeding fine,
as they did and were yet to do for Dorian Gray.
See him as he sits now, near three in the morning,
in the library of his London house. A youth uncommonly
handsome, not a line in his attractive face.
The personification of young innocence. Yet in
the attic above stands the portrait of not him,
but his soul. A soul made hideous by unmentionable
sins. Oh Basil, I am grateful to you for coming.
I cannot tell you how grateful you should be.
Candidly, I don't know why I came, but the message
you sent with Parker, well, I'd be inhuman not
to answer such a plea, even from the likes of
you. Sit down, let me give you a brandy. No.
Now tell me what you want of me and be quick
about it. Oh, I need your help. I am desperate.
So I gathered from your message. Will you help
me? I should not be here at three in the morning
otherwise. Yes, I'll help you if I can, though
you don't deserve it. I'll do it for the friendship
we once had. Well, I... I went to the opera tonight
with Sir Henry. You forget I brought you the
news of Sibyl Vane's death. Oh, yes, yes, and
you were scandalized, justifiably so, that I
should still attend the opera. On our return
here, Harry and I quarreled. And Basil, I killed
him. Dorian. I stabbed him to death. At this
moment, his body lies upstairs in the attic.
The attic? It was there, I killed him. In a sudden
fit of rage. What in the world were you doing
in the attic? I had taken him there to show him
my portrait. What portrait? The one you did of
me. The one I... But Dorian, you told me you
destroyed it. I lied. I didn't want you to exhibit
it. You couldn't have in any case, but I... I
didn't even want you to see it. Why in heaven's
name not? You will see when we go up. You want
me to go up there? Basil, you... You must get
rid of the body for me. What? Are you mad? It
would involve me in a murder. A murder for which
you bear as much responsibility as I? Responsibility?
I bear as much as... You painted the portrait.
You introduced me to Sir Henry. Had it not been
for either, I should not be in this frightful
situation. Nonsense. You can't blame me for what
you yourself... Help me. I beg you. I tell you
no. Get someone else, anyone, or do it yourself.
I can't. I dare not touch the body. I dare not
even go near it. It revolts me. If, I say if,
I were to consent to this, how am I to get rid
of the body? You came in your carriage, did you
not? Yes. All right. All right. You have only
to carry the body down from the attic, put it
in your carriage, drive to the river, and dump
it in. What if I am seen? Well, you must take
care not to be. Basil, please. For the friendship
you once bore me. For the responsibility you
do bear in all this, whether you agree or not.
Please. Well, I can at least go up with you and
see what may be done. Thank you, Basil. Thank
you. I'll take the candelabra. Follow me. Take
care, Basil. Don't stumble. There. Whatever Harry
may have been, he was my friend. But I cannot
help but say the world is well rid of him. As
it will be of me. I'll not deny it. Now, where
is the portrait? You don't want to see that.
Dorian, if you wish me to help you get rid of
Harry's body, then you'll have to let me see
the portrait. it's that or nothing very well
it's there in the corner here take the candelabra
oh thank you you see oh but this is horrible
it's hideous i never painted this no i did no
it can't be the room is dead mildew has got into
the canvas. That would account for the green
splotches on the cheeks. The paints I used had
some mineral poison in them. Hence, the cancerous
growths on the nose, the forehead. Oh, heaven
help me. This is the face of a monster. Yes,
Basil. The face of a monster. The face of my
soul. If this is what you are, truly honest...
It is! I am! Then I have nothing to do with you.
Oh, you're not human. You're a devil, a fiend!
Oh, let me out of here! Wait! You said you'd
help! I must get out of here! I must leave this
hellhole you call a hole! Basil! No, come back!
Help me, Basil! You must help me! Help me! Someone
help me! Help! Who? Miss Catherine Wilson from
British charities. Oh, yes. Yes. Show her in.
Parker? Sir? You conveyed my order to the other
servants. About the attic? Oh, yes. No one will
enter the attic, sir, without your permission.
Not even you. Not even I, sir. Show Miss Wilson
in. You come this way, Miss Wilson. Miss Catherine
Wilson. Good of you to come, Miss Wilson. Won't
you sit down? Thank you, Mr. Gray. May I say
it's good of you to wish to contribute so handsome
a sum to our charity. Yes, tell me about your
charity. How will the money I give you be spent?
Oh, in many ways. To help poor children, orphans,
widows in need of assistance. Young people who
are not... Young people? Well, yes. Young men,
young women. many of whom need help in all sorts
of ways. Why do you look at me like that? What
did you say your name is? Catherine Wilson. Why
do you ask? You look very much like a young woman.
I was engaged to Mary once. It's strange. You
didn't look like her when you came in, but now
you seem to be changing before my very eyes.
No, Mr. Gray. I am me. No. No, you're not. You're...
You're Sybil Vane. Mr. Gray? You're Sybil. Only,
you can't be, because you're dead. Dead. You
are dead, aren't you? Please, Mr. Gray, get your
hands off me. What's come over you, sir? You're
not dead. You are here. It is you, our Sybil.
Sibyl, my darling. No, don't pull away. Let me
hold you, embrace you, love you as I want. Oh,
good Lord. Oh, what am I doing? You're not Sibyl
Vane. Mr. Gray, I'm afraid you're ill, not yourself.
I shall come back some other day. No, no. Good
day, Mr. Gray. Oh, what happened to me? What
is happening to me? Sir? Are you all right? The
young lady said she thought you were ill. I confess,
I don't feel altogether well. Some brandy, sir?
Yes. Please, Harry. Big pardon, sir. What? I
think you called me, Harry. How could I possibly
have called you Harry? Harry's dead! Sir? Henry
dead, sir? What? What? Sir, you are ill. No,
no, no, no. Don't try to get upset. Sit right
there. I'll fetch the brandy. Yes. Yes, do that.
You'll forgive my say so, sir, but to judge from
Sir Henry's high spirits when you returned from
the opera last night, he has many years yet to
live. In hell. Sir, you were saying the strangest
things. Here, here, drink this. Oh, thank you,
Harry. Sir, it's Parker, your man servant. The
best servant a man ever had. A devoted man, more
friend than servant. Better friend than any of
them. Better friend than you are, Harry. You
swine! Sir! Get out, Harry! Damn you! Get out!
Mr. Dorian, sir! I'm going to fetch the doctor.
Doctor? The doctor can help me, Parker. Permit
me to disperse. I shall fetch him at once. Parker,
sir, it's eleven o 'clock. I thought I'd just
look in on you before retiring. How do you feel,
sir? Not well. I can't sleep. The powder's the
doctor prescribed. They don't help. They've made
me worse, if anything. Filled my head with all
sorts of fearful thoughts, Parker. Nightmarish
thoughts. Of death. Decay. No, Mr. Dorian, don't
take on so... Why, for a man like you to have
thoughts of death, that's so ridiculous, sir.
Look at you, so young, so handsome, so full of
spit. I am old and ugly and decayed. Sir, if
you could see yourself in the glass, but never
mind now. Here, let me pull the quilt up around
your shoulders and then you'll sleep. One thing
more. Who was that at the front door earlier
tonight? Nothing important, sir. It was a message
from Mr. Hallward's housekeeper, sir. Basil's
housekeeper? Why would she send a message? Well,
she thought you'd want to know since you were
one of his closest friends. Were? Well, I'm sorry
to tell you he's dead, sir. How? He took his
own life, sir. Oh, sir. I shouldn't have told
you. I'll fetch the doctor. No, no. You need
help. Yes, yes. And you can help me, partner.
Anything, sir, anything. Help me. Help me to
the adage. I think I feel too weak to go alone.
Nor do I dare go alone. And there is something.
I must do. Help me, good friend, please. Help
me? Careful, careful. Let me get an arm around
you. Here we are, sir. The candle, can you manage
easily? Let us go then. Here we are, sir. What
is it you wish to do? I shall... I shall need...
A knife. I'll go down and fix it. No. No need.
No need. Shine that candle over there. Yes, sir.
We should have caught him. That looks like a
body. A dead body. It is. It is Sir Henry's body.
Sir Henry? I murdered him last night with a knife.
It is in his back. Take it out and bring it to
me. Oh, sir. You said you would help me. Yes,
I sent my shell. A knife, sir. And now, the portrait.
It's the whole world's painting of you. The one
we brought up here months ago. It is still there,
in the corner, amidst the shadows. I must destroy
it. Oh no, sir. Bring the candle. Sir, I don't
know what this is all about. Sir Henry, murder
and destroying your portrait. One of the most
beautiful paintings that ever... Oh no. Yes.
Now you see why it must be destroyed. And will
be destroyed. By me. Now! There! Into hell with
you! And there! Burn in the nethermost! The fires
of the pit suffer surviving torture and torment
the devil can heap upon you for the purification
of your soul! Mr. Dorian! Mr. Dorian! The portrait!
Look at the portrait! It's changing! Heaven protects
us! It's changing before my very eyes! hideous
monsters becoming young and handsome and beautiful.
It's you, sir. You. As Mr. Holworth painted you.
Let me hold you up so you can look for... You.
You. You are becoming... Yes. With a scabrous
loathsome I have become what I really am. picture
of Dorian Gray. And so died Dorian Gray turning
physically into the hideous and loathsome thing
which was his soul as the portrait became once
again the handsome youth he once had been. As
I read the picture of Dorian Gray, I couldn't
help but wonder if our modern penchant for doing
your own thing might not be leading some of us,
at least, to the same end as poor Dorian. I don't
know. What do you think? I'll be back shortly.
Oscar Wilde poured into the picture of Dorian
Gray all his brilliant wit and all his wisdom,
too. The wisdom of experience. For Wilde lived
life to the hilt and paid for it, as must we
all. Our cast included Nick Pryor, Norman Rose,
and Roger DeKoven. The entire production was
under the direction of Hyman Brown. This is EG
Marshall inviting you to return to our mystery
theater for another adventure in the macabre
until next time pleasant dreams