The Sixth Sense
Rod Serling sets this up in brief for Night Gallery with the cogent observation that social events sometimes take on the nature of a black mass, as Goya would attest.
Collins has the image, a hospital bed, a girl headed for a kidney transplant. Her vision of a black mass pertains to her sister, the missing donor.
A wealthy house takes her in, the sister, at a cocktail party she’s drugged, the ritual is prepared. She asks why. “You’ve been a bad girl,” says the archpriest, “you were going to tell the teacher. And there’s another reason. You bore us, you dig? You bore us!”
Dr. Rhodes obtains the vision of “a large empty building, a warehouse, set up with an altar, crates everywhere.” “Vegetables”, the detective concludes, “a packing house”.
The police bust up the joint.
A serene masterpiece, one of the greatest American films, on a point of jurisprudence and the Constitution.
It rises from nothing and a shitkicking court with the very best of intentions to Abe Fortas arguing before the Supreme Court, he is played by Jose Ferrer.
The object lesson of a retrial with defense counsel is the concluding number, and in this Lane Smith is the Southern gentleman.
Henry Fonda mirrors his role in The Wrong Man several ways.