Twlight Zone Accident | The Final Cut | 4

American scandal uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, might be invented, but everything is based on historical research. It's early August 1982 at a restaurant in Toluca Lake, California, a wealthy neighborhood just north of Hollywood. Hampton's is a popular lunch spot for many of the actors and celebrities in the area, and it's an obvious place for producer George Folsey Jr. to catch up with an old friend. Donna Schumann has known Folsey for over a decade, but they've never met in circumstances like this. It's been just over 10 days since the accident on set of Twilight Zone, the movie. 52-year-old Vic Morrow and child actors Renee Chen and Mika Din Lee were killed when a helicopter crashed on top of them during the filming of a scene at night. The two children were working illegally on the movie, and now there are several investigations underway by the police and safety regulators. But Donna Schumann doesn't want to wait for the official reports to find out what happened. She worked on the John Landis segment of the movie as a production secretary, and it was her husband, the psychiatrist Dr. Harold Schumann, who helped falsely recruit Renee and Mika. So now the couple wants some answers. After the waitress takes their orders, Schumann gets right to the point. So you understand why I had to see you? What is it you want to know, Donna? I want to know how three people on set ended up dead. I've told you, it was just an accident. A terrible, terrible accident that none of us could have predicted. But I don't understand how a thing like that can even happen. Bolsey leans back. For a moment, he seems to struggle to find the words. Then he gestures toward the window in the street outside. Well, I guess it's like two cars on a highway, smashing into each other. It's just one of those awful things that happen sometimes. Schumann frowns. No, it wasn't like that. This isn't a car crash. This wasn't some everyday occurrence. This was a helicopter, George. These were children. And we rehearsed it. I don't know how many times. Everyone knew what they were doing. The helicopter was far away from the children. And how did it end up on top of them? It was an act of God. They should never have been there at all, George. If Harold had known exactly what you'd planned, he would never have agreed to help. You told him it was safe. It was, Donna. How can you say that? I mean, it should have been. Across the restaurant, a few other diners look in their direction. Folsey lowers his voice. Look, Donna, no one knew this would happen. How could we? Schumann shakes her head. Don't you feel bad about this? Oh, come on. Of course I do. I feel terrible. You think I'm ever going to be able to forget Renee's mom screaming or Mika's dad totally in shock? But if you're asking me if I feel guilty, no, I'm sorry. I don't feel guilty. I truly do not believe we did anything that caused those deaths. After their confrontation in the restaurant, Donna Schumann and her husband Harold request another meeting, this time with director John Landis there too. But George Falsey refuses to arrange it. He decides it's not worth talking to the Schumanns about the accident anymore. It won't do any good. But the animosity between the old friends will only grow in the months and years ahead. And the next time they face each other It won't be in a restaurant. It'll be in court. Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of American Scandal ad-free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. In the days following the deadly accident on set at Indian Dunes, Vic Morrow, six-year-old Renee Chen, and seven-year-old Mika Din Lee were laid to rest. John Landis and George Folsey Jr. were among those who attended all three funerals. At Moro's service, both men delivered eulogies. They praised his final performance as one of his best and tried to offer mourners the consolation that at least Twilight Zone the movie was finished. As Landis put it, tragedy strikes in an instant, but film is immortal. But several at the funeral found these comments self-serving and inappropriate. And while the victims' friends and families tried to somehow come to terms with their loss, a furious battle was beginning over who was to blame for the deaths and what price they would have to pay. This is Episode 4, The Final Cut. It's November 1982 at the office of Deputy District Attorney Gary Kesselman in Los Angeles, California. Kesselman looks up from his desk as Sergeant Tom Buds from the county sheriff's office steps in. 36-year-old Buds has been investigating the accident on the set of Twilight Zone, the movie, for the past four months. With the help of the National Transportation Safety Board, he's gathered enough evidence to fill three large binders, which he carries awkwardly into the room. And today, it's Kesselman's job to decide if what Buds has discovered is enough to bring a criminal case against the filmmakers. Buds thumps the bulging folders down on the desk. Castleman flicks through the one nearest to him. Well, I appreciate that this hasn't been an easy investigation. Oh, you can say that again. People of closed ranks? I think some of them are afraid, yeah. A lot of them live job to job, you know, paycheck to paycheck. They can't afford to be blackballed in this town, but I interviewed everyone I could. Castleman looks at the thick binders. Well, it doesn't look like you held back too much. Thank you. There's evidence in there relating to the explosive special effects, the helicopter, After everything, I've been able to get out of the Landis production office. All right. Well, obviously, I'll review all of this before I come to any sort of official conclusion. But let me be honest with you, Sergeant. I'm not sure there's a case here. Two kids are dead, Mr. Kesselman. And that's a tragedy, but it's not a murder. Hiring these kids illegally was only a misdemeanor. Well, if you read the files, you'll see there's far more to it than that. Look, I'm not saying Landis and the others meant to hurt anyone. But I think this was criminal negligence, at least. Kesselman leans back in his chair. Well, the problem with proving criminal negligence is we'd be talking about a subjective interpretation of what constitutes reckless and wanton conduct. And in a jury trial, I mean, against what's likely to be a very well-resourced defense team? Buds jabs a finger at the binders. Well, as you'll see in the opinion of many of my witnesses, what Landis and Falsy did was reckless and wanton. Well, they're not going to be the jury, are they? And I understand that parents of the two children have filed civil suits against the filmmakers. That's right. And good luck to them, I say. Yeah, I just wonder if that isn't the best avenue for pursuing this. Buds stands, his face flushing with anger. Look, is there something going on here that I don't understand? I know there's some rich and powerful folks in this town. People who would rather my investigation went away. Maybe some of them are donors to people in this office? Sergeant Buds, I'm not running for anything. Your boss was just elected attorney general. Well, if the DA wanted to kill this, he wouldn't have appointed me, okay? I'm not that guy. Well, there's a case here, and I know it. Just read the files, Mr. Kesselman, and you'll see what they did. To Tom Budd's disappointment, Deputy District Attorney Kesselman decides there is not enough in the three binders to proceed with criminal charges. But he encourages Budds to keep digging. So all through the winter of 1982, Budds works the case alone. Piece by piece, he builds what he believes is a damning picture of what happened that night at Indian Dunes. But criminal prosecution is not the only threat facing the filmmakers behind Twilight Zone, the movie. The National Transportation Safety Board investigation is still ongoing, and the families of the victims continue to pursue their wrongful death lawsuits. The parents of Renee Chen and Mika Din Lee demand hundreds of millions of dollars in damages from the studio Warner Brothers, as well as nine individuals involved in the production. But to the family's frustration, the defendants reject all liability. In one response, Warner Brothers even claims the young children knowingly assumed the risks of the scene they were appearing in, so the studio can't be held responsible for what happened to them. Just as frustrating, this multi-million dollar civil case progresses even more slowly than the criminal one. It will be many months before settlements are reached with the families, but in the meantime, Sergeant Tom Buds finally makes a breakthrough. By March 1983, he has amassed enough evidence to convince Deputy District Attorney Gary Kesselman that there is a case. Two months later, Kesselman presents what Buds has found to a Los Angeles County grand jury. Thirty-six witnesses are summoned to give evidence. They include the parents of Renee and Mika, as well as production staff and the filmmakers themselves. It takes six days to hear all the testimony, but finally, in mid-June 1983, the grand jury confirms the indictments. John Landis, George Folsey, pilot Dorsey Wingo, explosive specialist Paul Stewart, and production manager Dan Allingham are all charged with involuntary manslaughter, as well as several other counts relating to the illegal hiring and fatal accident on the set. These five men are scheduled to appear in court for their arraignment the following week on June 24th. By coincidence it the same day that Twilight Zone the movie is due to be released in theaters Among the first to see the finished film is Time Magazine 39 movie critic Richard Corliss In a theater in New York, he takes his usual seat for a press screening. He balances his notebook and pen on his lap as the lights go down and the movie begins. Of the four stories in the anthology picture, John Landis' now-notorious segment is up first. The scenes set in the Vietnamese village have been cut. and all traces of the dead children have been removed. But that leaves a truncated version of the story in which Vic Morrow's character is punished for his racist beliefs without ever achieving a form of redemption. Watching from the dark theater, Corliss shakes his head. He isn't impressed. The story seems preachy and obvious to him. He's also disappointed with Steven Spielberg's contribution, which is up next. He thinks it's labored and mechanical, but he's more taken with the segments directed by the lesser-known directors, John Dante and George Miller. To Corliss, they're the only two who seem to have understood the assignment. Their thrilling and horrifying pair of stories means Twilight Zone, the movie, at least ends on a high note. So later that day, back in his office, Corliss sits down to write his review. He calls Miller's segment fast, funny, and flat-out creepy. Dante's gets the movie moving with spooky style. But when it comes to Landis' portion, he says that it hardly looks worth shooting, let alone dying for. When he wrote the screenplay, John Landis hoped his segment would be recognized as a serious and morally profound piece of filmmaking. But many critics are just as negative about it as Richard Corliss. The movie limps into theaters at number four in the box office, and it will go on to make just under $30 million in the United States. It's not a financial disaster by any means, but it's not the blockbuster success Warner Brothers once imagined. And for John Landis, his career isn't harmed by the disappointing performance either. Twilight Zone, the movie, is quickly overshadowed by the release of another of his projects, one that was filmed just a few months after the accident at Indian Dunes. Trading Places stars Landis' old Blues Brothers collaborator, Dan Aykroyd, alongside the up-and-coming comedian, Eddie Murphy. And after a series of box office setbacks for Landis, this film is a spectacular return to form. On a budget of just $15 million, Trading Places becomes one of the highest-grossing movies of the year. Soon, Landis gets yet another career boost. In August 1983, Michael Jackson, the biggest pop star on the planet, reaches out to him personally with a special request. He's seen Landis' comedy, horror, An American Werewolf in London, and thinks he's the perfect man to direct the music video for his song Thriller. This project develops into an elaborate 14-minute short film that becomes instantly iconic and wins numerous awards. With these two major successes behind him, Landis starts lining up new projects with studios across Hollywood. It seems as long as he can deliver the goods at the box office, the industry is willing to forgive and forget whatever happened on the set of Twilight Zone, the movie. But the authorities are not. So while Landis is still lighting up Hollywood, it, the manslaughter case against him is slowly working its way through the legal system. After preliminary hearings in early 1984, there's a long battle over the charges the defendants will face. The defense team gets some of the counts removed, but the prosecution appeals and gets them restored. And while all that's going on, the National Transportation Safety Board finally issues its report on the fatal accident. It confirms that the use of explosive special effects in close proximity to the helicopter was the probable cause of the crash. This damaged the main rotor blades and led to the separation of the helicopter's tail rotor. The report also concludes that the tragedy could have been prevented had there been better communication and coordination between the pilot, Dorsey Wingo, and director, John Landis. This report's damning conclusions should be a boost to Deputy DA Gary Kesselman. He and his team are gearing up for the trial, which is now expected to begin sometime the following year. But then in November 1984, a bizarre turn of events throws the entire prosecution into chaos. Kesselman is in his office when he gets a phone call from a woman whose voice he doesn't recognize. She identifies herself as Lori Beckland, a reporter with the Los Angeles Times. Kesselman assumes she has some questions about the Twilight Zone case. It's all anyone wants to talk to him about these days. But Beckland says she actually wants to talk about something else. She's had a tip-off about a recent police raid on a club downtown, and she wonders if Kesselman has any comment to make. Kesselman's face goes pale because he knows exactly what she's talking about. For the past three years, Kesselman has held a stake in the Club El Gaucho. It's a dance hall where customers pay 25 cents a minute to dance with the hostesses. A few days ago, on a Saturday night, the venue was raided by the LAPD. Ten people were arrested, and one of the girls working there was accused of committing lewd conduct in a back room. It's not the first time there have been allegations about prostitution on the property, but the press has never shown any interest in the story, until now. Swallowing hard, Kesselman gives Beckland a brief statement. He admits he is a co-owner of the club and confirms some of the details about the raid, but he adds that he's conducting his own inquiries into the accusations before he takes any further action. Then he quickly gets the reporter off the phone. The next morning, he makes sure he picks up a copy of the L.A. Times. The story doesn't make the front page, thankfully, but it's still prominent enough for Kesselman. At the office, he's sure he hears people talking and laughing about it. Kesselman feels humiliated. With the Twilight Zone trial on the horizon, the timing could hardly be worse, and Kesselman can't help thinking that this story must somehow have been leaked to the press by one of the defense teams to undermine him. But wherever it came from, the scandal won't blow over anytime soon. And as the days and weeks pass, Kesselman begins to wonder if he can continue with the high-profile case against the Twilight Zone filmmakers, or if he has any future in the district attorney's office at all. I'm Indra Varma, and in the latest season of The Spy Who, we open the file on Larry Chin, the spy who outplayed Nixon. For decades, Chin was embedded deep inside U.S. intelligence. Then comes an opportunity. Richard Nixon's secret plan to reopen relations with China. Information Chin can place directly into Mao's hands. But the CIA has a weapon of their own. A Chinese mole ready to defect. How long until Chin's gig is up? Follow The Spy Who now wherever you listen to podcasts. This royal rift always inevitable. This is the story of Harry and Wills and the scandal that split the House of Windsor. Follow British Scandal wherever you get your podcasts or listen early and ad-free on Audible. In the wake of the controversy over the police raid on the Music Hall, Deputy District Attorney Gary Kesselman is removed from the Twilight Zone case. In the summer of 1985, a new prosecutor is appointed to take it to trial. Kesselman's replacement is another deputy DA named Leah Perwin D'Agostino. Though barely five feet tall, D'Agostino is an intimidating operator. At 48 years old, she's prosecuted some of the worst pedophiles and child abusers in California, and she's never lost a case. But she's not dealt with anything as high profile as this before. The Twilight Zone case will be her first time dealing with a celebrity in the courtroom, and she's never had to face opposition from such experienced and expensive attorneys. Because leading John Landis' defense will be 57-year-old James Neal. Neal is a veteran Nashville lawyer who was a special prosecutor during the Watergate scandal when he won convictions against some of President Richard Nixon's closest allies. Now he's perhaps the foremost criminal defense lawyer in the country, a formidable opponent for any prosecutor. But D'Agostino's task is made even more difficult by the limited time she has to prepare before the trial begins and the huge amount of material she has to study. By now, the evidence goes well beyond the three-binders Sergeant Tom Buds originally presented to the DA's office back in 1982. There are now six volumes of grand jury testimony for D'Agostino to review, as well as 1,000 pages of witness statements gathered by the National Transportation Safety Board, plus all the transcripts from the preliminary hearings in 1984. So for months, D'Agostino works almost 20 hours a day to get through it all. But she's not just glued to her desk. As part of her research into Hollywood practices, she heads across L.A. to visit ongoing productions like the acclaimed police drama Hill Street Blues. She wants to see for herself just how things should be done on set and why standards on Twilight Zone the movie fell so short. While she's doing this field research in late 1985, she moves into a new office at the Criminal Court Building in downtown Los Angeles. Her room on the 18th floor has no windows, but as far as D'Agostino is concerned, that just means there are fewer distractions. So as movers carry in box after box of files and documents, D'Agostino looks around her new workplace. She's searching for the perfect spot for a corkboard she's had with her since her earliest days on the Twilight Zone case Pinned to it are large photographs of Vic Morrow Renee Chen and Mika Din Lee both immediately before and after their deaths After thinking for a while, she props the board up on a narrow table directly opposite her desk where she can see it while she works. She doesn't ever want to forget about the victims in this case or the fact that they suffered incredibly violent deaths. That's the fuel that keeps her going on all the long nights this case has demanded. But while D'Agostino thinks the photographs are a constant reminder of why she's there, to her opponents, the display is grotesque. The defense lawyers complain that D'Agostino has turned her office into a chamber of horrors. The photos from Indian dunes don't strike them as a personal motivation tool. They look more like a naked attempt to prejudice witnesses and anyone else connected with the case who visits the office. So as the trial finally gets underway in the summer of 1986, The relationship between the two teams of lawyers is already strained, and soon it becomes openly hostile. In her opening remarks, attorney Lea D'Agostino highlights the contrast between make-believe movie magic and real-life tragedy. She says to the jurors, these are very real deaths. They were not an illusion, ladies and gentlemen. You are not going to see Renee Chen coming from the back of the courtroom or Mika Lee or Vic Morrow. They're not going to say, look, we put our heads back on, it was an illusion. The defense teams don't like that. The lawyers on the other side of the courtroom think D'Agostino is being sensationalist and emotionally manipulative, and they don't keep their feelings to themselves. Soon, biting anonymous comments about D'Agostino's approach make their way into the press, but D'Agostino claims not to be bothered. She says she sees it as a transparent attempt to divert attention away from the facts of the case, facts that she believes will be more than enough to secure conviction. D'Agostino's plan is to overwhelm all doubts through sheer weight of evidence. She intends to call dozens of witnesses over the coming weeks, but the most important to her case is the very first. Donna Schumann was once a close friend of producer George Folsey Jr. and worked with him as a secretary in John Landis' production office. But that warm relationship is a thing of the past. Ever since Schumann and Folsey argued in a restaurant shortly after the accident, the pair has barely spoken. Now, face-to-face with Folsey in court, Schumann is carefully led through her evidence by D'Agostino. She describes how chaotic the Twilight Zone production office was, how fast they had to work, and how much they were focused on doing everything as cheaply as possible. Then, when it comes to the children who were hired for the big finale, Schumann says the filmmakers rejected the use of dummies or stunt performers because they believed John Landis wouldn't think it looked real. She then explains how the production team deliberately withheld documents from the studio that might alert executives to Renee and Mika's illegal presence on set. This seems to be damning enough, but as far as D'Agostino is concerned, what Schumann has to say next will be even more incriminating. In fact, it might be the most important moment of the entire trial. Under D'Agostino's persistent probing, Schumann relays two conversations she overheard in the production office. She claims she witnessed both George Falsey Jr. and John Landis talk at length about how much trouble they would be in if it was discovered that they had hired the children without a permit. According to Schumann, it wasn't just a small fine they were worried about. She heard the filmmakers say they would go to jail because the use of explosive special effects around kids was so dangerous. This testimony seems devastating. proof that the defendants knew the risks they were taking and that the fatal accident on their set was far more than an unforeseeable act of God. And as D'Agostino finishes her question and takes her seat, she's delighted by her star witness's performance. But then comes the defense's turn. James Neal's colleague from Nashville, Jim Sanders, leads the cross-examination. Sanders prowls slowly toward the witness stand and then looks Donna Schumann in the eyes. Mrs. Schumann, you stated earlier that both Mr. Landis and Mr. Folsey joked in your presence about going to jail. These are obviously important comments, and you remember them well, I assume. I do. So I'm curious, why then did you not mention them in either your testimony to the grand jury in 83 or at the preliminary hearing the following year? I wasn't asked the question. You didn't think it was worth mentioning? I wasn't asked the question. So you didn't think it was important to disclose that information? It's not my job to determine what's important. My job here is just to shut up and answer your questions. Well, on July 11th of this year, you wrote a memorandum for the prosecution in which you detailed your knowledge of the defendants and what they had done during the movie's production. Isn't that correct? Yes. Did you make any mention of those going-to-jail comments in that memorandum? I don't believe so. So you didn't mention them before the grand jury. You didn't mention them at the preliminary hearing. And you didn't mention them in your detailed memorandum. No. In fact, is it not true that the very first time you mention these comments anywhere is in a second memo you wrote for the prosecution only a few weeks ago? Schumann hesitates from him. No, that's not true. I did mention them before. Sanders pauses and gives her a hard look. When? Four years ago. To whom? There were other investigators before Mrs. D'Agostino got here. I was asked questions by about a million people. Who did you speak to about this, Mrs. Schumann? I believe I spoke to an attorney, Gary Kesselman, Mrs. D'Agostino's predecessor on this case. Schumann nods, but Sanders goes on. So your evidence is that you told Mr. Kesselman about these comments four years ago, and you haven't mentioned them on any occasion since until today? Schumann looks pale. Yes, that's right. Jim Sanders and the rest of the defense team are convinced that something strange is going on. The rules of discovery mean that the prosecution should have shared all its evidence with them, but the comments that Donna Schumann supposedly made to Gary Kesselman don't appear in any notes or interviews that they've seen. Maybe it was just an honest mistake, an error in paperwork or a lost transcript. But if not, that leaves two possibilities. Either the prosecution attorneys have deliberately withheld important information from the defense, or they started making up evidence. Donna Schumann's testimony was supposed to get the prosecution off to the perfect start. The defendants in the trial had already admitted to employing Renee Chen and Mika Din Lee without a permit. So Deputy District Attorney Leah Perwin D'Agostino had wanted Schumann to suggest that the production knew using the children was not only illegal, but dangerous. Now, though, doubts about what Schumann told prosecutors, and when, threaten to derail D'Agostino's plans. Once the court adjourns, following Schumann's cross-examination, reporters reach out to the former prosecutor Gary Kesselman for comment, but he tells them he has no memory of Schumann's remarks. If she told someone, it wasn't him. The defense lawyers are delighted by this unanticipated development. They immediately make plans to ask the judge for a mistrial on the basis that the prosecution appears to have deliberately withheld information. But D'Agostino wants to head off that possibility right away. Eager to get her strategy back on track, she reaches out to her predecessor, and the next morning, Gary Kesselman comes by her office at the criminal court building. Leia D'Agostino looks up from her papers to see Kesselman standing in the open doorway. Oh, hey, Gary, come on in. Kesselman steps inside. He glances at the corkboard opposite D'Agostino's desk and then looks away from the gruesome photographs. D'Agostino shoots him a smile, though. Can I get you anything? Nah, I'm fine. He sits down. Well, this is all a mess, isn't it? But it's fixable. You know, when Donna Schumann wrote that second memo, you should have asked me about the going-to-jail comments. I could have told you. Told me what? That she never said it. Oh, come on, Gary. What? Can we just drop this? I don't know why you didn't write it down at the time, but you know that Donna told you about this. Well, that's the problem. I don't know, and it's not something I would forget even without notes. Frustrated, D'Agostino takes a deep breath, and she gets up and closes the door. All right, Gary, look, it's just the two of us in this office. You're not important. I'm not important. All that matters is the case. Kesselman frowns. If you're suggesting I should commit perjury, no, that's not what I'm implying at all. And what are you implying? I think you've got the wrong guy. I'm asking you to let go of your pride. My pride? Yeah. Admit that you made a mistake. Maybe you don't remember. Maybe you didn't write down everything she said. Maybe you lost some notes. God knows it happens. Look at all the boxes around here. You go into court and you say that. We move forward with the case and we nail these guys for what they did. But I didn't make a mistake, Leah. This isn't about you. It's about them. D'Agostino points a finger at the cork board, but Kesselman refuses to look. You're really saying that Donna is lying? I think someone here is, but it's not me. All right, I've heard enough. Good luck with the case, Leah. Kesselman stands and moves toward the door. D'Agostino points a finger. But just make sure you don't commit perjury the other way. When the trial reconvenes the following week, the defense subpoenas Gary Kesselman to appear in court. It's a question of court rules and admissibility of evidence, so the jury isn't present when he takes the witness stand to repeat his claim that Donna Schumann never told him about the going-to-jail comments. Cross-examining him, Lea D'Agostino repeats her claim that he's just forgotten Later on she herself takes to the stand in support of her witnesses She swears under oath that she did not coach Schumann or ever encourage her to embellish her evidence Watching from across the court the defense teams can hardly believe their luck. Before the trial, many people suggested that it would be difficult for the lawyers to mount an effective, unified response. With five defendants involved, it was assumed that at least one of them would eventually turn on the others. But now it's not the defense that's splintering, it's the prosecution. But when the jury returns, Lea D'Agostino tries her best to undo the damage. Over the weeks that follow, she shows the jurors hundreds of photographs and diagrams. She takes them to a movie theater where they watch the unedited footage of the helicopter crash. And she calls more than 70 witnesses, including crew members, studio executives, and the victims' families. She's often left frustrated by what she hears, though. Compared to earlier statements in front of the grand jury, some witnesses seem to be softening their testimony. D'Agostino believes that the fear of losing out on jobs or being shunned in the tight-knit Hollywood community is leading some witnesses to hold back. She has to push hard to get what she wants from them. But even the more candid testimony isn't always helpful. The evidence from the fire safety officers was supposed to be simple. They would confirm that what the production did was dangerous and violated the permit that they had been issued. But under cross-examination by the defense, it emerges that there was an argument between two fire officers on the night of the accident. One of them thought there was a risk the helicopter might crash, but his supervisor on set refused to pass those warnings on to the filmmakers. This evidence allows the defense to shift the focus away from their clients. As one of the lawyers said to the press, the fire safety officers who thought the scene was dangerous and did nothing are not being prosecuted, while the defendants who thought it was safe are being prosecuted. Behind the scenes at the DA's office, more and more questions are asked about Leah D'Agostino's trial strategy. Some, like the original police investigator Tom Buds, believe she's called too many witnesses, has gotten bogged down in side issues. But D'Agostino refuses to change course, and it's only after a total of almost six months of testimony that she rests her case. Throughout it all, she has tried to paint the defendants as recklessly endangering lives in the pursuit of a good shot. Her argument is that even if they didn't think it was risky, they should have known it was. But when the turn of the defense comes, of course their lawyers insist that nothing could be farther from the truth. John Lannis himself is the first to give evidence in his defense. Becoming emotional on the stand, he admits to illegally employing Renee Chen and Mika Din Lee, but he categorically denies being told the shots were dangerous or ever thinking that they were. He says he believed it was safe to have the explosions and helicopter in close proximity to the children. He wouldn't have filmed the sequence otherwise. His lawyer argues that the stunts were fully planned and thoroughly practiced, and Landis could not be held criminally responsible just because of the tragic outcome. Landis is then followed on the witness stand by helicopter pilot Dorsey Wingo. But the three other defendants declined to give evidence. And on the whole, their lawyers call far fewer witnesses than Lea D'Agostino. Still, they successfully introduced doubt around some of the prosecution's key claims. Technical experts present complex evidence that suggests it was not stray debris that brought the helicopter down. Instead, it might have been heat from the special effects on set that caused delamination of the tail rotor blade. As its thin metal outer skin peeled away, an aerodynamic imbalance was introduced that eventually ripped the blade in two. There are no records of delamination ever causing a crash before, and the operators of the helicopter were never warned that it was a possibility. So, the defense argues, it was impossible for the defendants to foresee it would happen. Such technical evidence is difficult for the prosecution to argue against, but D'Agostino has other openings. If any of the five defendants can be persuaded to turn on the others, it might change the course of the trial. But D'Agostino proves unable to take advantage of any potential differences between the defense teams. Instead, it's once again the prosecution's own divisions that make the biggest impact. In March of 1987, Gary Kesselman returns to court to give evidence, this time in front of the jury. and he goes even further than he did before. While insisting once again that Donna Schumann never made the going-to-jail comments, he also criticizes her as extremely emotional, and he shares details of the argument he had with Lea D'Agostino in her office, saying she was very agitated and appeared to be asking him to lie on the prosecution's behalf. This controversy is still fresh in the jurors' minds when they retire to consider their verdicts on May 18, 1987. Eleven days later, Leah D'Agostino, John Landis, George Folsey Jr., and all the other defendants and lawyers are summoned back to court. The jury has come to a verdict. As Landis walks in, his face is gray. He's been accused of arrogance several times during the trial and has been warned by the judge and even his own lawyers about his outbursts. But he doesn't feel confident now. He knows if he's found guilty, he's likely to go to prison. So everything comes down to the piece of paper in the judge's hand. Landis' blood thuds in his ears as he watches the judge unseal the verdicts. The judge's face flushes, and he seems to grip the verdicts a little tighter as he scans the pages. He then hands them to the court clerk. She reads each count and verdict one by one. When Landis hears his name and the words, not guilty, he closes his eyes in relief. For every count and every defendant, the verdict is the same, not guilty. The judge discharges them all, and the gallery behind Landis breaks into cheers. Across the room, prosecuting attorney Lea D'Agostino quietly gathers her papers, her stare fixed ahead as the celebrations continue around her. Landis barely gives her a second look. Within moments, he's embracing his wife, and together they make for the exit. Outside, reporters and crew jostle for position in the hallway. As they catch sight of Landis, cameras flash and microphones are thrust forward, Grinning from ear to ear, Landis talks about what a terrible time the last five years have been for him and how grateful he is to the jury for their decision. He doesn't once mention Vic Morrow, Renee Chen, or Mika Din Lee. Following the trial, some members of the jury gave interviews to reporters explaining their verdicts. It was clear that many of them had not believed Donna Schumann, and some found the sheer weight and complexity of the evidence presented to them difficult to process. In the end, the jurors simply were not convinced that John Landis and the other filmmakers knowingly endangered the actors on set, so they voted to acquit. To some legal observers, though, this was a mistake. Even if the accused men genuinely did not think the scene was hazardous, the jurors could still have decided that they should have been aware of the dangers and were criminally negligent not to have acted differently. As it was, having paid fines for illegally hiring the children, the defendants were free to continue their careers in Hollywood. Landis was never blacklisted after the accident that killed three people on his set, but he was never fully able to escape what happened either. Ultimately, Twilight Zone the movie would mark a turning point in his career. The 1990s saw him direct a string of flops, including Beverly Hills Cop 3 and a widely panned sequel to The Blues Brothers. Landis hasn't been entrusted with a blockbuster since, and his dreams of becoming the biggest director in Hollywood never came true. Perhaps his greatest legacy is an unwanted one. The Twilight Zone accident is still taught in film schools, union safety courses, and legal seminars as a case study in what not to do. In the wake of the incident, the movie industry brought in safety changes, including stricter stunt coordination protocols. Simple verbal discussions like those used at Indian Dunes would no longer be enough. Major stunts would now require written plans with clear lines of communication and authority. No shot is worth a life became an unofficial motto. But some doubt how much has really changed. Although rare, fatal onset accidents do still happen, especially when schedules and budgets are tight and there's pressure to get the perfect shot. It seems that even more than four decades on, Hollywood is yet to truly escape the twilight zone. From Wondery, this is episode four of The Twilight Zone Accident for American Scandal. In our next episode, I talk to Chris Winterbauer and Lizzie Bissett-Bowman from the What Went Wrong podcast about the wider Hollywood culture at the time of the accident, whether the verdicts in the trial were fair ones, and how the movie industry has changed since the 1980s. If you'd like to learn more about the accident onset of Twilight Zone, the movie, We recommend the book Special Effects by Ron Lebrecht and Outrageous Conduct by Stephen Farber and Mark Green. This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Jake Sampson. Sound design by Gabriel Gould. Music by Throm. This episode is written and researched by William Simpson. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry Managing producer Emily Burr Development by Stephanie Jens Senior producer Andy Beckerman Executive producers are William Simpson for Airship and Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery. To listen to the rest of this season of American Scandal, start your free trial of Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. With Wondery Plus, you can listen to other incredible history podcasts like American History Tellers, History Daily, Tides of History, and more. Download the Wondery app today.