Dark Shadows is dead. Long live Dark Shadows.

(Note: this piece was first published on April 2, 2015. Consider this a re-run.)

By WALLACE McBRIDE

It’s better to burn out than fade away.

On this day in 1971, DARK SHADOWS came to a thudding halt. The show was pretty far from its prime, and was coasting on little more than the strength of its cast and goodwill from its audience. While the ratings during the final year weren't good, its previous success also made it more expensive to produce. The cast was earning salaries negotiated when the show was a ratings smash, so any slip in ratings made it that much more painful to the bottom line. By April 2, 1971, the ratings for DARK SHADOWS weren't far from where they were before the introduction of Barnabas Collins in 1967.

Had Dan Curtis any interest in the show, though, it’s possible DARK SHADOWS might have continued. The production had essentially been running a five-year creative marathon (one that also included the production of two feature films), which gave the show little time to find its second wind. It’s difficult to imagine the cast and crew putting up much resistance when told DARK SHADOWS was over. There might even have been a sense of relief for some of them.

And the final story arc was a weird one. Devised as a sequel to the 1795 storyline, it borrowed elements from Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" while also mixing in traditional soap opera plots (infidelity, paternity questions, love triangles, etc.) and the obligatory ghost. As a twist, the story was set in a "parallel time" tethered from the show's continuity. The results felt decided unlike DARK SHADOWS, despite the presence of so many familiar faces here.

It’s kind of amazing how many cast members managed to stick around for the duration of the series. Present in the final episode are Joan Bennett and Louis Edmonds, who both appeared in the show’s first episode in 1966. Also making their curtain call here are Nancy Barrett and Thayer David (who were also part of the pre-Barnabas cast), John Karlen, Grayson Hall, Lara Parker and, of course, Jonathan Frid. Even producer Gordon Russell gets in on the fun, appearing here as “Harris, the second footman.”

Et tu, Brutus?

David Selby was absent from the end of the series, waylaid by a bout of appendicitis. Essentially stepping in for him is Keith Prentice, the final attempt by Curtis to audition a new leading man. Curtis had managed to rescue DARK SHADOWS with the addition of handsome rogues in the past, first with Frid and later Selby. His third attempt, “Gerard Stiles,” played by James Storm, wasn't quite as successful thanks to shortcomings in the writing.

Prentice’s “Morgan Collins” was an utter failure, though.

As far as handsome actors go, Prentice was more “handsome” than “actor.” His performance on DARK SHADOWS is stifled by his obvious stage fright, with his good looks doing most of the heavy lifting. The guy was perpetually sweaty throughout his 40-episode run of DARK SHADOWS, something I initially attributed to the heavy wool costumes and lighting. But that doesn't explain why none of his co-stars ever looked like they just left the gym without showering. While Frid made his panic work for him, Prentice just came across as inhibited.

Frid unfairly gets the lion’s share of the blame for tepidness of the “1840 Parallel Time” storyline. There were a lot of tensions pulling at the seams of DARK SHADOWS during its final year, but Frid is the easiest target because he’s the most visible. As with many soaps, the writers had tried so many different romantic pairings during the show’s run (Barnabas + Victoria; Quentin + Angelique; Willie + Carolyn) that there wasn't much left to mine from the cast’s chemistry.

Complicating matters was the show’s tendency toward inbreeding. It’s difficult to set off romantic sparks when so many of the characters are related to each other, which is what slowly happened as DARK SHADOWS progressed. Almost everyone on the show had become a Collins during the final year. Even Grayson Hall’s “Julia Hoffman” had been transformed here into “Julia Collins.”

In a sense, the 1840 Parallel Time arc allowed the writers to pair actors instead of characters. It was supposed to be a fresh start, allowing actors like Frid and Parker to work without the baggage of Barnabas and Angelique. But the story quickly turned into a brick wall. The writers were no longer engaged in the material, and Frid’s performance as Bramwell Collins — the son of Barnabas Collins — was further proof that he was bored with DARK SHADOWS. He was too much of a professional to phone-in his performance (he’s actually quite energetic in this final episode), but Bramwell clearly did not provide the inspiration he needed at this point in his career.

In fact, nobody’s going through the motions in this episode. Parker is especially good and couldn't be any more invested in her performance if it had been her first episode instead of her last. Story has it that Neil Simon was present on the set of taping for the final episode, prompting a much broader performance from Prentice — who used his final appearance as an opportunity to audition for the playwright.

#Pratfall.

It’s unclear how much notice the production was given about DARK SHADOWS' impending demise. While it’s probable that Dan Curtis and crew knew weeks in advance that the show had been axed, the script for the final episode hints that the news arrived too late to correct course. Yes, many of this arc’s lingering plot points are resolved here, but the episode ends in what ought to be remembered as one of television’s greatest WTF?! moments:

Melanie Collins (Nancy Barrett) is carried into the foyer of Collinwood, unconscious with a suspicious-looking wound to her neck. Ben Stokes (Thayer David) leaps to the obvious conclusion, telling everyone — the audience included — that it appears to be the work of a vampire. Cut to a closing monologue, also read by Thayer, that begins with these words:

“There was no vampire loose on the great estate. For the first time at Collinwood the marks on the neck were indeed those of an animal.”

Thanks, guys.

Squirrel bites look remarkably similar to vampire bites.

As the camera pans around the empty Collinwood sets, David continues his monologue, telling us of the fates of the many 1840 “parallel time” characters as if we cared. While I doubt these plot points would have been played out had the series continued, the faux-vampire attack is evidence that the storyline was hastily wrapped. Here’s what we're told happened in the years following 1840 PT:

"Melanie soon recovered and went to live in Boston with her beloved Kendrick. There, they prospered and had three children. Bramwell and Catherine were soon married and, at Flora's insistence, stayed on at Collinwood where Bramwell assumed control of the Collins business interests. Their love became a living legend. And, for as long as they lived, the dark shadows at Collinwood were but a memory of the distant past.”

As a conclusion for DARK SHADOWS, this episode left much to be desired. Barnabas Collins and the rest of the show’s core cast hadn't appeared on the show since the January of that year, and were not mentioned. Intending to right that wrong, head writer Sam Hall penned a lengthy epilogue for the series, which was published in TV Guide. Fans quickly stepped up, as well, and have spent the last 40 years writing fanfic that continued the story. From there, DARK SHADOWS already fragmented continuity just continued to splinter. The completely unrelated novels by Marilyn Ross continued for a short time after the cancellation of the show, while the also unrelated comics from Gold Key remained in print until 1976. Lara Parker has written several novels set after the events of the original television show, which contradict the events depicted in the comics published a few years ago by Dynamite Entertainment. And then there's Big Finish, which has produced almost 50 audiodramas extending the show's continuity ... which are also unrelated to any other stories set in the years after the end of the original television show.

In a sense, DARK SHADOWS is both blessed and cursed with resolutions to the original series. We've got enough material out there to pick and choose what we like, constructing our own narratives using the "best of the best" of what's been created since the show's end in 1971. In that regard, it's likely DARK SHADOWS will never truly end.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: March 16

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1970: Episode 984

Between haunted paintings and terrible advice from Hoffman, the last thing Maggie needs is more Angelique. But can she avoid it? Maggie: Kathryn Leigh Scott. (Repeat; 30 min.)

After Daniel dupes Maggie into thinking that Angelique’s painting is singing, he learns that there was no human there to sing it. Is her ghost present? Maggie gains advice from the manipulative Hoffman, who suggests that Maggie win Daniel over with his favorite music. Of course, it is the “Ode to Angelique,” enraging Quentin (or sustaining his rage). Later, Maggie is stunned to find someone identical to Angelique in the drawing room, chatting convivially with Quentin.

There’s little but tension in Parallel Time. Most of it is aimed at Maggie (in this section). This episode is a very slightly fevered core sample of that.

It’s happening one year before the show will leave the air. This is a franchise with no idea.

1970. A movie is in the works. It will come out later in the year. Currently, they are in their gutsiest storyline. Gutsy in that they’ve shuttled most of the traditional headliner actors (notably, Jonathan Frid) off the show to film the movie and gutsy in the high concept behind where they are. Dark Shadows is simultaneously trying their boldest concept with the most idiosyncratic cast -- at the height of their popularity. It all seemed like a good idea at the time, and in hindsight, fate is sharpening a Wusthof over a very special goose.

Part of the alchemy of Dark Shadows resides in combining its own best elements with it weaknesses. Stretches of exciting and dry. Great acting and stiff. Huge revelations and then a lot -- a lot -- of talk about those revelations. This strange rhythm keeps the show in a constant ascension and freefall. It’s never predictable. It’s never so consistently great that a dip in quality robs your confidence in the show. It’s never so consistently problematic that a clever plot twist or character moment can’t restore your enthusiasm.

Episode 984 is on the Fat City end of that balance in a storyline that’s not. It’s a puppy being kicked from the beginning of the episode to the end, and although it gets painful quickly and stays that way, the installment captivates because it never relents. In either universe, what’s consistent is the insistence on treating Maggie terribly, from one cruel joke -- a haunted voice singing -- to another -- buying a record that will enrage Quentin. If they could have shown it on April 1, it could not have been more apt. And although that similarity exists, Kathryn Leigh Scott finds differences between the two Maggies where she can. Both PT and Main Time Maggie are resilient, I don’t see the ex-diner waitress in this one. With less leather and more silk, she’s a bit more of a victim. That’s not always easy to watch as David Selby’s Quentin rages and Grayson Hall’s Hoffman schemes, but that increased and earnest vulnerability demonstrates something I never wanted to say about Parallel Time: it’s the show’s cruelest storyline.

Barnabas and MT Quentin have it coming. Maybe not to the degree it’s dished out, but I understand the cause and effect. Nicholas Blair isn’t there because it’s personal. He’s there to watch Angelique, for whom it IS personal. And we understand why, with her. But PT Angelique is just a Mean Girl, and Maggie is the new kid in the cafeteria. Hoffman’s just as bad, taking orders from her Queen Bee and lying about Daniel’s favorite music. She just sets Maggie up again and again for a Dr. Bellows of a husband who always walks in at the worst times.

(The net result of this is that it sets up John Yaeger to not look so bad. Hey, at least the guy’s honest.)

This may be the most horrific section of the series because its a dark Curb Your Enthusiasm. There’s one engineered social humiliation after another. Maggie tries so hard with that record. I mean, she’s so trusting of Hoffman that it doesn’t occur to her that a recording called “Ode to Angelique” might not be a hit with her grieving son and hysterical hubby. “Dream” is the easiest simile to abuse, but this is an absolutely realistic nightmare. And it’s a sharp poke in the eye to the swollen fan base that would dream of marrying the recently recovered Quentin and becoming the mistress of the diabolical Barbie Dream House. Well, the other diabolical Barbie Dream House.

“Oh yeah? You think that would be fun? You think that WASP culture is not a vicious hierarchy and that all women are instantly ‘besties’ who get along with no bullying? Especially once you’re made the new queen? Yeah? Really? Well, come to Parallel Time and bring a flak jacket.”

Even her stepson seems in on it. David Henesy reliably delivers one of his thousand subtle grins of savored evil as she falls into Hoffman’s tuneful trap. Denise Nickerson’s mouth forms an ‘o’ more perfect than a Zen master’s calligraphic circle. It’s both ends of counterfeit astonishment, thus shaming Maggie for being transgressive and dimwitted. Great job, kids. You’ll make fine Collinses, yet.

By the time the installment is over and it seems like Maggie might crawl out of the wreckage of the day, she finds that Alexis Stokes is in the house. An identical sister. It’s hard enough to compete with one of them. Competing with twin Lara Parkers is scientifically impossible.

I’m trying to do it now.

Nope. Not happening.

Poor Maggie.

This episode was broadcast April 2, 1970. 

The Dark Shadows Daybook: March 27

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1968: Episode 462

The man of Vicki’s dreams returns from the grave to warn her that Collinwood’s most eligible bachelor is the wrong kind of ladykiller! Barnabas Collins: Jonathan Frid. (Repeat; 30 min.)

Post-hypnosis session, Vicki and Julia discuss the verisimilitude of her trip to the past. In a dream, the ghost of Jeremiah warns Vicki that Barnabas will kill her. Later, Julia and Barnabas reach a seeming detente toward dealing with Vicki, with Barnabas pushing for collaboration. He then reveals that Vicki took the place of a governess who died in his time, and that her story rings true. After Julia investigates Peter Bradford and Noah Gifford, Barnabas speaks of his connection to the past with Victoria. After she confesses that she can’t see him harming her as Jeremiah warned, he summons her to him, anyway.

Today is the fourth anniversary of the Daybook, and there are a lot of things I can say about the experience. But what’s useful? The most important thing I look for and ask is, “How does the show change here?” 

I have a basic pattern to writing these. The last thing I write is the synopsis. Before that, the TV Guide. That’s the part I like most, but I don’t want to say everything in the recap and then not have an adline. So, I do the recap after. 

Usually, at this point, I have only a vague idea of what I’m going to say. Sometimes, I take notes, but I usually ignore them because I get more interested in other things. But I’ll start with some general feeling about the episode, like this:

Cleaning up the biggest narrative risk taken by television since Elvis was glimpsed from the waist down takes more than one episode, and it will get one episode. Maybe more. Maybe, years of them. They have to keep the show absolutely the same, and transform it radically to accommodate heroes who become villains and upcoming villains far more dastardly than ones in the past… even if they are from there. The show may have more dramatic moments. More climactic moments. But it has few that are as openly transformative; we see the time lapse of the flower opening, yet it’s no time lapse.

That’s left me with options. I have imagery that’s got something vaguely poetic, because, you know, flowers. So, I could go profound. Because, you know, flowers. And I used the word, “transformative.” Or I could go glib. I dragged in Elvis, which automatically heralds a potential joke. Maybe about Quentin’s sideburns. But mentioning Elvis on TV also means that I can go with the theme of television history or follow the weirdness-of-60’s-teen-idols, both of which tie in to Dark Shadows. If I go with the concept of transformation, which leaves most of those options open, I’d better do it well, because it’s a frequent theme of the column, and I don’t want to repeat myself. I’ll probably go with where this fits into the show, unifying the ideas of the show transforming with and through a character transforming. 

And I know I need to work in something about the constant references to Julia’s new hairstyle. But if you’re a fan, you know she gets a new hairstyle. 

What’s great is that they spend an inordinate amount of time talking about it. Almost as if Grayson Hall’s husband wrote the episode. Sam clearly lost a bet here, just as Grayson seems to have lost a bet at the time of episode 1177, where he forces her to do a multi-act monologue about the show’s most impossibly complex storyline, 1840. That home could have been a micro-WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?, except the son was real and they never killed him.

And now, I’m a little surprised, because there may be more to the Julia Hair Narrative, or “Hairrative,” that I thought. It’s all in the timing because this is a genuine turning point for the character, intentionally so. Barnabas is changing due to the lost love of Maggie/Josette, the possibilities of Miss Winters, the relief that Carolyn kinda gets stuff done, and the fact that Vicki knows his secret. Sort-of-but-not. Most importantly, Barnabas is changing because the audience loves him, so they’ll introduce REAL villains for him to fight. To do that and be constantly undermined by Julia? If he didn’t just kill her to save time, we wouldn’t take him seriously as someone who can stand up to Nicholas and Angelique. And he needs someone intelligent and capable of action as a confidant. Soaps are almost all dialogue, he requires a receptacle who can ask bright questions and trigger worthy challenges. Willie is not the man for that job. Both he and Julia will tell Barnabas that he can’t possibly do whatever it is that he’s planning, but Willie will just say it because it’s his job to tell Barnabas he’s wrong. Especially once he gets the necktie. Julia not only takes great pride in telling Barnabas that he’s wrong, but WHY he’s wrong. The haircut helps. I’m sure they didn’t intend it as such, but artistic intentions are ultimately meaningless compared to interpretive consequence. And the consequence is that as her hair changes, she changes.

Okay, so what? UNCLE called and said that Mark Slate wants his hair back and dyed blond again.  But what else? And I’m serious here. It’s talked about a lot -- by people who like the show and those who don’t. It’s two things. It’s modern and it’s masculine. The latter makes Julia (visually) even less of a romantic prospect, but she’s going for being less of one, too. It emphasizes her visual strengths -- the sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones. It’s modernity is ideally timed. After 1795, the females who visually harken back to that era will always echo it. Similarly, those who don’t will always be in stark contrast. Julia is a fine counter for Collinwood because it’s about the past and she’s about the present and future, iconoclastically so. The same goes for how she stands out against Barnabas, with past versus present. But he’s moving into the present more and more. We can compare “Present Barnabas” with “1795 Barnabas.” Julia, so different than Barnabas, now has a hairstyle that’s far more similar than it was before. She’s not a reflection, but she is an echo, usually carrying a message that he doesn’t want to acknowledge, but is the direct feedback he needs. A present voice for a man we now see as far more of the present than he once was.

Barnabas mellows, too. The behavioral changes are not immediate, but their conversation in the garden here is ripe with series-influencing implications. Both want answers from Vicki. Both have the means to get them. Rather than force them out, they both agree that they must work together for the good of someone toward whom neither means harm. Maybe out of fear. Maybe out of compassion. Maybe enough people have been hurt. Up to now, Julia (bringing Woodard along) and Barnabas are the sources of harm and peril within Collinwood. Enough of that. Vicki was dragged through time… for a reason? She could implicate Barnabas, and Barnabas could implicate Julia, and yet being tattled on is just the surface threat. The unspoken peril is that some force unknown to either now has the power over time and space. Indeed, it continues to meddle with affairs, sending horrific dreams of cautionary prophecy and eventual ambassadors from the past. Barnabas survives solely because he can deny and obscure the past. But the seeming-enemy who swapped Wick and Winters has another agenda and no identity to challenge, isolate, nor defeat. It’s an existential threat that intrigues Julia and quietly terrifies Barnabas. It’s the idea of everyone he’s hornswaggled potentially being toured through a past so unthinkable that he can only survive because he slept it off for nearly two-hundred years. Not only that, but, like Phyllis Wick, every aggrieved or talkative figure from the past can come this way, too. And they’re coming.

Victoria’s obsession with the past is no help, and as a storytelling move, it’s a masterstroke. If we compare Dark Shadows with the nighttime soaps of the golden era of Dallas, it’s a study in change. So many series hit reset buttons with abandon, but when Dark Shadows decides that a formative experience is formative, they mean it. She’ll never be as fun again, but we have the comfort that, on the fun scale, she was never exactly Carolyn, anyway. If I’d been ripped around time, almost hanged as a witch, and had Roger Davis macking on me, I wouldn’t understand, either.

On the other side of the aisle, a new Barnabas must work with a new Julia. The farmer and the cowman should be friends. We may need to bite Vicki, anyway, but that’s insurance. It’s also good TV, which Barnabas knows. As he progresses, it also keeps things moving at a steady rate. No change, and he runs out of Collinses to bite, and I don’t think Mrs. Johnson is his type. All change, and he’s no longer Barnabas. If viewers keep returning to Dark Shadows, it’s because, yes, there is growth, and it’s just about as gradual as in real life. Sometimes, though, you glimpse it. In this case, it’s between Barnabas and Julia in the garden. And that’s a welcome respite for all of us.

At this point, I’m clearly done. I might have been done several sentences ago, but there we are. This will forever be the “Julia’s Hair Episode” Essay, and notice that I avoided calling it “Julia’s Hair Piece”? You’re welcome. At this point, I still have to do the synopsis and the TV Guide. Go back up to the top. And thanks for reading!

This episode was broadcast April 2, 1968. 

The Dark Shadows Daybook: March 24

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1971: Episode 1245

As Brutus’ Ghost resigns in defeat, an escaping Bramwell and Catherine encounter a turgid Morgan, who shoots in excitement. Bramwell is grazed by the unfriendly fire. Morgan then kidnaps Catherine, but Kendrick and Bramwell find him upright on the roof. The three men tussle, and Morgan miscalculates his footing and plunges off the edge. Kendrick finds Melanie cured, and so they plan to celebrate the spent collapse of the manhandled Morgan by going away from Collinwood, as do the united Bramwell and Catherine. The past remains a specter, as Flora struggles and succeeds to forgive Kendrick and Bramwell. Likewise, Catherine works to overcome her misgivings over what has happened, but agrees to learn from her experiences at Collinwood rather than be ruled by them. All is well until Melanie is brought in with bite marks. A vampire is suspected, but we learn that this time, there is no vampire at Collinwood.

Here we are. If you’re like me, last episodes hold a special and bittersweet place in your hearts. I only learn to appreciate the process of a journey once I’ve seen that the destination has far less splendor and scenery than I thought. It’s at journey’s end that I really appreciate the trip and enjoy what it was for its own sake. This has a special truth with Dark Shadows because the end is so abstract. Because none of the “characters” have their “real names,” it’s easy to write off the show as ending on an unsuccessful storyline. Yes, I guess that kind of happened if you want to be painfully literal, traditional, and mired in ratings history.

And, 45 years later, that means jack.

Those are factors that existed at the time, but they don’t dictate the meaning of the text to viewers now, viewers unversed in the production history, or viewers who assume that this was created wholecloth. That meaning is what we find in it, and we discover that meaning from the elements that exist within the story and dialogue. Think of Hamlet, a lesser-but-significant piece of drama compared with Dark Shadows . I have no doubt that “the Sam Hall of 1600,” William Shakespeare, made all sorts of staging compromises when writing it. If he sat in on a class, I venture that he would pause readings all the time with, “Can you forget that scene? I had to please Lord Undergirth’s nephew by writing it. These things don’t fund themselves, don’t you know. What I really intended to happen was….”

So, the production history’s impact on the show is trivia compared with the show, itself, and I think we do it a disservice by primarily focusing on the show as a byproduct of that trivia. Given that, imagine 1841PT as existing for a reason. Imagine that it was just as much of Dan Curtis’ dream as was the girl from the train tearing through the blackened halls of a mansion by the sea.

If the characters speak their most important truths as the final, defining moments of the Dark Shadows  story, we might find them here. Forgiveness -- of the self and for others -- is what the characters speak of. Is Collinwood a haunted place to be abandoned? No. Its lessons are painful, but that pain means nothing if we forget them. The pain from the lessons is the pain we bring to them, and only by confronting and owning those scars can we justify what we’ve learned. What if Liz had had this attitude? Or Roger? Or Angelique? It’s what we see them learn. If DARK SHADOWS has a message for me, it’s this; happiness now and in the future directly relates to our ability to forgive the past.

In production terms, this is packed with the most familiar cast members they could wedge in. David Selby was ill and Chris Pennock’s character was dead, but that’s it. Even the show’s senior writer, Gordon Russell, appeared.

Meanwhile, the future was bright for NIGHT OF DARK SHADOWS.

This episode was broadcast April 2, 1971. 

The Dark Shadows Daybook: April 2

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1968: Episode 466

Barnabas and Victoria wind up in a hospital beset by strange visitors. She meets a double for Peter Bradford named Jeff Clark. He meets a doctor, Eric Lang, who claims to have cured him of vampirism. As the curtains are torn apart, Barnabas screams in the flood of sunlight.

Television relies on stasis; DARK SHADOWS rebels against it. How many ways did fate keep Gilligan on the island? How many chances to get home were fumbled or rejected by the crew of the USS Voyager? If you have a successful hook, logic dictates, hold onto it. DARK SHADOWS has no need for that. It’s a five-year tightrope walk that keeps topping itself. Today, they take away the net. Today, someone just cures Barnabas.

Yeah, the vampire. The vampire who is so vampiric, they devoted an entire flashback sequence to his origin. This show is back for only a week and he’s cured already, and the story’s stakes actually heighten. Now he’ll have to STAY cured, and accomplishing that will catalyze one of the show’s most interesting and consistently entertaining years. It is the bridge between Barnabas’ introduction/origin and the 1897 storyline. Although both of those sequences are perhaps the most famous and memorable periods of the show, 1968 (which is short for Adam, Eve, NIcholas & Cassandra) is what I get when I look for a core sample of DARK SHADOWS. It was off to the races on a track that could go anywhere.

It’s nothing but endearing that the man leading the charge was Dr. Eric Lang as played by Addison Powell, the program’s Leslie Nielsen. To say that Powell is, um, theatrical is a wild understatement. This is what the Vikings would have done had they switched gigs but kept the attitude. Overacting is one thing. It’s coarse and lacks sincerity. Powell’s stunningly energetic, committed turns have a practiced smoothness and honesty that elevates them beyond acting and into a manifesto on passion and expression. And his confident  intelligence makes his histrionics all the more hilarious and strangely compelling. I love this guy.

Only he could cock an eyebrow and stare down Julia Hoffman when she tried to smuggle Barnabas out of the hospital before sunrise. Only he could swagger as he accused Barnabas of being a vampire in less than fifteen minutes of screen time. And only he would fearlessly peel away the curtain on a sunny afternoon to let Barnabas know that it wasn’t four o’clock in the morning, but rather FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON! With exactly that panache. Between Stokes, Lang, and the upcoming Nicholas Blair, the show is introducing characters who could have sliced through the first two year’s problems like a katana. The upcoming conflicts will need to be commensurately challenging.

On this day in three years, ABC would air the final episode of DARK SHADOWS.