The Dark Shadows Daybook: DECEMBER 10

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1969: Episode 919/920/921

When Chris and Grant match wits with a killer android, will they win… or will the werewolf? Chris Jennings: Don Briscoe. (Repeat; 30 min.)

At the home of Harrison Monroe, an eerily young Charles Delaware Tate taunts them from the dark until a hurled object decapitates him, revealing it to be a synthetic human. An aged Tate controls him from behind a curtain until Chris forces him to make a magic painting that doesn’t work to prevent his lycanthropy. Meanwhile, a new iteration of the Leviathan messiah, the teenage Michael, flexes his muscles against Philip.

The most notable thing to get out of the way is strictly mechanical -- what’s up with the numbering? The program had a numbering system that corresponded to the days on which they were shot and shown. With the interruptions of the Apollo missions, which were now three or more events (ignition, lunar excursions, and splashdown) longer than a few months before, they needed to force a realignment with certain days of the week to get their numbering pattern right.

The moon plays a significant role in the episode, of course, and it makes me wonder if Apollo mania had anything to do with the timing of the Quentin storyline. His first transformation was about a month and a half before the Apollo 11 launch. It’s a nutty reach to tie them too closely together, however, the world’s obsession with the moon certainly didn’t hurt at the time. It’s similar to the interest in vampires in 1967. The introduction of Barnabas Collins was shortly after Henry Kissinger confessed to being of the Nosferatu. You remember.

The Wild Wild West arc reaches its apex here. As tempted as I am to chide the show for letting a significant plot element go undeveloped, I also congratulate their discipline on not falling down that rabbit hole. While robots are a particular fascination for me, the show -- take note, for it may be news --  is not about robots. This may come as a shock to fans of Sky Rumson, but it's nevertheless true. Could they have fit them in? Yes. Clearly. Charles Delaware Tate builds one; Quentin destroys it. I am pleased enough that automata make a guest appearance in the DSU, and it's established that Robots Happen if you possess true genius, live long enough, can create cursed paintings and… wait!

That’s it!

Well, that explains it.

Clearly, Tate’s power resides in anything artistic.  This isn't a robot at all. It's more like a golem. A golem made to look like Roger Davis, because it's a sculpture of himself. I wonder if he even knew that it would come to life when he made it. If so, it must have been his prized creation and primary companion as he became Harrison Monroe. A narcissist’s dream of a RealDoll! To what extent did the sculpted RoboTate --brought to life by the second-hand Powers of Petofi -- appear to the world? Even more challenging and entertaining, did it also inherit the unique powers of its creator? Hey, Joe Lidster. I got it! The TateBot gets loose. Maybe it creates a secondary Amanda Harris? What if Nicholas finds out and enslaves it to finish what he tried with Adam? Petofi has to come back and stop him, thus pitting Petofi against Nicholas Blair. And they fight on the edge of a volcano. Yeah. I like the volcano part. And there's a car chase and an undersea lair and Petofi escapes in an aquapod with Jenilee Harrison. Not a character played by Jenilee Harrison. No. Jenilee Harrison. Then they drink champagne. 

Back to the drudgery of non-reality, let’s continue about Dark Shadows. The show was never about high-tech -- well, except for the high-tech used to bring Adam to life. Having robot duplicates running around would imply obligations to an entirely larger story. Perhaps a more interesting one. And who has time for that when there’s a remake of Magnum PI to actively oppose? But even if the RepliRoj is only a golem, it’s such an interesting new dimension of mythos that I wish the show had come back to it. At this point, the show is once again solidifying itself as a Jack Davis poster come to life, with an age-encrusted Roger as the Wizard behind the curtain as well as a young version skids to a halt by a taut extension cord.

Chris Jennings has come a long way from his entrance (kinda) a year ago where, despite being a werewolf, he scoffed at the supernatural chicanery of holding a seance. Now, he stands shoulder to shoulder with the actual Quentin Collins, facing down a golem and demanding a cure from a sorcerer-touched artist. Many Collinsporters just aren’t made for the supernatural. They go the way of madness and wind up like Joe Haskell. But Chris isn’t really from Collinsport. He’s a tortured swinger, and he’s learning to grab century-old men by the lapels and force them to paint, damn them paint! Why doesn’t it work? Lack of time? Lack of nuance? Maybe he’s old and it just turns a little werewolf. Whiskers. Maybe bad breath. You don't understand! Ngghh!  The pain!

Meanwhile, the Leviathan story loses some of its pervisity, but gains actual character depth as the bizarre tot despot, Alexander, evolves into Michael, a bright and aware teenage stage of the Jebolution -- a creature destined (like so many on DS) to be eventually undone by his capacity for love, and by that, I mean his libido. The power struggle puts viewers in a morally ambiguous spot, and that’s typical for the show and the medium… and maybe it’s the secret to its allure. In the words of Stan Lee, “Bring on the bad guys!”

Why do we watch stories? One of the reasons is to see the change that we experience all too rarely in life. Soap protagonists kind of match us because they experience a lot of struggle, but little true change. After all, soap heroes stick around, sometimes for decades. So, who changes? Short timers. Short timers destined to experience radical change. Other than victims, what other short timers experience radical change? Villians. If we want to see the change we rarely get in life, it’s hard not to quietly root for them. They’re the ones making things happen and shaking the barnacles off this one-lobster town. Villains have self-determination, and they revel in it. That's what makes them the secret heroes.

Even if golems.

This episode was broadcast Jan. 5, 1970.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: DECEMBER 3

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1968: Episode 642

Stokes prevents Victoria from perfecting a dead-on impression of Josette, but will it be a séance that pushes Chris Jennings over the edge? Victoria Winters: Betsy Durkin. (Repeat; 30min.)

Stokes pulls Victoria back from the edge of Widow’s Hill, where she believes death will reunite her with her new-yet-late husband. Despondent, she looks for clues in minor things and is convinced that his spirit is calling to her. Stokes conducts a séance, where Carolyn is possessed by a spirit named “Magda” who speaks of a curse.

It’s arguable that the first era of the show has been over for some time. With the arrival of Betsy Durkin as Victoria Winters, the character takes a fatalistic turn. In cases of terminal illness, there is that period where the sufferer doesn’t appear to be the same person, but rather a shell, going through the ritual of dying. The same with Vicki. Not only is she physically different, she’s despondent to a degree we’ve never seen. It doesn’t help the process of carrying Durkin’s flag. Visitors to the Daybook know that this time of year brings my annual and inarguably unsettling advocacy for her as an addition to the show. Alexandra Moltke is a sentimental favorite… after all, she is one of two characters (alongside Barnabas) who define the series. It’s hard to be the Lazenby in these cases. Poor Betsy gets stuck with sending off the character while denying the audience the cathartic satisfaction of seeing Moltke, herself, climb into the torpedo and blast off to the Genesis Planet. Maybe that’s a good thing. As with Maggie’s exit many years later, the mounting and near-irreversible unhappiness around Victoria makes her exit just as quietly devastating. Soaps thrive on making their characters miserable. Yet, they also have to keep them around as core ensemble members. Thus, we get a moderated and modulated misery. Real consequences are kept for short timers. So, when Vicki tries to jump off Widow’s Hill, herself now a kind of existential widow, and then hurls herself onto the bed at Collinwood in powerless misery, it cuts deeply. It’s clear they’re not going to keep the show going with Durkin as Victoria, and the lack of a B plot to distract the character into a new purpose on the program is just as clear.

More than any of this, seeing Moltke’s Victoria experiencing a sense of despair only slightly deeper than the Mariana Trench is an overwhelming prospect. In a move that would get them ample letters, today, Stokes accidentally advocates suicide as a guarantee that the lovers will be reunited. Bad idea, because to Vicki, that’s not just preferable to what she’s experiencing now, it’s preferable to anything she might ever experience. There is horror and then there is the unthinkable, and putting characters and audiences through the latter can be the definition of cruelty. Dark Shadows goes there at times, but it wisely stays on the audience’s side. With Durkin as Vicki, they have it both ways. 

This episode also finds Stokes emerging to his greatest extent, perhaps to warm up for the war on Quentin. As important as are his moments of expertise, this episode takes great care to show his shortcomings as well. It’s a canny balance, especially because he continues to win the audience by admitting when he misfires. There is a life lesson in this. Few boast more than Stokes, and this would be insufferable were it not the result of total honesty. When he boasts, notice that he never exaggerates; he reports. And he is just as straightforward when describing mistakes. As invested as he is in the occult, he’s refreshingly understanding about Chris’ skepticism. The evidence will take care of it, and prior to that, Chris is respectable for putting common sense and empiricism, first. Stokes is capable of massive (as Isaac Asimov put it) “cheerful self-appreciation.” At the same time, he has no ego to bruise. Yet more ways the Great Professor is our highest guru here at the CHS.

Perhaps the most arresting thing about this episode comes at the very end. Dark Shadows is as much a ritual as the séances, rites, and trials it depicts. Part of that ritual is The Cliffhanger. This episode ends on a far more contemplative note. After Carolyn introduces us to Magda via a very invasive possession, Chris stops the working and breaks the connection, much to Stokes’ consternation. She’s spent, he holds her, and there is no cliffhanger. Just a moment with the two characters seeking solace with one another as Collinwood’s autonomy reveals newfound powers and threats. It prepares us for the rich mythology of 1897, building on the hidden world with which they’ve coexisted for nearly 650 episodes.

This episode was broadcast Dec. 10, 1968.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: November 19

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this day in 1969: Episode 902

It’s a potentially Elektra-fying holiday season when Carolyn’s father blows back through town! Paul Stoddard: Dennis Patrick. (Repeat; 30 min.)

Paul Stoddard spies on Collinwood and finally reappears to Liz, warning of great danger to Carolyn. Meanwhile, David is reading from occult tomes and making odd deliveries to the upper room at the antique shop.

In terms of the mythos, medium sized potatoes. In terms of the episode-by-episode show? The first, great mystery is finally (kind of) put to rest. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Paul Stoddard. Given the luxury of time, it was an easy pleasure for Dark Shadows to introduce a story element, move on, and then make it central for another plotline, years later. Seeing Paul Stoddard again for the first time is one of the great payoffs of such a use of time. For me, the mystery of Paul is key to the mystery of Liz, and the mystery of Liz is the first, great, human unknown in the show. In a society that is far more matriarchal than is faddish to admit, Liz holds a strange and mighty power over the series. Even as it moves on to Barnabas, one truth of the story is evident. Barnabas may be the eldest Collins, but Collinwood belongs to one person only. Nonsense is dispensed of, Buzzes buzz off, and bucks stop, here, and no foolishness from from David, Carolyn, or Roger or she’ll have all three sent to their rooms without so much as a saltine and a half-glass of flat Moxie, thank you very much. I may be uneasy at the sight of Gerard, but I am terrified of Liz Stoddard. Her arched eyebrow is enough to do any of us in, and she swings a mean fire poker to boot. And yet, she remains the center of compassion and ethics on the show as well. She may have (thought she) killed her husband, okay, fine, but Alcatraz couldn’t have kept her locked up more securely than she imprisoned herself.

Given Jason McGuire’s redolent oiliness, I just assumed that Paul would be even worse. Maybe he is. But in the hands (also) of Dennis Patrick, the role has a strangely defiant, if harried, dignity. Dashing, even. He may not have been the blue blood that Jamison hoped for, but he holds his head every bit as high. The marriage makes sense, and it’s easy to see this augustly mellowing firebrand as Carolyn’s father. She may not have had his company, but she has his iconoclastic defiance, certainly. I can see them as a couple, and there is a strange hopefulness that they’ll reunite, and he’ll take on the supernatural as the show’s new, cardigan-clad knight. Not to be, and it’s a tragedy that hangs on the story like a shroud. This is where the deconstruction of Carolyn really begins. Does a hasty marriage to Jeb seems so crazy, now? And does her descent into the dour seems like the result of inevitable shrapnel.

Family echoes strangely over the episode. David’s voice has dropped an octave, and the writers even make a point out of puberty, which must have humiliated David Henesy and delighted his fans. Still, he’s ostensibly pouring over the Christmas ads for his wish list, and it makes Roger’s absence all the more notable. Roger will be around less and less, and this vacuum initiates a lack of center that eats away at the Collins family from within, so that what Gerard inherits is a fringe without a center. As one father is absent, another hovers. And are either up to the job, or do they just make us appreciate Liz, all over again? Meanwhile, the Todds prepare for Schrodinger's infant, tended to by a seemingly fatherless child. If you want to hook an audience, especially a young one, play with vanishing and reappearing parents. That fear (and actuality) of loss is at the heart of the Disney animated feature empire, sadistically holding kids spellbound. The formula still works.

This episode was broadcast Dec. 10, 1969.