The Dark Shadows Daybook: May 27

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this day in 1969: Episode 767

When Jamison dreams of the death of his own grandson, will his recollections teach Barnabas the ultimate truth of Quentin Collins? Quentin Collins: David Selby. (Repeat; 30 min.)

Jamison dreams that David’s morbid birthday party is conducted by relatives who are cruelly unmoved by the actual commemoration of his living death. Only the ghost of Quentin provides David with a sense of belonging as he contemplates the transition to the world of the departed. 

Even if he had not appeared in the first shots of the first episode… even if he had somehow appeared only, by a twist of time, as late as season 3 of Discovery… we all know that Star Trek is Leonard Nimoy. His character, Spock, is Star Trek, and his performance is of the measured, intellectual integrity and focused passion that can be recognized in any of his finest colleagues in the franchise. Star Trek, as we know it, is the water-breaking stone of Nimoy. Everything else? Ripples. Not insignificant. Even in the stone’s absence, the ripples spread ever wider as a growing/fading testament to its impact. 

This lionizing is not meant to imply anything wanting in his cast mates. They didn’t get that character. Their artistry and skill are as honed as Nimoy’s. Maybe more. But there can only be one Spock. 

Were Mr. Nimoy still alive and reading this, I’m sure he’d be mortified at the suspiciously bulbous compliment. Humiliating you is not on purpose, Theo. Go easy. I paint what I see. 

It is with no small consideration that I state that Dark Shadows finds its Nimoy in David Selby. 

That is a difficult truth to write. It’s also a savagely unfair analogy. As with Nimoy and Spock, no one else (except for Thayer David) played Quentin. So, I’m sorry.  Jonathan Frid did the heavy lifting. He blazed the trail, laid the groundwork, and participated in countless other cliches. But, the airwaves made safe for a feral other, David Selby and Quentin stride into the story with both startling drama and the noble glide of a gracious poet from the heart of West Virginia. The audience, writers, ensemble, and very Zeitgeist were prepared for this character. Quentin is the apotheosis of the horror hero on Dark Shadows, which is to say, all horror heroes. He is a flawed man who prizes expedience and operational fictions. Thus, the larger society has no need for him. But those qualities don’t represent the man within the beast-before-the-beast, and we know it. Yes, he is frightening as a ghost. And yet the examples of Burke, Barnabas, Adam, and even Nicholas Blair and Angelique, to various degrees, have taught us to just… wait… a few episodes. These so-called monsters are often kind people are made monstrous by the abuses of love. Usually, they love in too-great abundance, their hearts and deeper passions unable to color within the lines established by Polite Society. Their transformations into horrors are not necessarily representative of some inner impurity becoming manifest on the surface. Instead, the creatures they become are inflated versions of society’s opinion of them.

The Dark Shadows story, then, is Quentin’s story. It’s Barnabas’ story. A good man has debatable flaws that glare when looked at through the eyes of ruling class pedants. Especially when those passions lead him into arms and cultures of the serving class, or, worse, decidedly un-Anglo, Eastern European immigrants. Pressured by imposed guilt or the terror of starving to death, these men return to the family fold only to find that those alternative communities have something to say. Barnabas’ and Quentin’s affections don’t legitimize these cultures… they were already legitimate. But their affections are long-overdue acknowledgements. And not just momentary. Barnabas loved Angelique. Quentin loved Jenny. 

The alternative class curses both men in ways that place their inner differences into the spotlight. After all, those classes are defined by their differences. Now, the ruling class will be unable to hide their allegedly sinful natures. Barnabas can hide that he sapped Angelique’s hope and optimism. Let’s curse him as something famous as a parasite. Quentin barely hides his animalistic lusts? Again… you see where this is going. Make him, literally, a wolf.

Both conditions are temporary. Both men grow up while growing away from their roots. Barnabas falls in love with Angelique. Quentin loses a child he never knew and finds the strength to lead the family with his curious mix of guile and gallantry. And as a romantic, Quentin goes beyond the obscenity of marrying an immigrant to falling in love with a woman who never even existed except in a bohemian artist’s imagination.

Selby captures all of this while never delving into a weary lecture on class warfare. Frid is marvelous, yes, but Barnabas’ affected refinement and mid-Atlantic accent distance him from viewers as too European. Selby is ripely American. Part gentleman, part hell-bent-for-leather frontiersman. Casting a man of the south was a quiet masterstroke by Dan Curtis, for where else but in the American south do we find the fusion of these national identities? Selby represents the very best of southern culture. Joy. A charm that comes from authentic bonhomie. Quiet thoughtfulness. Most of all, cautious friendliness — hardly a Collins trait. There’s Faulkner’s lyricism and Williams’ poignance and Poe’s dreamy irony and Twain’s irascible honesty in Quentin… and in David Selby, himself. All bound by honest benevolence. Once he tells Beth she’s still beautiful, which she is-but-never-hears in a world of prim Judith’s steaming chamber pots and Edward’s careless cigar ash, he’s our guy. He’s the answer to Liz’s isolation, Roger’s repressed rage, Joshua’s hypocrisy, and so on. Naturally, he must suffer for it. 

This is art, after all. 

Both Barnabas and Quentin are good men who stand apart from their families without abandoning them. There is no more ringing evidence than the regard with which they are held by adoring children. Sarah, Jamison, and Nora have no social preconceptions to cloud their honest opinions, and they see and love the truth in these men like no other. 

In 767, Jamison naturally trusts Barnabas with his darkest nightmare. In it, the ghost of Quentin reaches out again to that other outstanding critic of Collins social artifice, David. Yes, they are destined to be ghosts to their families, but they will have each other. Brothers in truth and love, separated by centuries, dreams, and death, itself. In his performance with David Henesy, David Selby shows an effortless loyalty, sincerity, and love that is wholly devoid of the condescension normally reserved for speaking with children. Quentin may be a wolf without a pack, but he is their guardian, nevertheless. And what is a wolf but a liberated dog? And I refer to a dog not as a servant, pet, or a beast, but as humanity’s kindest, most loyal, and intuitive companion. Those who have witnessed the beguilingly alien wisdom of these often majestic compatriots know that the comparison is the highest compliment. It is a rare human who matches their unflagging virtue; they are too easily written off as mere animals.

Quentin is a wolf at heart. In the very best ways. As painted with tireless wit and sensitivity, Selby embodies those noble virtues with the knowing voice of an author and artist. It takes a surreal dream sequence, replete with mocking puppets and the Collinses at their most sadly, honestly calloused, to let Selby crystalize what makes him different. What makes him American. What makes him the friend, guide, and troubled companion that Dark Shadows was destined to impart and always was.

This episode hit the airwaves on June 3, 1969.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: June 3

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1970: Episode 1033

Yaeger’s decision to trust Sabrina with Longworth’s fortune may prove to be a fatal mistake. But for whom? Sabrina Stuart: Lisa Richards. (Repeat; 30 min.)

Hoffman sees Barnabas using the secret room in the Old House and questions Liz about his shady origins. Liz dreams of finding Maggie’s body in Longworth’s lab. Meanwhile, Yaeger instructs Sabrina to transfer Cyrus’ money to New York, which she fails to do, dropping the check near the imprisoned Maggie. Yaeger, realizing he’s been betrayed, kills Sabrina as Liz walks in.

In an episode filled with moments of major drama, the likes of which only Christopher Pennock’s John Yaeger can deliver, there is a strange but mythos-rich moment that Jonathan Frid has which tops it. I’m not sure if Stan Lee snuck into the writers’ room, but it was a Merry Marvel Moment to be certain.

The cultural triumph of Barnabas Collins should be equally shared by Frid, the writers, and the design department. The latter is an unsung workhorse in that triumvirate. The elements are kind of remarkable. But on their own, just kind of. The Inverness cloak. The ring. The hair.

And the cane.

A weapon rarely used, but existing as a constant reminder of his power and capacity for action. Nay, Kung-Fu Action. An intersection of courtly and combative, civilized and savage. For one of the only times here, he acknowledges it, hefting the weapon aloft as Maggie’s protector and proclaiming that nothing, not even the wolf, is more powerful. I don’t care if it’s true or not… or if it’s acknowledged in action or not… THIS is a Barnabas Collins who says it and believes it. And for a moment, I do, too. It’s a moment for longtime viewers that forges a unique satisfaction. I know that if I ever made a Dark Shadows movie, that cane would be used more than Moses’ staff. Behold His mighty hand! Perhaps a steampunk relic from Joshua’s days in the Revolutionary War. Would it even be a sword cane? Need you ask? And would we have a 1795 flashback montage of Jeremiah training him with it against any variety of period blades, cudgels, and even a katana -- impossibly blocked? Yeah. (The way in which it split Captain America’s shield when the Red Skull hurled it at Maggie in Annual #7. -- Whistlin’ Wallace) Because it happened in real life. I just know it. I can’t identify the volcano on Martinique from which Barnabas found the Kyber Crystal that powers it, but I’m sure he narrowly beat a young Nicholas Blair to the prize.

Love this show.

And then Sabrina Stuart dies.

The whole episode has an uneasy foreboding to it. Hoffman spies on Barnabas entering the secret room in the Old House drawing room in a series of shots that expands the set to give the entire episode a strangely epic feel. Liz has a dream sequence culminating with Maggie’s grotesquely dead body. Grotesque because, thrust back like that, it reminds us of the ugliness of what we can assume was Yaeger’s attack. This ties into the Cane Moment with forceful, subliminal vitality. Barnabas will always live in the dark shadow of his own evil towards Willie and Maggie, and the cane will always be a reminder of how he did so. But he was a courtly savage compared to Yaeger. There was desire in his capture, but it was not a desire for flesh or even love. It was a desire to twist back the clock and undo everything done to him by Angelique. To him, Jeremiah, Josette, Sarah, and his mother. Probably the shattered Joshua, as well. In Yaeger’s treatment of Sabrina and rope-brandishing treatment of Maggie there is an undeniable lust mixed with his violence, and thus, sexual assault. It’s a message that exists between the flickers, but the masculine arrogance and leer cannot be denied. It is a long-necessary response and contextualization of Barnabas’ kidnapping attempt, and it is the perfect mirror for a moment in which Barnabas honors the potential of the cane to protect, just as Yaeger uses his to snare the fine-boned Sabrina in Lisa Richards’ final episode.

Her death is a horrible one, and the entire installment resonates with equal parts mission and menace.

Mr. Collins, you’re needed. Now, more than ever. To redress wrongs in not one, but two universes.

This episode hit the airwaves June 10, 1970.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: JUNE 3

By PATRICK McCRAY

June 3, 1968
Taped on this date: Episode 507

Carolyn has the dream, but stops short of answering the door, telling herself that she will not have the dream. Julia implores Stokes to stop the dream curse. Stokes examines pictures and compares people from the present to those they resemble in the past. Josette to Maggie. Etc. It all leads to questions of Barnabas’ past. He finds that the dream is connected to Barnabas and his various emotional states. Stokes intends to insert himself into the line of dream curse succession. He sends for Carolyn! He wants her to hear Willie’s dream. She will have the dream under set controls. Yes, the final dreamer will experience death or something worse. Barnabas is the ultimate victim, but Stokes can stop it. After Carolyn’s dream, she will tell Stokes the dream… he will be the beckoner if she trusts him. She reluctantly agrees, not knowing of the Power of Stokes. After she hears the dream, Stokes hypnotizes her (as he does with all attractive young women) to understand that she will have no fear in the dream. Stokes encodes himself as the beckoner. He can do this because he is a badass. She then sleeps at his command. The dream begins! As she had hoped, Stokes is her beckoner, having easily  inserted himself into Carolyn’s deepest recesses. She sees the terrors of others, including her own grave (December 8, 1948 - July 15, 1968). She comes awake! In doing so, she floods Stokes with everything she had pent up from the night’s discoveries. He leaves her spent and relieved. Stokes withdraws and struts downstairs, the cock o’the walk, eager for the dream. He knows that he will make the witch come, as well. It is so easy for Stokes that he will do it in his sleep, breaking all of the rules. His own dream begins. There is a knock at the door.

This episode starts one of the most memorable moments in DARK SHADOWS history; the moment when T. Eliot Stokes gets inside the dream curse and goes all James Randi on Angelique’s occultness. But that’s yet to come. As for now, we get a brilliantly tight chamber piece of an episode, featuring only Stokes, Julia, and Carolyn. Nowhere else in DARK SHADOWS is a hero ever more confident than the villain. With Stokes, we have that, and it is a confidence that forces the writers to become even more diabolical. Is that the laughter of Nicholas Blair I hear in the distance? It draws near.

June 3, 1969
Taped on this date: Episode 772

1897. As Barnabas stands over the bitten Pansy Faye, the inevitable Carll knocks at the door. Barnabas hides the body and lies that Pansy has left, intimidated by Judith. As Carol panics, he sees that her purse has been left. Proof that Pansy Faye is still around. Barnabas just tells him to take the purse to Collinwood, she’s probably there. He has to look for Dirk. And maybe she’s lost in the woods. Barnabas breaks a sweat coming up with all of the places she might be. At the new Worthington Hall, Carl even bugs Charity about it, but she’s too busy visiting Tim Shaw, who is translating Latin for Evan Hanley, licking his fingers from turning the pages. He demands the Queen of Spades. She mentions her mother. He holds up a vial of something yellow and asks to be left alone to do what he has to do. Meanwhile, Barnabas is doing the same thing, burying Pansy Faye double-time as the cock crows. Dawn breaking, Charity wakes Tim from his moaning nightmares of the police. A messenger has brought a note and wants an answer. The message just says “Queen of Spades.” Tim knows now that “it” must happen tonight. Charity demands answers, but her mother interrupts. She continues to hector him, and he happily lets her know that he will never be out of their debt. He finally demands that she get out. At this point, I don’t think he really needs an hypnotic command to kill her. That night, Carl looks for Pansy at the Old House and hears her humming her song. Her song grinds on relentlessly. Barnabas appears as he begs for her. He shakes Barnabas wanting his Pansy! Barnabas pleads ignorance. Carl asks if the song were only in his imagination. Perhaps Dirk forced him away. Carl picks up on the implication. Later, Minerva suggests that Charity marry Carl Collins instead of Tim Shaw. Instead, she confesses a love for Barnabas, but since he is only a cousin, it won’t do. She instructs her to break off the engagement, and when Tim enters, Charity tells her that she loves another. Tim swears that he will apologize to Minerva. Alone, Minerva begins a game of cards… her solitary vice. Tim enters and apologizes, just as he said. She slams down the queen of spades and Tim insists on filling her cup of tea. He does so… with poison! She drinks.

The farce continues. John Karlen blows out so many stops that Carl’s death must be imminent. There’s nowhere else for him to go as an actor in that role. Meanwhile, Barnabas takes a perverse glee in lying to Carl about the whereabouts of Pansy. After (too) much effort, he’s finally able to pin it on Dirk. Most of the episode, though, is devoted to Don Briscoe losing years of patience with Clarice Blackburn. Or rather, with her character. As mentioned before, it's one big riff on THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, down to a card game triggering him. But there's no real card game in this except for a game of solitaire that she just happens to be playing. It seems to be an awfully big risk, but Evan Hanley's the Satanist, and I suppose he knows what he's doing. CANDIDATE was a huge hit, taking home two Oscars, but was withdrawn from release shortly after the Kennedy assassination. I think it was far enough in memory that they were safe with kids, and just close enough that adults might have found it to be a fond callback to a movie they could no longer reliably see on TV or at revivals.  

June 3, 1970
Taped on this date: Episode 1033

1970PT. Barnabas has returned to Parallel Time, and Hoffman follows him to Loomis House at Angelique’s command. She sees him enter the bookcase vault. He knows that he cannot reveal his powers to Maggie’s captor, but he can use his cane. In the farmhouse, Maggie tries to pick the lock with no success. In Cyrus’ lab, Sabrina shows Liz in, thanking her for the distracting evening out. Entrer John Yaeger, who introduces himself. He sends Liz off and then orders Sabrina to write a check, signing over Cyrus’ funds to him, as well as sending his clothes to New York so that he may begin his new life. At Collinwood, Hoffman tries to convince her that Barnabas -- searching for Maggie -- is up to no good. It is unsuccessful, but Liz wonders about his insistence on Maggie’s peril is odd. She then dreams of finding Maggie dead in Cyrus’ lab! Waking, she is galvanized to help in the search. Back at the farmhouse, Maggie finally picks the lock, but Yaeger seizes her. He then binds her to a chair and says he will kill Quentin so that she will have nothing else to live for. At Loomis House, Liz tells Barnabas of her dream, which compels him to connect Maggie with Cyrus’ lab, especially on the heels of her meeting with Yaeger. Barnabas is on the scent! Outside Maggie’s cell, Sabrina hears the scuffle and runs, dropping the check. Cyrus finds this, and now knows that Sabrina is on to his plan. At the same time, in Cyrus’ lab, Barnabas finds Yaeger’s clothes, seeing that there’s a connection. Back at Collinwood, Sabrina races in to alert Quentin, but Yaeger appears. She begs him to create the antidote, but he explains that there is nothing left of Cyrus. In the ensuing argument, he strangles her, and the aftermath is witnessed by Liz.

Barnabas’ vendetta against Maggie’s kidnapper can only be seen as cosmic penance for the kidnapping that he, himself, initiated. Seen this way, Yaeger makes a chilling reflector character. Barnabas’ motives were love and cosmic balance, but Yaeger -- with forced kisses and clumsy shibari -- seems purely driven by lust. It makes us see that even as a kidnapper, Barnabas was relatively genteel. If you overlook making her spend the night in a coffin, which I can. This episode also marks the final appearance of Lisa Richards, a fine actress who’d served the show well, but given the stories to come, there was -- sadly -- nothing of real consequence to give her.  Thanks, Lisa!