The Dark Shadows Daybook: June 2

 

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this day in 1969: Episode 771

When Carl brings home his shocking true love, everyone at Collinwood needs to take a shot… probably of penicillin. Carl Collins: John Karlen. (Repeat; 30 min.)

As Barnabas and Beth plan to find the undead Dirk Wilkins to distract Edward, Carl interrupts with his vulgar, cockney fiancee, the alleged medium and music hall embarrassment, Pansy Faye. Her display of second sight ends with an accusation that one of the Collinses will be knit up in Dirk’s death. Later, Barnabas returns to the Old House where he finds her bitten and collapsed. 

Dark Shadows is about as self-contained as a pair of fishnets on the opening day of a Pritiken camp, and that makes it murder to introduce to prospective viewers. No, this one isn’t self-contained, but it comes very close, beginning with vampire-on-vampire suspense and ending in the murder of a character we meet just a few minutes before. It’s an hilarious little jewel that is inarguably pure comedy, as Jonathan Frid gets the easy job and big payoffs of doing astonished take after take. The heavy lifting is done by an especially histrionic John Karlen and then Kay Frye, as his Alfred Doolittle of a fiancee, the psychic medium, Pansy Faye. Barnabas is at the height of his swashbuckling best, with Beth at his side, as he plots to foil Edward by revealing Dirk as the local vampire (this week). With cosmic inevitability, the endeavor is halted mid-batpole by Carl, blithering of saltwater taffy and true love. It’s a great summation of a universe that encourages heroism and then mocks us with its ridiculousness. Think you’re going to help the community while your social equals look on in disgusted apathy? Don’t worry. The community you’re there to help will soon arrive to make the effort look pointless.  

Class envy is an ugly thing, and envy isn’t even the right word. Envy goes from the bottom-up. From the top-down? See: Collins, Judith. Pansy Faye is exactly the sort of figure designed, like a Xenomorph by a Predator, for her to hunt. You can almost hear the thermographic scan kick in when she catches sight of the crassly cacaphonic strumpet. The episode does a funny thing when they meet, because it allows you to see the conflict from both perspectives at once. Judith is a snobbish and intolerant prig, and it’s in response to a boorish sense of entitlement. The one that completely betrays the promise of humble, respectful good values that the working class claim when it wants to Be Offended into getting something. 

Unless a Vanderbilt were tuning in, no viewer then or now knows what it’s like to be a Collins just three generations away from Joshua. But Pansy Faye’s brash idiocy, with the jibbering Carl as ambassador, kind of inspires everyone to feel like a Collins, and it’s a subtle lesson in taste and etiquette for anyone willing to peek into the mirror. We’ve been spoiled by Vicki’s example to see female outsiders to Clan Collins as possessing a purity of spirit often lacked by the decadently corrupt residents. But that changes, too.

If you’ve seen the series before, you know that Pansy Faye’s spirit possesses Charity Trask, largely because it gave Nancy Barrett something interesting to do. That, and Dan Curtis was suffering under a curse that compelled him to make America listen to “I Wanna Dance with You” to an extent that almost -- almost -- makes us long for “London Bridge.” Under the Barrett administration, the United States of Pansy changes as drastically as it can without ushering in a new character. Was this planned? Was this a response to the writers honing the part for a familiar actress’ strengths? I have no idea, and the “why” is irrelevant. She warms and humanizes as a character, and we can credit death for that. Go down as Kay Frye, come up as Nancy Barrett. Gain a lot of nuance on the way. 

It’s not the only place this happens in the series. On Dark Shadows, death isn’t an end; it’s just a cue for transformation. The show takes the esoteric, gatekeeping mumbo-jumbo surrounding the Transformative Nature of Death and makes it literal enough that the rest of us unenlightened slobs might get some practical use out of it. Every culture kills its youth to one extent or another in the form of liminal rituals like hazings and walkabouts, where the prior identity is removed, a form of symbolic death is imposed, and an adult magically pops out the other end. This is a constant theme of Dark Shadows, starting with Liz Stoddard more-or-less killing her youthful, married identity and cocooning for a couple of decades before emerging in that smart red dress she wears to bail Carolyn outta the can. Vicki passes through death, kind of, in 1795. Adam is nothing without the death certificate he brings with him when he applies for fast food jobs. Quentin, of course. Only in Collinsport does Avis rent more coffins than cars. But the king, predictably, is Barnabas, who dies with a greater regularity than South Park’s Kenny. 

Each time he rises, which is arguably at the crack of dusk every night, he transforms. Sometimes wiser. Sometimes more impulsive. Inevitably, a tad on the hungry side. Even if we only count his transitions between humanity and parahumanity, that’s still six ping-pongs between the worlds. On a strictly symbolic level, he simply has that much learning to do. For Barnabas, the story of Dark Shadows isn’t Dracula; it’s Groundhog Day. We see that down to the various rituals of renovating the Old House and agreeing with Joan Bennett that, yeah, the resemblance to that portrait sure is weird, and now, I need the keys to the Old House because Lowe’s is delivering, like, a metric ton of backsplash tiles, and if I’m not there when they arrive, they’ll take them back and restock them, and I’ll have to send the gypsies to Logansport to straighten it out, and I think we know how that’ll go. 

On a show that constantly remakes itself in varied cycles, this is the most primal of all, and it often smells exactly like you might think. On Dark Shadows, transformation isn’t a mandate, but it is a fact. Sometimes, as with Pansy Faye, it’s the result of a terribly unfunny practical joke. Sometimes, it’s a punishment. Sometimes, it makes no sense at all. Often, I don’t even see the characters learn from it. They don’t need to. Not as long as we learn the lessons. Sometimes, that lesson is to value the changes, like we see with Pansy Faye. Sometimes, the lesson is to hold fast to what hasn’t changed. With Barnabas, it’s a matter of knowing the difference. 

This episode hit the airwaves on June 9, 1969.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: May 29

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1967: Episode 250

The hypnosis on Maggie begins to wear off, and she plans her escape as Barnabas plans the wedding. Seeing the coffin he has had made for her, Maggie decides to kill Barnabas, but she is thwarted.

Jonathan Frid knew exactly what he was doing. I’m convinced of that. Maybe… just maybe… the appeal he saw in the character was a surprise. In the first four or five episodes. But by now, the character has been around for nearly a month and a half. Huge superstar. And despite his nervousness about lines and his reticence about being a sex symbol, it's kind of nice to have a modicum of success at what you have been trying to do for 20 years. Frid, himself, would say that he was not exactly living the life of a renowned Shakespearean actor.  So, when you look at an episode like this, it's very clear to see where he could have simply twirled his mustache and leered at Maggie maniacally. There are faint glimmers of that. Enough to please the more shallow members of the audience. But, if you exclude just a few line readings toward the end of scenes and focus on how he interacts with Maggie?  Barnabas shows a real optimism regarding his goals, finally achieving some kind of happiness. You're looking at a romantic lead in a romantic program. If there's anything that makes him unusual, it's the fact that this is a man who is pining away so sentimentally on the smallest details of a wedding. And yet, he doesn't lose his masculinity while doing so. This is endearing to watch and I think is a key, if not the key, to why Barnabas is such an attractive character for (not just) female viewers. I think that the actor knew that these choices were innately human. And they create reasons to be kept around. Certainly, in an episode that ends with your fiance attacking you while you sleep, brandishing a spike, you have an indication that the writers may very well be willing to “go there,” in terms of character reduction.

The elephant in the mausoleum comes down to whether or not Barnabas sees this as a kidnapping or a rescue mission. I think it's written as a kidnapping. I certainly know that Maggie feels that way about it. However, I believe that Barnabas casts himself as a deprogrammer. Somehow, this really is Josette. She really has been ripped into the 20th century, as has he. Unlike Barnabas, however, she's been stuffed into a new body and mentally conditioned to think of herself as someone else.  When looked upon this way, the episode changes tenor. I may not be the first to admit that a coffin is a vaguely morbid wedding present, but I will concede the fact eventually. However, I believe that Josette was open to becoming a vampire before; it was just Angelique's morbid sneak preview that dissuaded her. With that distraction gone, this seems to be an ideal time to try it again. And it just follows. If you're going to marry Barnabas, you're probably going to have to become a vampire, and if you're going to become a vampire, you're going to need a place to sleep. We were in that uncomfortable age between the Petries and the Bradys when it came to sitcom couples sleeping. It's not like she can climb into his coffin. So, yes, his and her eternal rest. It's a proper way to kick off a marriage.

250 is easily one of the most painful and beautiful episodes in the series if you tweak your expectations only about two degrees. It's about a lonely man, abused relentlessly over the one thing that so many other people take for granted: love. And he has one chance -- one, impossible chance -- after an endless journey that began with the death of his fiance and the suicide of his mother and ended in an age completely foreign to his own. To experience all of that, to keep an amazing monster of self in check, and then to find the love of your past life waiting for you at journey’s end? Given that, I think Barnabas shows the reserve of a saint. When people talk about his courtliness and restraint, this is what they mean. We don’t understand bloodlust, but we can understand the ultimate fantasy of winning back our Josettes, wherever they are.

Would you be as patient?

This episode hit the airwaves June 9, 1967.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: JUNE 9

By PATRICK McCRAY

June 9, 1967
Taped on this date: Episode 259

Liz receives a call that Carolyn, driving drunk to Buzz, almost hit a woman. There was a crash, and the almost-victim saved her. Carolyn is now in the klink, and Liz is beside herself. On top of all of this, Carolyn was rude to the woman who saved her from the burning car. Instead of sending Roger, who has vast experience with car crashes, Vicki suggests that Liz leave the house for the first time in 18 years to pull Carolyn out of jail; the ultimate gesture. Liz, tortured, initially refuses. Reconsidering, she asks Vicki to drive her there. In a shot that is the DARK SHADOWS equivalent to the last one in THE SEARCHERS, Liz departs Collinwood to rescue an insolent Carolyn from a distressingly mustachioed Sheriff Patterson. She and the Sheriff bickered so much, she was glad to stay in a cell. When Liz enters, Patterson is stunned. Carolyn is equally amazed… transformed, in fact. But then Carolyn twists the gesture as indicative that Paul no longer means anything to her, and neither does she. Carolyn asks to go back to her cell, and Patterson refuses. They leave. Later, Jason says that it is proof that Carolyn is beyond reach. Liz again threatens to tell her the truth about Paul’s murder. Jason suggests that trying to reach Carolyn is self-torture… let her go. But why would she stop with Carolyn? And with Carolyn gone, nothing would stop Liz from confessing to the police, thus drawing in Jason. She’s desperate to scream the truth, but cannot. In her room that night, Liz is crying so loudly that Vicki goes to see what’s wrong. Why won’t Carolyn forgive her? Vicki says that Carolyn is cruel, not Liz. Liz eventually blurts out to Vicki that she killed Paul Stoddard!

Finally… an episode in The Story Arc That Forgot Barnabas where something happens! And Joan Bennett. The woman can act. Her style is not today’s. That’s today’s loss. Like Norma Desmond says, it’s the pictures that got small. It’s acting for scripts and emotional codes from another era. I’d say a better one. She is an elegant lightsaber to Scarlett Johannsen’s unsubtle blaster. Which makes me wonder what Marvel character I’d like to see Joan Bennett play. You know, a young Joan Bennett. It’s too bad Galactus is a guy. Because she could pull it off. My main takeaway from this episode is that I want to see Joan Bennett as Galactus. Louis Edmonds as the Silver Surfer. David Selby as Reed Richards. John Karlen as Johnny Storm. Nancy Barrett as Sue. The Caretaker as Willie Lumpkin. You have to pull in Dan Curtis himself as Ben Grimm. Jonathan Frid as Doom. Kathryn Leigh Scott as Alicia Masters because Marie Wallace would be Medusa. And a guest appearance by Humbert Allen Astredo as Doctor Strange. Don Briscoe as Bruce Banner. Chris Pennock as Hawkeye. What about Thayer David? Shave that man’s head and call him Professor Xavier! Or Kingpin. Or the Watcher. Give the other one to Dana Elcar. Which makes Michael Stroka the John Romita Peter Parker. And don’t let Selby’s superchops fool you -- James Storm IS Wolverine! Which brings me to Dennis Patrick as Nick Fury. Back in Hell’s Kitchen, Mitch Ryan is Matt Murdock while Joel Crothers is Tony Stark. And just because I love them both, to hell with it, I want Dazzler and I want Lara Parker to play her!

Toto, I don't think we're in Collinsport anymore.

Joan is really tops in this one. With nearly a year as Liz Stoddard under her, she makes the walk out of Collinwood about twelve feet and eighteen years long. It’s a symbolic shot ... perhaps the most psychologically pertinent of the entire show. She and Moltke have developed a rapport commensurate with the women they play, and an episode like this is their reward for a year of hard work. I really forget it’s acting. No one’s going to mistake me for Anita Sarkeesian any time soon. (I’m more of a Karen Straughan man, myself.) I could go my whole life and passionately not give a rat’s caboose about the Bechdel Test. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, because you’ll probably look it up and think it’s a good idea. Crap. Oh, well. Chalk one up for Social Justice. Anyway, my point is that there are two very powerful, very feminine moments of superb acting and writing for women on DARK SHADOWS, which is, eventually, a very (complexly) masculine show. This is one of them. The next one is a bit of a way’s off in 1897.

June 9, 1968
Taped on this date: Episode 511

Thanks to the seance, Reverend Trask is in da (Old) House! And this time, he knows the actual identity of the witch. The wall concealing his skeleton shatters. Tony senses the presence of Trask in the room. Although Ben hated calling him Reverend, Stokes has no reservations, calling for him. He then calls for Tony, who momentarily seemed in a daze. Julia thinks his spirit may have connected with him. He has no memory of being Trask’s medium. His spirit may be within Tony, who storms out in skepticism. They persuade him to stay. Stokes informs the empty air that Cassandra is Angelique. But before he can summon Trask fully, Adam’s tape from Lang begins playing, drawing Stokes near the stairs. It’s David in the Old House sitting room, playing with the tape recorder. David is simply playing with the recorder as Julia said he could. Stokes senses energies in the ether, and Julia sends him away. Before the lad leaves, Stokes and Julia ask him to not tell Cassandra that Stokes lives. But can they count on him? Stokes’ curiosity drew him upstairs, despite the danger. He wants to know why Julia said, “Adam,” when she heard the music. Stokes has seen Adam and describes him precisely. He says they met last night after the dream, and after the unsurvivable leap from Widow’s Hill. Julia is rescued from the rhetorical corner by Tony, who calls them down to show that the skeleton is missing. Stokes again implores the spirit of Trask to manifest himself. After Tony and Julia leave, Stokes hears a sigh, who tells Trask to take his revenge and rest in peace. With the confidence of a pimp, Stokes strides away. Barnabas later arrives home to noise in the basement. He is horrified that Trask’s wall is disturbed and that Trask is waiting for him. Barnabas tries to play off Trask’s execution on his ancestor, but why would Barnabas know his name. Trask lays a hand on Barnabas, stunning him. Julia enters upstairs, not hearing that Trask is below, walling Barnabas up in the same place he was punished in 1795.

What a moral inversion! Trask was one of the series’ great villains, but only because he was misled. So is it a moral inversion or redirection? But how good can we feel when his first act is to attempt to murder Barnabas. But, from almost every other perspective, it’s fair play. With weeks, months, and years to spin stories and repeat motifs, DARK SHADOWS has the power to play these palindromes out. No other show in the genre had so many opportunities on such a vast surface. Dan Curtis was a helluva painter. He made Michelangelo look like a chump and the Sistine Chapel the size of a matchbook cover, kiddo.

June 9, 1969
Taped on this date: Episode 776

1897. Judith, under hypnotic control, brandishes a gun at Rachel. Outside, Tim Shaw hears shots. He runs in to find Rachel mortally wounded and Judith standing by with the pistol. Judith says she had no choice. Later, Edward pleads to Trask that he was powerless to stop such a fast moving creature of darkness. The phone rings. It’s the sheriff, who has found nothing in the woods. Edward reports that Barnabas feels the monster is Dirk. But Trask mistrusts Barnabas. Edward persuades him to table the discussion as Judith enters, pointing the gun at Edward. He takes it from her, finding three shots fired. Judith answers nothing, except to say that, “It had to be done. I did what he told me to do.” Trask insists that she is possessed, and must go to bed. Alone, Trask prays for help. In the Old House, Tim bursts in with a dying Rachel, begging for Barnabas. He wants to go for a doctor, but Rachel catches him in a reverie about them singing sea shanties as children. Tim insists that she’s dying and he must leave. Later, Judith hears Dirk’s voice, asking her to come to him. She rises and walks out, past a flabbergasted Edward. He follows. Meanwhile, Rachel is still dying at Tim’s side. She says that her father is coming soon to take her and then passes away. Edward follows Judith to the cellar, where he opens Dirk’s coffin. Edward finds a stone to use as a hammer and searches for a stake as night falls. Having found one, he destroys Dirk.

Well, a Kathryn Leigh Scott character dies. That sucks. But it clears the way for Lady Kitty Hampshire, and that’s the most fun it looks like she had on the show. On the upside, Dirk is dead and we finally get EDWARD COLLINS: VAMPIRE HUNTER, which is the uncorking of a delightful brandy bottle of whoopass. Two death scenes. One touching. One kinda goofy. One by Kathryn Leigh Scott. One not. You can do the math as to the goofy one. If the answer is “Kathryn Leigh Scott,” go back and try again. Of course, how do you die as a vampire with dignity? Not always easy. Stanislavski never covered that, so I give it a pass.

June 9, 1970
Taped on this date: Episode 1037

Bruno has vital blackmail material for “Alexis,” and is surprised to be greeted by Maggie. On the heels of that, Quentin is no longer a cold, bullying blowhard toward Maggie. Upstairs, Bruno wants payment from “Alexis,” and she agrees to the $5000 fee. She can get the money in two hours, and he’ll return for it then. He leaves and she fondles a diamond necklace that would have shamed Liberace. Alone with Quentin, Maggie wonders if Cyrus were responsible for the odd actions. Quentin says that it was Yaeger, but Yaeger was a part of Cyrus. Angelique eavesdrops, reveling in the revelations to come. She brings Bruno the money and reads the secret journal of Cyrus Longworth, discovering her murderer. Cyrus claimed that it was Quentin! In the autopsy, he found that she had been killed by a hatpin -- a fact he hid. The seance drove QUentin temporarily insane with jealousy, and Cyrus forgave him. Angelique wants to stop him, and Bruno claims he was just jealous of him. She wants to exact revenge, but Bruno only gives her a few days. He has a “photostatic copy” of the page. When he leaves, she holds a mysterious pendant, saying that Bruno will be involved with her revenge… very soon. Downstairs, “Alexis” confers with Quentin and Maggie. Maggie excuses herself from the strain, and “Alexis” kindly offers to comfort Maggie. She brings the new wife tea, stealing a medallion in the process. At the Drawing Room fireplace, Angelique is dangling the medallion and telling Maggie she feels her will from across the mansion. Maggie is commanded to walk to the mysterious pendant. Downstairs with Quentin, “Alexis” feigns choking, screaming at Quentin to stop the witch. He races to Maggie’s room to find her fondling the pendant. Quentin accuses Maggie of witchcraft!

With all of this talk of “Cyrus,” I ask... once Miley Cyrus started acting nutty, should she have called herself “Joan Yaeger”? Who cares? I think she’s a honey. Both KLS and Lara Parker deserve acting props in this episode. Scott plays her trademark aptitude for subtly showing a working mind making journeys of discoveries, while Parker makes deadly decisions with unflinching commitment. Both powerhouses anchor the show.