Pages

Showing posts with label Leonard Nimoy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Leonard Nimoy. Show all posts

Thursday, May 27, 2021

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.


Friday, February 27, 2015

Leonard Nimoy has died. Spock Lives.


By PATRICK McCRAY

He was a kind man.  I know this because he did not want me to burn my hand.

I was performing in VINCENT, a play he wrote about Theo Van Gogh, brother of the painter.  In it, Theo had to hold his hand over a flame for an extended period, and there would be no way that I could safely do it without some kind of stage effect.

I studied his video, but didn't know what to do to protect myself.  My father suggested writing to him, which I thought was a crazy notion.  But then I remembered there were always possibilities.  I write that with no coyness.  It was a A Lesson.  I thought laterally.  Another Lesson.  He was a fine photographer, and as such, had a website.  I contacted him through that agent. The agent told me that he might not respond, but that he would read my question.

Seconds later, another email popped up.  He sent it.  He described the effect in detail.

He took the time to do this because he didn't want me to burn my hand.

His book was misunderstood.  People saw I AM NOT SPOCK as a rejection of their love of the character.  No. It was simply a reminder of humility.  He was not a man who rejected people.  He was generous when he didn't need to be.  Was some of it wacky?  Yes, but with affection.  The strangest song had a benevolence to it.  A love to it.  He rejected the notion that he wear the IDIC symbol.  He had too much love and respect for the character to make him a sales ploy.  In that sense, he loved Gene Roddenberry's art too much to sacrifice it to the same man's temptation for avarice.

In looking over his art, love comes back again and again.  Books named WARMED BY LOVE and WE ARE ALL CHILDREN SEARCHING FOR LOVE are not titled by accident.  His photography of God and body acceptance were about love.  STAR TREK III is an underrated film, allowing fans to engage with these characters with a hope and generosity that only an immense security could afford. Was he beset by demons of alcohol at the time?  Yes.  Perhaps we were the beneficiaries of the love he could not give himself.

His integrity never flagged, and that was a love of the art.  (He hated the blooper reels not because he lacked humor, but because he loved the integrity of the finished product.) When he played hardball with the new regime at Paramount before joining STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE, it wasn't just for money.  It was to prevent his likeness from being used to undermine the character.  It was to ensure that castmates like troubled brother William Shatner would share in the riches he was being offered, thus ending any possible rivalry.  When he directed, it was with a sensitivity to all of his fellow Trekkers.  Their fans had just as much passion as his, and by engineering moments for Walter, George, Nichelle, Jimmy, and Grace, he paid tribute to all of them.

He was the first real adult I knew of outside my family and their friends.  My father was very careful about this.  He had me watch STAR TREK for reasons other than shared entertainment.  It could teach the lessons he could not.  Its heroes could make the decisions with a resolve or bravery that no human can reasonably claim.  Fitting that its true hero, in his eyes, was only half human.  Reason and rationality were core tenants of his messages to me.  The world lacked those things.  Spock's did not. He wanted me in the wisdom of that world more than the grim pessimism of ours.  My father was right.

He chose Spock as a second father.  In that sense, he chose STAR TREK as a second home.  And the two, really, are synonymous. But Spock was only words on a page and two rubber ears.  Who was he?  Leonard Nimoy.  The nuances of mirth and wisdom are things only an actor could bring.

Perhaps with Kramer, Spock is one of the only truly original characters to ever come from television. And that's where we truly thank an actor.  That is where we see the actor's generosity.  That is where we see the actor's wisdom.  That is where we see an actor's love.

The life is over.  The prosperity is moot.  What is left from Leonard Nimoy? His love for art and wonder and for us.  That can be shortened -- simply -- to his wry, cranky, warm sense of love.


PATRICK McCRAY is a comic book author who resides in Knoxville, Tenn., where he's been a drama coach and general nuisance since 1997. He has a MFA in Directing and worked at Revolutionary Comics and on the early days of BABYLON 5, and is a frequent contributor to The Collinsport Historical Society. You can find him at The Collins Foundation.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...