The Dark Shadows Daybook: March 4

Taped on this date in 1970: Episode 980

By PATRICK McCRAY

Be careful what you wish for, Barnabas. You just might get it when the Parallel Time room takes you on a one-way trip into another dimension. Sky Rumson: Geoffrey Scott. (Repeat; 30 min.)

A desperate Sky Rumson's gambit fails. In the effort, Jeb plunges off Widow's Hill, Carolyn plunges into depression, and Barnabas forces Sky to shoot himself. With the danger passed, Barnabas is no longer distracted from the desperate pangs of bloodlust. In a last ditch hope that the rules will be different for him in Parallel Time, Barnabas explores the mysterious portal once more and finds himself trapped there.

Have you ever had the experience of watching a scene on the show, finding it well-acted and dramatically compelling, about matters that are absolutely crucial to the characters, but when it was all over, you'll be damned if you can remember what happened? It seemed like something was happening. Everyone was behaving as if something were happening.  And yet, turn the corner, and you're still at Worthington Hall. Masters of that particular medium are forced to do what I can only call a form of Zen anti-writing.  Everything has to matter. Everything has to have dramatic dynamism. But it must be limited to as little real growth as possible. 

And it has to happen in a medium designed to be both constantly compelling and yet accessible by audiences who can't afford to be excessively distracted. They’ve got ham salad to grind out by 5:30 and still have to give the kids a shot or two of benadryl before you-know-who gets home. Okay, you can't say that nothing happens. But what was it, exactly?  This strange chemistry is the reason that we can’t stop watching a soap opera once it begins resonating with us. Why is it so familiar? That unlikely fusion of constant tension wrapped up in the frustrating amber of inertia resembles daily life closer than any form of art that comes to mind. Even Dark Shadows. Maybe, especially Dark Shadows. We spend weeks and months waiting for some sort of inevitable change. When it happens, as it does in “reality,” it transpires with a blink-punishing swiftness.  It's always satisfying, and yet, it never quite lives up to our expectations. Sometimes, it’s better.  In fact, it often shames the impulse of having expectations by exceeding them while falling just short enough to keep us watching. 

Characters on soap operas see The Resolution as the end of their problems. We know that they serve to usher in new ones. To writers and producers, they represent opportunities. And for the writers and producers of Dark Shadows, they represent the possibility to electrify the culture, itself. The saturation of Barnabas and Quentin into the zeitgeist proves my point. Creating them created inadvertent cultural power for the producers. And with that came the pressure to sustain it. To top it. To remain on the cultural vanguard. And, through the injection of novelty, often through novel actors, shield themselves from the power of performers to see themselves as indispensable.  Everything after Barnabas, it’s safe to say, was an attempt to re-create that success. It’s easy to evaluate that success or failure based on how storylines resolve themselves, if they ever even do. I think it’s more interesting to look at beginnings and wonder about the aspirations within.

Few transitions are as dramatic as this one. Ultimately, few will be as strangely permanent.  Sky Rumson is gone. Barnabas doesn't even bother to bite him. Even if he enslaved Rumson as his blood-bound servant, he wouldn’t exactly be a familiar worth bragging about. Sky would probably knock on Barnabas' coffin multiple times a day. Asking for a glass of water or warning him that they sent a new milkman.  

Letting go of Sky Rumson‘s small potatoes; we must concede that Jeb is gone as well. It's not like the show didn't give the character a fair shake. His storyline kept going even after the primary threat presented by it was over for weeks.  As much as they tried, Jeb never took off like Quentin or Barnabas. I sincerely wonder what Dark Shadows would have looked like if Jeb had been as popular as the Collins cousins. Would they have needed Parallel Time to cover shooting the movie? Could they have afforded to go at all?

From a certain perspective, PT is the boldest and most awkwardly optimistic piece of storytelling on the show, designed to please fans while taking away all of the characters with enough saturation to carry an unprecedented feature film. But what if it were potentially more?

I have every confidence that the production team looked at Jeb with hope. After two years of dizzying success, was anything outside the realm of possibility?  And if not Jeb, then Parallel Time. Yes, they had every reason to believe that Parallel Time could be a success, also. Why not? They had already done it once. In so many ways, 1897 is a Parallel Time story. It reflects a number of the earlier, more successful plot elements of the classic period but with the confidence and swagger of a show that knows what it's doing. Dark Shadows could have easily continued in 1897, and although everyone would be curious about the events taking place in the present, they were hardly bereft of pure DS entertainment. Among other things, it's Dark Shadows the way it could have been, had Dan Curtis known what he could get away with. After the mixed reception of the Leviathan arc, perhaps the team wondered if they should have stayed with the better mousetrap of 1897. Perhaps this upcoming storyline is a way to correct the mistake, if only metaphorically.

It feels as if the writers are yet again playing their own Monday morning quarterbacks by recreating the show based on even more of what has defined success. This means leaving something behind. The prospect of a successful introduction to Parallel Time explains a number of the more controversial choices of the movie. What kind of film kills off most of its major characters? Maybe one that is preparing audiences for the idea that Dark Shadows can continue without those characters. Obviously, the film universe and the television universe are two separate things, so we are speaking symbolically, not literally. Imagine that Parallel Time had been a roaring success. By the film’s release, the franchise would stand redefined. Could Parallel Time have become the series’ new home? In a post-Vicki universe, anything is possible. 

The potential success of PT was not in its novel concept. No one speaks of it in the same breath as “Mirror, Mirror.” Its strength simply lies in its freedom to rewrite the rules. But with tried and true elements that they had discovered, rather than as points of pre-production speculation.

David Selby is a success, so why not make him the head of the household? I would certainly tune in.  Kathryn Leigh Scott can clearly do more than just pour coffee, so what if she becomes the Mistress of Collinwood…  who is also a stranger? One who can view the mansion’s antics with the objectivity of an outsider.  In other words, Victoria Winters on spiritual steroids. While Grayson Hall plays a tremendous best friend, she's too good as a villain to waste. So, let her do what she does best. At least, what she does best when not in Gypsy drag. And look at how much more capable and intelligent they allowed Willie Loomis to become. Well, Parallel Time allows for that, also. Rounding out the ensemble, you have an Angelique who is deservedly a point of attention for everyone, rather than The Other Woman.  After all, they had seen exactly what Lara Parker could do, so why not make the spotlight even brighter? It may have been intended as more than a placeholder in the Dark Shadows saga. It feels like the a further refinement of marvelous elements they discovered while getting there. And, conveniently, you have your most popular character just waiting to be released. 

Why consider this? None of this happened, of course. Parallel Time was not a Barnabas nor Quentin-level success. Neither were the Leviathans. But look at these storylines based on their potential as well as their delivery. Because at this point, it was all about potential. If you've never seen the show, this might be objectively evaluate valuated as the start of the next big thing. When it's not that, it gives the rest of us a greater reason to sit back and reflect on what really made Dark Shadows, at its best, work.

This episode was broadcast March 27, 1970.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: March 4

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1971: Episode 1231

The 1680 flashback arc begins with the dire betrayal of an unscrupulous occultist until an unforeseen twist brings the 1680 flashback to a stunning conclusion. Brutus Collins: Louis Edmonds. (Repeat; 30 min.)

In a flashback narrated by Morgan’s possessing ghost of James Forsythe, we venture back to 1680 where we see how the room was cursed. Dastardly Collins patriarch, Brutus, uses occult powers to punish and kill James Forsythe, one of his victims in business -- and the man who’s making him a cuckold with his wife, Amanda. The curse shall impact the future of the family, until a Collins has the strength to spend the night there. Having revealed this, Forsythe’s ghost is released.

It’s 1841PT and the show has 14 installments left. Moreover, everyone will be out of a job… at least in Collinsport… in twenty days. Given that Dark Shadows has a happy ending (unless you’re named Melanie), this Damoclean vacuum is more of an impending threat than anything Gordon and Sam could have devised. And once you know the production schedule’s destiny, it’s hard to watch these without that fate in mind. Although Dan Curtis admitted that he wasn’t much of a presence in the last months of the show, 1231 has a lavishness that reminds me of the spare-no-expenses showmanship behind his two, epic War miniseries. An on-set presence or not, Curtis was not a man to go out on a whimper. Even if (or because) it’s just one episode, the show is blowing as much scratch as possible, and it’s a tiny metaphor for the take-no-prisoners, gutsy, audience-first attitude that always guided the show. Imagine the hand-wringing that must have transpired about the 1795 storyline. I’m sure someone, somewhere needed convincing. Now, we do an entirely new flashback for just one episode. Nearly a century prior to that first one. In a parallel universe. Cancellation be damned, Curtis was not going to change to suit common sense nor artistic timidity. It was everyone else’s job to catch up with him.

1231 is one of the show’s boldest episodes. Because of its rarity and obscure, 1841PT address, it’s also one of the most easily overlooked. Watching the show at this point is to watch it obsessed with big pictures and goodbyes and last times. (Like this is the last time Louis Edmonds will narrate an episode.) In that chaos of nostalgia and fate, it’s vital to remember these gems as little highlights of the series, and ones that make the Mr. Best storyline seem longer than solving the murder of Bill Malloy. Packed into this episode, we get a flashback narrated by a man possessed by a ghost, and that’s enough right there. But add to it infidelity, a cruel and conniving Collins patriarch, a sycophantic spinster who turns on him, betrayal by a beautiful wife, and an occult serum that will create a vengeful ghost? You got a stew going. It is a core sample of the show’s essence, narrow to the point of laser-like. It’s not just part of Dark Shadows. It is Dark Shadows. It’s also kind of silly. To the point of simultaneously allowing us to see the show through the eyes of its critics. This may be what all of the show looks like to them -- wacky costumes, antiquated sets, hairpieces, and discussions about things other than contemporary humdrummery.

Why does it let us see it that way, too? It feels like 1795 is kind of the cosmic limit on Dark Shadows flashbacks because it is so rich with the essence of the mythos. It’s Ur-Shadows. There’s a quintessential Americanness to those post-Colonial times, and Dark Shadows works partially because it Americanizes story aesthetics we largely associate with England. By placing these events in America and putting the Founding Family in vaguely Georgian drag, the show in 1795 lives and breathes in the same visual atmos we associate with Washington and Adams. Going back earlier is to go back to an era prior to the United States. Prior, really, to Dark Shadows in the most cosmic sense. The costumes and spartan set appointments feel borrowed from another show.

In these flashbacks, my instinct is to go, “There, there, that’s how it all started. That’s how the family became cursed.”  Well, yeah, kind of. I guess. But like everything in 1841PT, it has to be seen metaphorically. Which is arguably impractical. Especially in this weather, and with these shoes. But why start thinking practically at this point? Art is a metaphor, so it’s too late to draw the line within story. The mirror is now layers and layers deep, but it still reflects something important. It’s a flashback within a flashback in a parallel universe first seen in yet another flashback, visited by characters from a present that’s 48 years old. If relatability ever existed in this chain, why draw the line now?

Brutus is both villain and hero in a small-c-crucible sense. Even though he says he’s unleashing the curse because of James Forsythe, his wife’s betrayal, and his sister’s streak of goodness, I think Brutus realizes that he’s the real cause. Why else would you curse future Collinses over the crimes of people who, by and large, were not, you know, Collinses? And why else would you make the ticket out of the curse be the mental wherewithal to survive a night haunted by the ghost of the man you killed? This is the act of a man who questions his own mental wherewithal. It’s, pardon the expression, a cry for help from someone who will be haunted by James Forsythe (and his guilt over Forsythe) far longer than just one night. Not only is he sharing the wealth, Brutus is also posting a want ad/warning so that a better Collins might emerge. It’s the heat and pressure needed to finally create a Collins worthy of the name.

I am always hectored by the question of, “What does it mean to be a Collins?” I used to want to come up with a noble list worthy of a Starfleet officer. It’s the other way around. We’re not born into greatness. We’re not noble savages. Money just perfumes the rot. The more apt question is, “What does it take to be better than a Collins?” Maybe that’s what Brutus is after, too.

If you’re going out on a note, grand-yet-specific, that’s a good one to play.

This episode was broadcast March 15, 1971.