The Dark Shadows Daybook: June 25

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1970: Episode 1049

When a drunken Carolyn announces that she knows the deadliest secret at Collinwood, will she live to tell it? Carolyn Loomis: Nancy Barrett. (Repeat; 30 min.)

Carolyn, thinking she knows the secret of Angelique and Alexis, gleefully taunts everyone at Collinwood. Unfortunately, the killer lures her away and stabs her in retribution.

As a showrunner, Dan Curtis was too far ahead of his time. The Parallel Time sequence of the show is an experiment in and testament to that, as is the project he had running, yes, parallel, the film House of Dark Shadows. An episode like this allows him to test waters and flex muscles that we can see later in his career as a bloodthirsty and unsentimental filmmaker. He sets up the cliches of the soap opera and then shows his frustration by smashing them with an unceremonious sense of ritual. And if he didn’t, the writers, reading the room, did it for him.

Even though I’ve summarized the episode twice, let me take my own go at it, neither doing a TV Guide nor a vaguely quantitative recap. Carolyn, in a miasma of booze, bitchiness, and low self-esteem, plays informational keepaway without realizing the actual consequences that follow. As a result, she gets stabbed to death by the one character bitchier and low self-esteemier than she: Roger. Dark Shadows has had enough of that nonsense and starts playing for keeps, a practice that it will follow throughout the final sequence of the series. If you screw up (or even if you keep company with screw ups), you’ll die. In today’s world of ruthless “real” television series, killing off central characters is an event that’s no longer shocking. Dan Curtis inarguably invented it, so all you other guys, get back in line.

Nancy Barrett and Dan Curtis on the set of
House of Dark Shadows, 1970.

Across town, Curtis is preparing House of Dark Shadows. Although we rarely acknowledge it as such, it’s the second Parallel Time storyline that he would present, each one getting uglier and more nihilistic. Each one, more relentlessly transparent in the logic of what it plays out. In 1970 PT, we see a Carolyn who is also widowed, paranoid, and unstable. Just like in “real life.” In her dialogue with a heartbroken Liz, it’s not so much a glimpse into a parallel universe as it is into a future that Dark Shadows never quite reached. She’s both explosively abusive toward those with failed love and implosive as a reaction to the one she’s lost completely. Unlike the world of standard tv (of the era), there’s only so long that can go, and the show finally exploits that ugly truth.

Similarly, on the big screen, Curtis will take it a step further. I’m no expert on things that don’t exist, which is why I’m not a theologian, but I can guess that an emotionally shattered hemopathic man who profited from the dehumanizing slave trade, starved for two centuries, will probably dine without sentiment nor remorse when released on an unsuspecting world by an incompetent redneck. And someone will eventually take him out once he plays all of his cards by becoming the most prodigious and swiftest serial killer in the history of Maine. Because that’s Barnabas 2.0.

This is a reflection of Dan Curtis, himself. Uncle Barnabas the hero is a concession to tv. Barnabas the killer is probably more like the truth. When writers asked Dan where the tv version was, and he responded that he wasn’t doing it that way again, we get the most revealing statement about the creator possible. This is the producer who would send writers running from meetings throwing up. And Parallel Time -- this kind of blunt, pained, short-timer, unsentimental Parallel Time as we have in this episode -- is not necessarily so parallel. It’s unfortunately true. The secret to Dark Shadows is not that we’ve gone to Parallel Time, but that we’ve finally emerged from it.

This episode hit the airwaves July 2, 1970.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: June 25

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1967: Episode 273

Sheriff Patterson, resisting the urge to rip off his tear-a-way sheriff’s uniform and reveal the g-string beneath, joins Burke in the basement as they discover that the trunk allegedly carrying Paul Stoddard’s remains is empty. Eventually, after an agreement with Liz, Jason reveals that Paul was merely stunned by Liz’s blow many years ago. He escaped while Jason made it appear as if Paul’s body were buried in the basement. In exchange for the truth, Liz declines to press charges. Given a day to leave Collinwood, Jason scopes out the Old House.

It’s not too wild to state that one world ends and another world begins with episode 273. It has one very simple and very complex job: to forever close the door on the world of DARK SHADOWS as it began and graciously segue into the series it was meant to be. It casts aspersions on neither side of that narrative fence, but make no mistake, there are sides. Jason McGuire is the last “secular” villain of note on the series -- unconnected to the supernatural -- to be introduced before the arrival of Barnabas Collins, and he ably carries and resolves (despite himself) the primary mystery that has powered the show for an entire year. When first imagined, Jason had the luxury of being the sole villain at Collinwood and defining evil in its walls. Jason may have had Willie in tow, but this was never designed to be a sinister sister act. Nevertheless, with Barnabas shoehorned into the action, He and his threat had to ensure that viewers uncertain about this vampire business had a good, old fashioned bad guy to hiss. Had the Barnabas storyline sunk like a dockside victim, Jason had to be more than enough to keep the show afloat. And since the vampire storyline was, um, more than mildly successful, Jason and his arc had to be both charming and compelling enough to engage viewers when away from Barnabas. I mean, YOU compete with TV’s first continuing vampire anti-hero.

Yes, creating and sustaining a daytime drama featuring a pensive, undead, Standards and Practices-friendly, prostitute-slaying blood-cannibal could be seen as an artistic and commercial challenge. Sure. But Dan Curtis, the writers, Joan Bennett, and Dennis Patrick had a tougher one. A vampire kind of sells himself to viewers. It’s not a hard pitch. But the aforementioned team -- ably supported -- took a repetitive, glacially-developed, penny-ante blackmail potboiler and stole their episodes right out from Barnabas’ Inverness. No excess of praise can be enough for Patrick as he modulates from sincere lovability to Puckish gamesmanship to brutal, emotional sadism all within the space of a line. He’s a bizarre cross between Fagin and Harold Hill. He’ll make you love him and then hate yourself for doing so. As his counterpart, Bennett is marvelously sincere as a titanium strong woman with a weak spot only seen by one man. Is it guilt that motivates her? Not so much as the ghost of Jamison… himself living under the ghost of Edward. She’s willing to torment herself for eighteen years to protect the Collins name and the esteem with which Collinsport holds itself.

The emotional core of the early Barnabas episodes rests in sympathizing with a sad monster who has immense power that he tries (and usually fails) not to use. That, and the raw terror of hoping that Maggie, a victim of mistaken identity, can escape him. Alternately, this is a very mixed and melancholy journey with Barnabas and a simple, unambiguous survival story with Maggie. They can both be filed under “compelling downers.” In relief, the Jason McGuire story is like a flare on a moonless night. The two arcs are similar in that they both feature a dark-haired woman being trapped in a house they dislike by a courtly and violent man trying to bully and gaslight them into marriage motivated by events from the past.  They differ in tone. Barnabas has mystery. Liz and Jason have humor, warmth, an evenly-matched cattiness, and a sense of suspense lacking in the Barnabas story. Maggie is rarely on even or superior footing with Barnabas. Even Julia is one bad choice away from joining the undead. But Liz has the power we rally behind all blackmail and bullying victims to seize: the power to say no. Jason knows it. We know it. And yet we sympathize with her reticence just as we celebrate when she seizes sovereignty at last.

As part of the ritual, McGuire shows up at the Old House with his stolen time. To steal jewels? To nab Willie, and the two of them amscray? We don’t know, but we can guess that he won’t find as much lenience with the Master of the Old House as he did with Collinwood’s Mistress.

And it becomes another show.

Roll credits.

This episode hit the airwaves July 26, 1967.

The Dark Shadows Daybook: June 8

By PATRICK McCRAY

Taped on this date in 1968: Episode 521

Roger is astounded that Barnabas knew to look for Liz in the tower room, and Julia reports that his sister will survive her suicide attempt. Her request that Liz be taken to Windcliff is refused. Barnabas and Julia wonder if Angelique is truly gone. After hearing breathy silence on the phone when they try to call Stokes, they go to his home. Stokes has been harboring/tutoring Adam, who answered the phone but said nothing. Hiding Adam, Stokes tells Barnabas and Julia that the state of the missing painting of Angelique may betray her current status. Barnabas rifles Roger’s bedroom with no luck, and as he comes downstairs, a knock at the door reveals a dapper, composed gentleman: Nicholas Blair -- Cassandra’s brother.

Want to see Roger bring up Barnabas’ most uncomfortable memory so incessantly that the ex-vampire looks like he’s ready to give up and confess everything? Want to see Barnabas and Julia responding to what seems like Professor Stokes picking up the phone with an outgoing obscene phone call? Want to see Stokes kvetch to Adam about academic politics as if he’s confiding in someone who knows what he’s talking about rather than a barely articulate side of meat? Want to see Barnabas sneaking around Roger’s bedroom, snooping for a forbidden portrait of Angelique as if he were Chico in need of a Harpo in ANIMAL CRACKERS? Finally, want it to end with a demon who sounds like Don Adams, claiming to be family?

Welcome to 521.

These are skilled writers, and skilled writers dealing with repetitive and deliberately slow storytelling will quickly become bored writers. If you look carefully, DARK SHADOWS has a surprising propensity to verge on farce when it’s not (and even when it is) resounding drama. The actors seem in on it. As Roger goes on and on about the legends of someone trapped in the tower room, and how curious it was the Barnabas just knew that Liz would be up there, the image stays fixed on the 1795 portrait. It’s as if the audience owes Dan Curtis money, and he paid the camera crew to assault them with irony until they pony up the scratch. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. If you want subtle, you’re watching the wrong show. Except….

Jonathan Frid nails it. After Roger innocently remarks about Barnabas’ curiously coincidental knowledge for the seventy-eighth time in the scene, the camera lingers on Frid. This is a man with more nervous and uneasy expressions than any other actor since Thespis, and he invents an entirely new one here. It’s a strange mixture of terror and an intense desire to confess. Holding in the truth, he looks like a vegan struggling not to tell everyone about his dietary ethos. Unlike with the vegan, Barnabas’ restraint wins out. But you can tell he’s closer to “I’ve had it” than at any other time in the series, so far.

Roger is beloved for his 70mm, Sensurround displays of aristocratic obliviousness, and the writers give him a moment so rich that I am amazed anyone kept a straight face. Julia gently suggests that Liz, who narrowly avoided suicide by nightshade while claiming to be the 18th century mother of an undead Barnabas Collins, might benefit from some professional consultation. His indignant response? “Are you suggesting my sister is mentally ill?” Well, Roger, um, exactly when do you begin to suspect that the meds are off? I ask that without judgement. I just want to know.

The wackiness continues as Barnabas and Julia suddenly remember that they know an occult expert and call Professor Stokes. When Adam answers with silence, Jonathan Frid and Grayson Hall make Olympian efforts not to smirk as they remark that all they can hear is heavy breathing. Cutting to Adam, we see that he’s holding the receiver upside down, indicating that the heavy breathing is coming from his ear. I would tell you to draw your own conclusions, but I have no conclusions to suggest. When they visit Stokes, he hides Adam like Jack Tripper hiding a girl from Mr. Roper, and even tries bribing Barnabas with cheese… a temptation the svelt Canadian nimbly avoids… to keep him from poking around in his bonus room. But Barnabas is determined to poke, but thankfully saves it for Roger’s bedroom. To find the painting. The painting of Angelique. That’s all. I swear. As Julia distracts Roger with board games. It kind of works until Nicholas Blair shows up, announcing himself as Cassandra’s brother.

The recent events have been such an avalanche of normalized absurdity that, although Nicholas is unexpected, he’s in no way out of step with the two episodes leading up to his grand entrance. Especially since, moments before, Roger was speaking about Cassandra’s lack of relatives with a conspicuous portentousness that made every word sound as if it were written in italics.

If I sound hard on the episode, I’m anything but. The writers and cast are clearly cutting a rug, and manage to upstage THE CAROL BURNETT SHOW (freshly on the air) while never straying from their own ground rules. DARK SHADOWS, quite intentionally, can be a very funny show. Intentionally and, yes, I swear it, subtly.

Fill in the sad observation about Tim Burton, here. As Don Adams -- who sounds a lot like Nicholas Blair -- might have said, “Missed it by that much.”

This episode hit the airwaves June 25, 1968.