Count Magnus, on PBS

Like Barnabas Collins’s coffin in Dark Shadows, the ancient sarcophagus holding this notorious Swedish land-owner is chained and padlocked. That ought to tell you to keep the heck away. Nevertheless, the Count’s story piques the interest of a traveling English scholar. Once again, curiosity does what it often does in Mark Gatiss’s Count Magnus (part of the A Ghost Story for Christmas annual series in the UK), which airs on participating PBS stations.

Mr. Wraxhall is not a bad fellow, but he can be a bit much. However, he is such an earnest semi-professional scholar, Froken de la Gardie happily allows him to catalogue her disordered family library. Initially, Wraxhall is quite struck by a glaring portrait of her notorious ancestor, Count Magnus. Then, when he discovers papers referencing the Count’s “black pilgrimage,” his curiosity gallops out of control.

At some point, the family took the precaution of chaining up the Count’s grand coffin and locking the crypt’s wrought iron door. Only the local Deacon holds key, to maintain its sanctity. Unfortunately, Wraxhall might sound like a pretentious twit, but his fingers are surprisingly stealthy. However, he could very well open a Pandora’s box.

In fact, Jason Watkins might overdue Wraxhall’s annoying naivete. On the other hand, Allan Corduner plays the Deacon with a slyly suspicious attitude that perfectly suits the genre. Having portrayed a lot of working-class horror characters, fans will be interested to see MyAnna Buring shifting gears as the appropriately regal as Wraxhall’s hostess.

The Mezzotint, on PBS

The mezzotint print-making process might seem old-fashioned, but one of its leading practitioners was M.C. Esher, whom M.R. James might have appreciated, at least for his use of initials. Typically, mezzotints never change, but not the one in this M.R. James short story. Understandably, that rather bedevils its new custodian in Mark Gatiss’s The Mezzotint (part of the A Ghost Story for Christmas annual series in the UK), which airs on participating PBS stations.

Edward Williams definitely stays true to his school. He curates the traditional Ox-bridge-ish university’s decorative arts museum and spends most of personal time at the U club with his old college mates. Each day is largely the same, but that is how he likes it, until a mysterious mezzotint arrives for his appraisal.

Williams had not thought much of it, but his golfing friend Binks sees more in it. In fact, he describes a rather different picture, with a moon rising above the country house and a shadowy figure just starting to enter the frame. Weirdly, those elements had not been in the picture before, because, as Williams soon deduces, it changes slightly every time he looks at it. That sounds crazy, but Williams’s old school chums Garwood and Nisbet confirm it, much to their own surprise. It confuses all the three alumni, but Williams also feels an uneasy suspicion that the dark figure will do something horrible when he finally enters the house.

Of course, the mezzotint surely must represent events that occurred when it was printed in the 1800s, right? Yet, to Williams, it feels like a tragedy slowly unfolding before his eyes, especially when he learns he might have a personal connection to its town of origin. That last bit is all Gatiss, but it is a nice macabre little wrinkle. Regardless, it is strange no previous anthology series has taken a shot adapting it, especially considering it requires no special effects—just a quality print-maker.

In fact, this is one of Gatiss’s best “Ghost Stories for Christmas,” or just plain “Ghost Stories,” if you are watching on PBS. The mezzotint is a clever gimmick and Gatiss maximizes its full Twilight Zone-ish potential.

Martin’s Close, on PBS

Judge George Jeffreys was the Roy Bean of the Stuart Era. The hanging judge probably made his share of ghosts if you believe in that sort of thing. However, a haunting allegedly plays a role in a case the old witch-finder presides over in Mark Gatiss’s Martin’s Close, based on another M.R. James short story, which airs this month on participating PBS stations.

Frankly, an elitist squire like John Martin never really believed the law applied to him, but it most definitely does when Judge Jeffreys presides. He might be over-zealous, but the ancient jurist is incorruptible. Nevertheless, this case will be unconventional.

Martin stands accused of murdering Ann Clark, a “simple” village girl, whom the squire “trifled” with, for his own ironic amusement. Tragically, when her clinginess grew inconvenient, he somehow disposed of her, permanently. However, according to witnesses called by Dolben, the King’s Counsel, Clark’s ghost returned to implicate her murderer.

In terms of fairness, this might be one of Judge Jeffreys’ best trials. However, from a modern legal perspective, much of the proceedings with be highly questionable. It also rather prompts an odd question. If the accused did indeed murder someone, but they return as a ghost, should the resulting sentence be reduced, since the victim is not completely gone?

One thing is certain, nobody would want to be prosecuted by anyone who resembles Peter Capaldi. In this adaptation, four or five characters receive roughly equal screen-time, but Capaldi is just as magnetically watchable as ever portraying crafty Dolben. Elliot Levey is rather pompous, in an aptly judgy kind of way as sour old Jeffreys.

Ghost Stories: The Tractate Middoth, on PBS

For many [stupid] people, books are sort of like ghosts. They relics from the past, bearing witness to the folly we might have prevented, had we only read more of them. However, a part-time librarian might have a legitimately haunted book on his shelves, which is bizarrely in-demand throughout Mark Gatiss’s The Tractate Middoth, based on the classic M.R. James story, which airs on participating PBS stations over the coming month.

Although originally produced by the BBC as part of their annual Ghost Story for Christmas, PBS apparently believed the productions they licensed better fit Halloween season. Neither is wrong per se, because James is timeless—and hopefully so are books.

Intellectually gifted but financially challenged William Garrett rather enjoys working part-time in the library, while pursuing his advanced studies, even though “Sniffer” Hodgson, the supervising librarian, is a pompous blowhard. At least he did, until John Eldred requests the Tractate Middoth, an ancient Hebrew text.

The first time Garrett tries to pull it, he believes a mysterious shrouded figure coincidentally retrieved it before him. The next time Eldred calls to request it, Garrett passes out on the way to its shelf, overcome by the supernatural pollen suddenly swirling about. Clearly, that volume holds sinister secrets, involving its former owner, the nasty Dr. Rant, who maybe orchestrated all this weirdness while expiring on his deathbed, as we partially saw during the prologue.

Tractate Middoth is a particularly British ghost story. Indeed, it is easy to imagine how James’s tale might have inspired some of the early library business in A Discovery of Witches. If the story sounds familiar, maybe it is because Leslie Nielsen also portrayed the intrepid librarian on the early-1950s Lights Out anthology show.