Adam and Eve are discussing the Fall, comparing their incomplete memories of what came before it. This is not a flashback. The Adam and Eve we see today are Frankenstein’s monsters, and they do not live in exile from Eden when the world was young, but in the town of Collinsport, Maine in 1968. The Fall they have in mind is the one that is also known as Autumn. Adam is ashamed, not because he is naked, but because Eve accuses him of preferring life in captivity. He is not naked at all, even though Eve walks in on him and sees his Harry Johnson. Harry Johnson is the man to whom Adam has entrusted a letter, but since Adam’s favorite pastime is studying the works of Sigmund Freud, and since by 1968 “johnson” had been a familiar English slang word for “penis” for over a century, he would likely have been the first to make the connection to the predicament of their Biblical namesakes.
Adam takes Eve to his old home, a dusty room in the long-deserted west wing of the great house of Collinwood. Heiress Carolyn hid him there for a period that seemed so long the audience might feel that the original Adam and Eve were probably still around when it started. Carolyn greets them there. She is happy to see Adam again and eager to befriend Eve. Adam wants that too, but Eve isn’t having it. She quarrels with Adam and storms out, leaving Carolyn in an awkward position.
On the terrace outside the great house, an unpleasant man named Peter who prefers to be called Jeff is waiting for his date, well-meaning governess Vicki. Vicki has kept him waiting for an hour. Vicki’s charge, young David, happens by. Peter/ Jeff immediately makes it clear why Vicki is in no hurry to see him. He greets David with an accusation that he was hiding from him. When David denies this, Peter/ Jeff demands that he tell him who he was hiding from. Peter/ Jeff may have forgotten who is a guest in whose house, but David hasn’t, and he turns to go. Peter/ Jeff stops him, asking “We’re friends, aren’t we?” David doesn’t explicitly agree that they are, but he stays.
Peter/ Jeff starts to talk about his plans to marry Vicki. David calls him “Peter,” and since the closest thing he has to a personality is his insistence on being called “Jeff” he grabs David and shakes him violently. Watching this scene today, my wife, Mrs Acilius, said one word- “Psycho.” She wasn’t talking about Peter/ Jeff, but about actor Roger Davis. When one character shakes another, it is usually the actor playing the shakee who makes all the movements, while the shaker just mimes the action without actually touching them. Not so Mr Davis- he really did rattle David Henesy around hard enough that it’s pure luck he didn’t give him a concussion. That’s typical of the approach Mr Davis took to his performances on Dark Shadows, in the course of which he assaulted several women on camera. Mr Henesy is uncharacteristically tense throughout this scene, does not sustain eye contact with Mr Davis, and when the scene ends he rushes off stage.
In his dialogue, Peter/ Jeff makes some pretty bizarre remarks:
You know, David, pretty soon, you’re gonna find out that love isn’t something you can remember. Sixteen years old… You know when you’re sixteen, you can really love somebody. And then you come back ten years later and you wouldn’t even notice her.
At this, David gives Peter/ Jeff a look that accords with Mrs Acilius’ one word assessment of Roger Davis. “Love isn’t something you can remember”? Which item on the sociopathy screening test is that? And what does “Sixteen years old” have to do with anything? David is twelve, Peter/ Jeff and Vicki are in their twenties, no one mentioned the number sixteen. And David would be doing Vicki a solid if he told her that her fiancé won’t remember her in ten years.
David Collins wonders what the #%*^ is wrong with Peter/ Jeff, while David Henesy recovers from Roger Davis’ assault on him. Screenshot by Dark Shadows Before I Die.
David leaves, and Eve shows up. She recognizes Peter/ Jeff and addresses him as “Peter Bradford!” The closing credits start rolling before Peter/ Jeff can shake her violently while whining that he wants to be called “Jeff Clark.” Eve is the reincarnation of an eighteenth century homicidal maniac; she hasn’t killed anyone since she was brought to life the other day, and Peter/ Jeff would be an excellent choice for her first victim. If she does kill him, I would be “Team Eve” all the way.
Heiress Carolyn came running when her mother, matriarch Liz, woke her with her screams. Liz was having a nightmare about being buried alive. She tries Carolyn’s patience and ours with her obsession that this will in fact happen to her.
Liz tries to call her lawyer, Richard Garner. Whoever answers the phone tells Liz that Garner is not available, hardly surprising since it is the middle of the night. She responds that if he doesn’t call back within the hour, he need never call again. Since we last saw Garner in #246, and his name hasn’t been mentioned since #271, it seems like he may as well get some sleep.
Liz then calls Tony, a young lawyer in town who used to date Carolyn. Tony comes over and Liz hires him to help with some changes to her will. She dictates excerpts from Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Premature Burial” by way of a codicil protecting her from being buried alive, and he tells her he thinks she’s being weird.
The most prominent reference to Poe on Dark Shadows up to this point was in #442, when vampire Barnabas reenacted the plot of “The Cask of Amontillado” by bricking the fanatical Rev’d Mr Trask up in an alcove in his basement. Like Tony, Trask was played by Jerry Lacy, so it is possible that the writers hope the audience will recognize the connection.
Poe wrote punchy little short stories each of which leaves the reader with a single horrifying image. “The Cask of Amontillado” worked well as the basis for an episode, and the bricking up of Trask is one of the most enduring images in all of Dark Shadows. “The Premature Burial” could have made for the same kind of success, had Liz’ obsession begun and ended within one episode. But it has already gone on longer than that, and there is no end in sight. Each time we come back to it, the situation becomes more familiar and less urgent.
Meanwhile, Carolyn takes a glass of milk and a sandwich to Adam, a Frankenstein’s monster she is hiding in the long-deserted west wing of the house. Adam has little to do but read, and he has become quite intellectual. He is playing both sides of a game of chess when Carolyn arrives, pretending that she is his opponent. When she comes, he attempts a joke, pretending she has left him alone so long he does not remember her name. She is distressed about Liz’ obsessive fear of being buried alive, and so does not recognize that he is joking.
Carolyn looks at the chessboard and asks Adam who he is playing. He says that he is pretending to play her. He is smiling and relaxed when he admits this, and he starts joking again as he tells her about their imaginary games. Adam’s pretending that he did not remember Carolyn’s name was a weak joke, but he is actually pretty funny when he tells her that when he pretends they are playing, she doesn’t do as well as he does. She still does not realize that he is kidding, and reacts with horror. She says she doesn’t play chess; in #357, her uncle Roger mentioned that she does, but that she usually loses to him. Perhaps in the 44 weeks since then, she has given up the game altogether.
Adam shows Carolyn the book he has been reading, a volume of Sigmund Freud’s works, and is disappointed she has not already read it. When she tells him she is worried because of Liz’ condition, he invites her to sit down and says “Tell me about your mother,” suggesting that he is ready to set up shop as a psychoanalyst. Adam is being serious now, but this part of the exchange is hilarious.
Carolyn goes out to the terrace and looks at the night sky, wondering if Freud could help her understand what is happening with her mother. I live in the year 2024, and so I have difficulty imagining how people could ever have taken Freud seriously. But he was very very big in the 1960s, and in its first year Dark Shadows gave us a lot of heavy-handed Freudian symbolism and a number of storylines with obvious psychoanalytic themes. Longtime viewers will find it a reassuring sign of continuity that Freud is still around as the thinker “every twentieth century man should read.”
Tony joins Carolyn on the terrace. He greets her and sees that she has a book about Freud. “I don’t have to ask why you’re reading him,” he remarks. Carolyn asks if he is referring to her mother, and Tony’s response is so indiscreet he may as well spinning his finger around his temple and saying “Cuckoo, cuckoo!” It is clear enough that the concept of “confidential communication” is alien to the lawyers in Soap Opera Land, and now we see that “basic respect” is also very much on the optional list. Carolyn tells Tony to do whatever Liz asks, and starts crying.
I was startled by Carolyn’s crying turn, because it is the first time in the two hundred or so episodes she has appeared in thus far Nancy Barrett has given a subpar performance. The actors all had to work under virtually impossible conditions, so I rarely mention it when one of those who usually does well has a bad day at the office, but the 20 seconds or so she spends very obviously not crying in this scene mark the end of an extraordinary streak.
Tony embraces Carolyn and kisses her. Adam’s room in the west wing overlooks the terrace, and he spies on them while they kiss. After Carolyn excuses herself and goes back into the house, Adam comes up behind Tony, grabs him, forbids him to touch Carolyn, and throws him to the ground.
Sarcastic dandy Roger, possessed by the spirit of wicked witch Angelique, visits mad scientist Dr Lang. The village of Collinsport was once a whaling center, and Lang is mindful enough of that long-ago history that he collects harpoons. Roger appears to be fascinated by Lang’s collection. He holds one of the finer pieces, admires it, fondles it, and tries to kill Lang with it. At the last moment, the murder is prevented by recovering vampire Barnabas and Julia, who is a scientist as mad as Lang but infinitely more interesting. As is typical of supernatural beings on Dark Shadows, Angelique projects her power through a portrait of herself; the portrait also has some adventures today.
There is a lot of great stuff in this one, as other bloggers have well explained. The 1960s were the heyday of Freudianism in the USA, and in the first year of the show the influence of that school of thought could often be traced in the scripts of Art Wallace and Francis Swann. Patrick McCray documents in his post on The Dark Shadows Daybook that this was an episode where writer Gordon Russell allowed himself to cut loose and have fun with the sillier side of the Freudian approach.
On his Dark Shadows Every Day, Danny Horn focuses on the scene where Barnabas and Julia decide to go and stop Roger. He points out that it is the first conversation they have had about something other than themselves, the first time Barnabas shares with Julia the secret of how he became a vampire, the first time they take heroic action, and the first time they are recognizably friends. It is that friendship that will drive the action of the show from now on.
In their meticulously detailed summary of the action of the episode on their Dark Shadows Before I Die, John and Christine Scoleri capture the effect on the audience of the steady accumulation of one absurdity upon another as the episode goes on. Reading their unfailingly matter-of-fact description of the ever-mounting lunacies we witness in this half-hour is almost as exhilarating as it was watching them in the first place.
Barnabas calls Julia’s attention to the closing cliffhanger. Screenshot by Dark Shadows Before I Die.
It is 1795, and we are on the great estate of Collinwood. Under the influence of wicked witch Angelique, the kindly Jeremiah and the gracious Josette have eloped, breaking the heart of Josette’s fiancé, Jeremiah’s nephew and best friend Barnabas Collins. Barnabas, up to that point an idealistic man of the Enlightenment, responded by going against his beliefs and challenging Jeremiah to a duel.
Angelique is a lady’s maid. She was introduced as maid to Josette’s aunt, the Countess DuPrés, but today it seems she is Josette’s maid. She comes to Barnabas’ room. He demands to know why her mistress has sent her, meaning Josette, to which she replies she has come on her own account.
Angelique asks Barnabas why he has challenged Jeremiah to a duel, since he has never fought a duel or even seen one before. He explains that he could not stand being an object of pity- “I couldn’t be poor Barnabas.” In 1967, Barnabas will be a vampire. We saw him in that year, in #345, telling his sometime associate mad scientist Julia Hoffman the story of his relationship with Josette. The story he told was different from other versions he had told previously, for example in #233 and #236, and radically different from what we have seen play out in this extended flashback. In the story he told Julia, as in all other versions we had heard before coming to 1795, Josette was originally Jeremiah’s fiancée. One theme developed that resonates here was that all he could be to Josette was a faithful friend, and that he found that role humiliating. He was “poor Barnabas” in that version of the story, and he implies that it was to escape from that identity that he did whatever it was that made him the undead monster he became.
Angelique cast her spell on Josette and Jeremiah because she wanted Barnabas for herself. Now that she sees that he is likely to get himself killed before she can make her play for him, she asks him to wear a medallion of hers, one which she says will bring good luck. In the 1960s, a portrait of Barnabas hangs in the foyer of the great house of Collinwood. He is wearing a medallion in that portrait. Is Angelique’s medallion the one in the portrait? We can’t be sure.
Josette and Jeremiah have a conversation. They try to figure out what came over them. They don’t love each other, and regret hurting Barnabas. As their conversation goes on, Josette realizes that Jeremiah regrets it so deeply that he is planning to let Barnabas kill him in the upcoming duel. She is horrified by this. She doesn’t want anyone to die, and has accepted the fact that Jeremiah is the only husband she’s got. Nevertheless, she cannot dissuade him.
Josette’s father arranges for Jeremiah to have a final talk with Barnabas. Barnabas accuses Jeremiah of lusting for Josette all along, saying that “you wanted her the moment you saw her.” This is not true of Jeremiah, but in #345 it is exactly what Barnabas tells Julia he himself did. In that version, he conceived a wild passion for Jeremiah’s bride-to-be the moment he first saw her.
Barnabas tells Jeremiah “You must have hated me all your life.” As we have seen over these last few weeks, Jeremiah and Barnabas have been dear friends all their lives. But from his early days on the show in the spring of 1967 until we left for our voyage to the past in #365, Barnabas consistently said that he hated Jeremiah from his earliest days. The overall effect of comparing Barnabas’ various accounts of the past with each other and with what we are seeing in this flashback is something like reading the accounts of the patient’s memories in a case study by Freud. Not only does the order of the events jumble as retcon follows retcon, but guilt floats from one person to another and back again.
When Jeremiah tries to explain how he and Josette found themselves stricken with intermittent attacks of intense desire for each other and how they struggled against those attacks during the intervals between them, Barnabas asks “Why didn’t you come to me then?” That’s a good question, and it suggests another, equally good question. Angelique is casting spells because she and Barnabas had a brief affair before he became engaged to Josette. Why hasn’t he come clean to Josette about his past? If he had, Josette would not have put herself so completely in Angelique’s hands that she could bind her with her spells at leisure.
Jeremiah and Barnabas have their duel. We see them back to back, getting ready to pace off the prescribed distance. On Jeremiah’s face, we see his resolution to let Barnabas kill him.
The men are in place when Josette comes running up, pleading with them to stop. She arrives just in time to see Barnabas shoot Jeremiah. Some say they hear only one shot, but I hear two. I think Jeremiah deloped.
Josette goes to Jeremiah’s crumpled body and shouts at Barnabas. “You monster! You madman! You killed the only man I ever loved!” She claims that she and Jeremiah were happy together, and that in his pride Barnabas could not let them be happy. She refuses Barnabas’ offer to help move Jeremiah and get a doctor for him.
Angelique had rubbed Josette’s forehead with some of the rose water in which she had put her love potion not long before this, so Josette’s declarations that Jeremiah is “the only man [she] ever loved” and that they were happy together could be a sign of that influence. It could also be rooted in Josette’s realistic assessment of her situation. Earlier, she had told Jeremiah that she would never again allow herself to say that she loved Barnabas, and when Jeremiah said that his own death would make her a free woman she rejected the idea. Whatever the circumstances that led to the marriage, she is Jeremiah’s wife, and if she becomes his widow she will have an obligation to keep up certain appearances.
This was Anthony George’s last episode. George was woefully miscast when he first joined the show in #262 as the second actor to play Burke Devlin. Writers Ron Sproat and Malcolm Marmorstein kept writing Burke as if he were still being played by the explosively exuberant Mitch Ryan. George’s style was the exact opposite of Ryan’s. He was a cold actor whose characters keep us guessing as to their motives and intentions. He was utterly lost as the hot-headed Burke.
When Gordon Russell joined the writing staff in #292, things looked up for George. Russell understood what actors could do, and gave George some scenes he played very well indeed. In Jeremiah Collins, Russell and Sam Hall created a character who was perfect for George. It’s fascinating to watch Josette scrutinize Jeremiah until she gradually realizes that he has decided to throw his life away to do penance for the offense he and she have committed against Barnabas. It is also credible that, while we can see what Jeremiah is doing, Barnabas, who has known him all his life, would not catch on. George was so bad as Burke in the Sproat/ Marmorstein era that it seemed anything that got him off the show would be welcome. But Russell and Hall know so well how to take advantage of his strengths that it is sad to see him go.
All of the actors have trouble with their dialogue today, even the usually reliable Kathryn Leigh Scott and Lara Parker. Jonathan Frid always struggles, but is especially rough this time, and as for David Ford, what can we say. He mangles virtually every line. His character is supposed to be French; he doesn’t sound French, but doesn’t exactly speak English, either. Danny Horn transcribes many of Ford’s flubs in his post about the episode on Dark Shadows Before I Die, but you really have to hear it for yourself to absorb the sheer bizarreness of the speechlike sounds that come out of Ford’s mouth. I always enjoy watching Ford, and I think he made a major contribution to Dark Shadows‘ acting style when he first came on the show, but when he is off he is way, way off.
When Dark Shadows began, one of the most important relationships was that between matriarch Elizabeth Collins Stoddard and her brother, high-born ne’er-do-well Roger Collins. Liz and Roger each had a terrible secret to hide. In the work of hiding, they embodied opposite extremes. Liz was motivated to conceal her secret by a fear that she would damage the reputation of the Collins family and the fortunes of its members. Her morbidly intense concern for the family’s position both made her a prisoner in her home and gave her a certain air of nobility. Roger’s motives for hiding his secret were wholly selfish, and he was a symbol of lack of family feeling. So much so that he squandered his entire inheritance, jumped at a chance to sell the ancestral seat to his sworn enemy, and openly hated his own son.
Since Roger was living in Liz’ house as her guest and working in her business as an employee, it fell to her to rein in her impossibly irresponsible younger brother. But the very quality that led her to try to exercise authority over him undercut her efforts to do so. Liz’ devotion to the Collins family compelled her to try to keep Roger on the strait and narrow path, but that same devotion prevented her from taking any action against him so harsh that it might actually deter him from misconduct. Further, her own secret compromised her moral authority and kept her from engaging with anyone outside the family. So she wound up less as a commanding matriarch than as a bossy big sister.
Liz and Roger both let go of their secrets, Roger in #201, Liz in #270. Roger is still far from heroic, but he no longer gives Liz the nightmares he once did. Liz is still mindful of the family’s good name, but there is nothing keeping her from following through on whatever orders she might give. So Liz and Roger’s Bossy Big Sister/ Bratty Little Brother dynamic is no longer a productive story element.
Now, the show is reintroducing the same dynamic with another pair of characters. Mad scientist Julia Hoffman is conducting an experiment which she hopes will turn vampire Barnabas Collins into a real boy. When Barnabas threatens to murder her, she becomes impatient and tells him to stop being ridiculous. When he threatens to murder other people, she threatens to discontinue the experiment unless he starts behaving. He usually responds to Julia’s orders by pouting, sulking, and giving in to her.
In the opening scene, Julia was in Barnabas’ house. He told her that he was likely to kill Roger’s ten year old son David because he thinks David might know that he is a vampire. Julia demanded that he leave David alone, prompting him to walk out of his own house. She then followed him to the old cemetery north of town, where Barnabas heard her footsteps in the distance and she hid behind a tree.
This woman holds a medical doctorate and is qualified in two unrelated specialties.
Barnabas enters the Tomb of the Collinses. Julia confronts him there, insisting he tell her what secret about the place he is keeping from her. He demands that she leave and threatens to kill her if she does not. He tells her that he ought to stash her corpse nearby, “along with”- then interrupts himself. Regular viewers know that Barnabas killed seagoing con man Jason McGuire in #275 and buried him in the secret chamber inside the tomb in #276. Jason has barely been mentioned since, not once in any scene featuring Julia. When she asks Barnabas what he is talking about, he says “Never mind.”
Julia presses Barnabas with “You’ve shared all your other secrets with me. You have no choice but to share this one with me too.” The logic of this statement eludes me, but all Barnabas can do when Julia has made it is to walk backward away from her, staggering into a corner and pouting at her.
Barnabas, stunned by the force of Julia’s reasoning.
Meanwhile, Sam and Dave are walking through the cemetery.
No, not that Sam and Dave. Local artist Sam Evans and addled quack Dr Dave Woodard have noticed that a series of odd occurrences have taken place in the vicinity of the tomb lately and have come to the cemetery to investigate. They run into the old caretaker, who delays them with his usual warnings about the unquiet spirits of the dead.
Alas, the final appearance of Daniel F. Keyes as the Caretaker.
Back in the tomb, Barnabas is telling Julia everything she wants to know. He lets her into the secret chamber and explains that he was imprisoned there in a coffin for many years, freed only when the luckless Willie Loomis accidentally released him to prey upon the living. Julia listens, showing pity as Barnabas recounts his woes.
Barnabas finds David’s pocket knife, proving that the boy was in the chamber and convincing Barnabas that he must kill him. He takes the knife close to Julia in a gesture that might be threatening, were its blade intact. The broken blade negates the threat and emphasizes Barnabas’ powerlessness before Julia. Since 1967 was the heyday of Freudianism in the USA, it is likely that many in the original audience would have seen it not only as a useless tool, but also as a phallic symbol. As such, not only its brokenness, but also the fact that it was made to be carried by a little boy, would make the point that Barnabas brings no sexual potency to his relationship with Julia. Her own behavior towards him may be childlike, but in her eyes he is a smaller child than she is.
Julia protests, claiming that someone else might have left the knife there. Barnabas dismisses her assertions, but does not regain control of the situation. As they prepare to leave the chamber, he kneels and she stands over him, watching him open the panel.
On his knees before her.
They hear Sam and Dave approach. (Still not the cool ones.) They scurry back into the secret chamber, as David had done when he heard Barnabas and Willie approaching the tomb in #310. They listen to the men discuss the facts that have brought them to the tomb, and grow steadily more alarmed as they realize how close they are to discovering Barnabas’ terrible secret.
This is the first episode not to include any actors who were signed to the show at the time production began. The character of Sam Evans was at that time played by a loud man called Mark Allen; Allen’s last episode was #22, taped on 12 July 1966, and David Ford’s first was #35, taped on 29 July. The Caretaker was introduced in #154, Barnabas in #210,* Dave Woodard in #219,** and Julia in #265.
*As the hand of stand-in Alfred Dillay- Jonathan Frid wouldn’t appear until #211. Though the portrait he sat for was on screen in #204, and was identified as that of Barnabas Collins in #205.
**Played by Richard Woods. Robert Gerringer took over the part in #231.
Today we’re in Collinsport’s night spot, The Blue Whale tavern. Seagoing con man Jason McGuire is at the bar, trying to convince his henchman, dangerously unstable Willie Loomis, to stop acting like he’s about to rape every woman he meets before they get thrown out of town.
A party comes in consisting of artist Sam Evans, Sam’s daughter Maggie, and Maggie’s boyfriend Joe. Dashing action hero Burke Devlin enters and joins Sam, Maggie, and Joe at their table. Burke has confronted Willie a couple of times, and Willie tells Jason that they are fated to have it out sooner or later. Jason tries to persuade him to abandon this idea, telling him that Burke would be a useful friend and a formidable enemy.
Jason delights Willie by telling him that Burke is an ex-convict. John Karlen brings such enormous joy to Willie’s reaction to this news that it lightens the whole atmosphere of the episode.
Jason buys Burke a drink and tells him that Willie is secretly a nice person. He and Burke find that they both have a high opinion of psychoanalysis, of all things, but their shared admiration of the Freudian school does not lead them to agree about Willie.
Sam goes to the bar, leaving Maggie and Joe to themselves. A bit later, Joe has to leave Maggie alone for a few minutes while he makes a telephone call to check in with a situation at work. He urges her to stay at the table and avoid Willie. She notices that Willie is talking to her father, and is alarmed. Joe tells her not to worry- from what they’ve seen, it appears that Willie only likes to hurt girls.
At first, Willie and Sam’s conversation is cheery enough. Willie is impressed with Sam’s beard, and even more impressed that Sam is a professional painter. For a moment, we catch a glimpse of Willie, not as an explosively violent felon, but as an awkward guy who is trying to make a friend. This passes when the idea of nude models pops into Willie’s head, and he asks again and again where Sam keeps the naked ladies. Sam tells Willie that he doesn’t use live models, at first politely, then with irritation. Willie responds with his usual vicious menace.
Maggie goes up to intercede. This would seem to be an odd choice. Jason is at the next table, and when Willie was harassing her and picking a fight with Joe last week she saw Jason rein Willie in. She knows that Jason is eager to smooth things over with the people Willie has already alienated, so it would be logical to appeal to him. Burke and Joe are nearby as well, and have both made it clear that they are ready to fight Willie. If either of them goes to Willie, he will be distracted and Sam will have a clear avenue of escape. And of course Bob the bartender really ought to have thrown Willie out of the tavern long ago. Maggie, on the other hand, will attract Willie’s leering attentions and complicate her father’s attempt to get away from Willie by making him feel he has to defend her.
From his first appearance in #5, Sam was a heavy-drinking sad-sack. Today, Sam seems to have become a social drinker. He’s gone out with friends for a couple of rounds, and is pleasant and calm the whole time. Soap operas are allowed to reinvent characters as often as they like. If Sam’s alcoholism isn’t story-productive anymore, they are free to forget about it.
The problem with this scene is that Maggie hasn’t forgotten. Maggie’s whole character is that of an Adult Child of an Alcoholic. It makes sense that an ACoA, seeing her father in trouble, would cast aside all rational calculations and rush up to protect him. But if Sam isn’t an alcoholic anymore, Maggie is just a very nice girl who laughs at inappropriate times.
Burke comes to Maggie and Sam’s rescue. Willie draws a knife on Burke, they circle, Burke disarms Willie and knocks him to the floor.
We’ve seen many couples move about on the floor of The Blue Whale while music was playing, and usually their movements have been so awkward and irregular that it is not clear that what they are doing ought to be called “dancing.” But Burke and Willie’s fight is a remarkably well-executed bit of choreography. At one point Willie brushes against the bar, and it wobbles, showing that it is a plywood construction that weighs about eight pounds. But it doesn’t wobble again, even though the fighters both make a lot of very dynamic movements within inches of it, and at the end of the fight Willie looks like he is being smashed into it.
After the fight, Willie and Jason meet in a back alley, the first time we have seen that set. Jason assures Willie that he will eventually get his cut of the proceeds of Jason’s evil scheme, but tells him he will have to leave town right away. Willie vows to kill Burke.
The jukebox at The Blue Whale plays throughout the episode. In addition to Robert Cobert’s usual “Blue Whale” compositions, we hear Les and Larry Elgart’s versions of a couple of Beatles tunes and of a Glenn Miller number.
At the end of last week, reclusive matriarch Liz left the estate of Collinwood for an extended stay in a hospital. It would seem that she took all of Dark Shadows‘ plot points with her. This is the third episode in a row in which we see nothing but characters reprising conversations that didn’t advance the story the first time we heard them. Writers Ron Sproat and Malcolm Marmorstein have been in charge of the scripting for twelve weeks, and they are clearly in big trouble.
This one has a bizarrely dumb opening. Yesterday, strange and troubled boy David took Dr Peter Guthrie, visiting parapsychologist, to the long-abandoned Old House on the grounds of the great estate of Collinwood. Dr Guthrie told David that he would leave him alone in the parlor for a few minutes to try to summon the ghost of Josette Collins. David stared at the portrait of Josette over the mantelpiece until it transformed. It became a painting of David and his mother, blonde fire witch Laura Murdoch Collins, in flames.
Today’s episode picks up at that point. Dr Guthrie finds David standing on what returning viewers will recognize as the exact spot where he had left him two or three minutes before. Even someone who had never seen Dark Shadows before will look at the set and see that David occupies what must be the most conspicuous location in the entire house, between the foot of the staircase, the fireplace, and the front door. Inexplicably, Guthrie comes downstairs calling “David! Da-a-a-vid!” and announces “I was looking for you!” In a later scene, David will tell Laura that Dr Guthrie is nice but not very smart. After this senseless exchange, that line draws a laugh from the audience.
A conversation between Laura and her estranged husband, high-born ne’er-do-well Roger Collins includes a couple of interesting remarks. Roger wonders whether Laura will succeed in what they both want and persuade their son to leave with her after their divorce becomes final. Laura’s assurance that she can win David over after a single night alone with him (“That’s all I need, Roger–one night…one night alone with him and you’ll never be troubled by him again…because he’ll belong to me…completely”) is delivered in the same jarringly sensual tone she had used talking to David in #159. Considering that David has already tried to kill his father, the suggestion that the danger Laura presents to David is something to do with Freud’s theory of the Oedipus complex is not far to find.
Roger says that when they lived together, Laura’s receptiveness to other men’s attention made him jealous. She contradicts him, saying that the only reason he ever wanted her was that his nemesis, dashing action hero Burke, wanted her. We’ve seen time and again that neither Roger nor Burke is ever as excited about anyone else as they are about each other, and we’ve been invited to wonder what exactly went on between them before they became enemies.
When David comes to Laura’s cottage, the two of them talk about the idea that he might leave Collinwood and live with her. He brings up a point he hasn’t in their previous discussions of this matter, saying that well-meaning governess Vicki will lose her job if he does that. When Laura says that Vicki can get another job, and will probably get married and have children of her own soon, David insists that Vicki loves him more than she does anyone else. This is a touching moment for regular viewers, who saw David move from hatred of Vicki to friendship for her in the one narrative arc of the first several months of Dark Shadows that worked every time we saw it. The Laura story, whatever else it may be, is the grand finale of that theme, and therefore the logical conclusion of the show as we have known it so far.
Mrs Acilius and I agree that the best part of the episode comes in the four seconds after Laura hears someone knocking on her door. As we’ve seen several times, she is sitting motionless, staring into the fire, and only after the second knock does she stir. This time Diana Millay does a particularly good job of looking robotic while Laura tears herself away from the flames.
It registers on Laura that someone is knocking on the door
The best thing about the last two weeks has been the addition to the cast of John Lasell as Dr Guthrie. As of this writing,* it would appear that Mr Lasell is still alive; I’ve found addresses for John Whitin Lasell, Jr, aged 95 years, in both Los Angeles and Orange, New Jersey. Oddly enough, there’s also a Post Office Box in his name in Franklin, Maine. Franklin is about 40 miles from Bangor, down towards the coast where Collinsport would have been.
IMDb says that Mr Lasell was born 6 November 1928 in Worcester, Massachusetts. Wikipedia agrees about the date, but says that he was born in Williamstown, Vermont. The 1940 US Census records the 11 year old John W. Lasell, Jr, as a resident of Northbridge, Massachusetts and gives his birthplace as Massachusetts. There is a memorial to John W. Lasell, Sr, in Northbridge, commemorating his heroic death in the Second World War. So I think we can be confident that John Junior was a Bay Stater by birth. I’m inclined to think Wikipedia’s claim that he was born in Vermont is the result of confusion with dairy farmer John Elliot Lasell. John E. Lasell actually did live in Williamstown, Vermont, and does not appear to have been any relation to the actor. Also, Mrs. John W. Lasell, Sr, the former Frances Sumner, lived into her 97th year, so it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that her son is still around in his mid-90s.
Strange and troubled boy David has tried to murder his father, is in danger because of his fascination with his mother, and has dreams which, if interpreted correctly, will explain his problems. Today, his mother tells him with coquettish gestures and a purring voice that a man should know how to tend a fire, and tells him he can put a log in her fireplace any time he wants. There is something somehow familiar about this storyline, as if it were making a reference to a theory that was influential among highly literate New Yorkers in 1967.
By the fire
The episode begins with well-meaning governess Vicki and her boyfriend, instantly forgettable young lawyer Frank, recapping recent events that suggest to them that David’s mother, blonde fire witch Laura, is a creature of the supernatural. Frank thinks of Dr Peter Guthrie, a professor at Dartmouth College who specializes in the paranormal. He identifies Dr Guthrie as a parapsychologist, suggesting that he would be housed in Dartmouth’s Department of Psychology and Brain Science. Evidently that department was known in those days for its faculty members’ adherence to the thought of someone called Sigmund Freud. I suppose I should look that Freud fellow up and see what his ideas were.
As Conard Fowkes plays him, Frank is utterly believable as someone you would meet in a lawyers’ office in central Maine in the mid-1960s. He is so much a citizen of the daylight world of facts and logic and the recognized laws both of nature and of the state that it is surprising that he is willing to acknowledge evidence suggesting that he is in the presence of supernatural forces. Surprising, but not interesting- Fowkes shows us Frank simply accepting the facts once he has seen them and agreeing with Vicki’s interpretations once he has heard them. He does nothing to suggest that any particular emotional process is making it difficult for Frank to take a place in a world with ghosts and witches, still less that there is any unknown side of his personality that has prepared him for this information. In the hands of a livelier actor, the fact that Frank has the name and phone number of a parapsychologist at his fingertips would be a revelation that would leave us wanting to know just what else Frank knows that Vicki might find exciting. As it is, Frank generates all the dramatic interest of a search through the Yellow Pages.
High-born ne’er do-well Roger Collins walks in on his estranged wife, the mysterious and long-absent Laura, fending off an attempt by his arch-nemesis, dashing action hero Burke Devlin, to plant a kiss on her. Roger is equipped with a bolt action rifle.
Great emphasis is placed on the rifle. The most prominent set in all of Dark Shadows is the drawing room in the great house of Collinwood, and it was altered yesterday to put a gun rack on its wall. This will startle regular viewers who remember that in episode #118 reclusive matriarch Liz had to go to the back part of the house to dig up Roger’s almost-forgotten guns. Now, those guns are on display in the family’s main dwelling place and holiest shrine.
It is 1967 and everyone associated with the creative side of the show is connected with the NYC theater world, so there is approximately a 100% chance that we are intended to read these scenes in Freudian terms. The gun is a phallic symbol, but a corrupted, sickened one- it promises, not pleasure and the creation of new life, but pain and killing. In the context of Roger and Laura’s dead marriage, it demonstrates that Roger’s sexual frustration has warped him and led him to violence.
Roger declares that Burke is trespassing on his property and bothering his wife, and declares that no court in the world would convict him of anything were he to shoot Burke to death. He also says that killing Burke would give him great pleasure. Burke asks him why he doesn’t do it, and Laura wearily complains that she had enough of these sort of encounters between them ten years ago.
Laura’s remark comes as a jolt. Ten years ago, Roger and Laura were not a long-separated couple in the process of divorcing- they were not yet a couple at all. As far as the world was concerned, she and Burke were involved with each other, and Roger was a friend who sometimes tagged along on their dates. That was the situation until a fatal hit-and-run accident involving Burke’s car. This is the first time the three of them have been alone together since that night. After the accident, Laura and Roger testified against Burke. He went to prison and they married each other. When Laura says that the way Roger and Burke are carrying on now is the way they interacted ten years ago, she is saying that even when she was ostensibly Burke’s girlfriend the two men were more excited about each other than either was about her. Perhaps Laura was the one who tagged along on Roger and Burke’s dates.
Burke grabs the gun. He and Roger struggle for it. It fires into the ceiling, and Burke tears it from Roger’s hands, flinging it to the floor. Burke picks it up. Roger rants and raves, vowing to kill Burke. Yet he does not make any protest when Burke walks off with the rifle, even though the rifle is a valuable piece of property and a central feature of Collinwood’s decor. Roger can attempt to express his masculinity only in conjunction with Burke. When Burke removes the phallic symbol and silently leaves, Roger is struck mute.
After Burke leaves, Roger and Laura continue to develop the themes of powerlessness and sterility. Having none of the influence over her an ongoing sexual relationship might give him, he complains of her disloyalty to him and of his humiliation in the eyes of those who might see her socializing with Burke. He tries to assert power over her with threats of legal consequences if she goes along with Burke’s plan to reopen the hit-and-run case. Laura agrees that she cannot help Burke without losing the one thing she wants to gain, custody of their son, strange and troubled boy David. Roger completes the image of his own emasculation with a parting remark that he will be happy to see Laura leave with their son “if David is my son.”
There is something of a fault with the production. Neither Laura nor Roger is in a position to bring new life into the world, and we are in doubt as to whether Laura is, strictly speaking, alive at all. Yet as Laura, Diana Millay is quite visibly pregnant, and she will only get “pregnanter and pregnanter” as the story goes on. Her style of acting, her personality, and her looks are so perfect for the part that it is impossible to imagine anyone else playing it, but it was very confusing to present her as an avatar of death and the unreal past when she is such a strong visual symbol of life and the growing future.
After Roger flounces out of Laura’s cottage, she goes to the window and calls to David. We see David asleep in his room in the great house. He is writhing on his bed, hearing his mother’s voice and having a nightmare. Well-meaning governess Vicki wakes David, telling him that it is 10:30 AM.* David tells her that he had the same nightmare he did the night before, in which his mother beckoned him into a firestorm. Vicki tries to assuage his fears, purring lovingly at him, but he is still deeply disturbed.
Roger enters and tells David to come along and see his mother. David flies into a tantrum, insisting that he will not see her and that no one can make him. When Roger threatens to beat him, David clings to Vicki and pleads with her to stop his father from hitting him. Vicki calmly states that “No one is going to hit you,” underlining Roger’s lack of authority in his relationships with both David and the hired help. David runs off.
Vicki sits on David’s bed and tells Roger that she has a theory about David’s behavior. She believes that he really wants to see his mother and that her love is tremendously important to him, but that he has worked himself into his current state because he is afraid she will reject him. This theory has a very substantial basis in fact. When Laura first came to the house in #134, David was extremely eager to meet her, until he suddenly asked Vicki “What if I do or say something to make her hate me?” From that moment on, he has become more and more reluctant to see Laura. Vicki tells Roger that she will work to arrange a meeting between mother and son in a situation where he will not feel pressured to perform in any particular way.
Vicki shows up at the cottage carrying a tray of tea things. Laura is impressed with the breakfast. Vicki shares her idea of arranging an apparently chance meeting during the walk she and David take around the grounds every afternoon beginning at 4:30.** Laura does not eat or drink anything during her breakfast with Vicki, but she does ask a series of questions about David. Vicki enthusiastically tells her every nice thing about him she can think of, leaving out such awkward incidents as his attempts to murder Roger and Vicki herself.
Laura chooses the top of Widow’s Hill for their “chance” meeting. This is rather an odd place considering that it is likely to be getting dark by 4:30 PM in early January in central Maine, and Widow’s Hill is a place from which people famously fall to their deaths. But, Laura is the boy’s mother. Besides, the other option was the greenhouse, and they don’t have a set for a greenhouse, so Vicki goes along with it.***
At the top of the hill, David asks Vicki why she wanted to go there, and starts talking about how dangerous it is. He noodles around at the edge of the cliff, alarming her, but he says he knows the ground so well it isn’t dangerous for him. After a minute, David says it’s boring there and he wants to leave. Vicki scrambles for a reason to stay, and finds a ship on the horizon. That catches David’s attention. He watches it, wanders ever closer to the precipice, and talks about sailing around the world.
That’s when Laura shows up. In episode 2, Roger introduced himself to Vicki by startling her while she stood on the edge of the cliff, nearly prompting her to fall to her death. In #75, Vicki returned the compliment. Now, Laura simply starts talking while David is on the precipice. Shocked to hear her voice, he jumps back.
Laura goes on about how David was always interested in exotic places when he was a little boy. He looks petrified, but does agree that he remembers those conversations. She reaches out and calls him to come to her. He recoils, slips, and ends up clutching the side of the precipice. That’s what’s known as a “cliffhanger ending.”
*In many markets, ABC affiliates ignored the network’s recommendation that Dark Shadows be broadcast at 4:00 PM and showed it at 10:30 AM. Hearing Vicki mention this hour makes me wonder if we are supposed to think of the action of a soap opera taking place, not only on the date of the original broadcast, but at the time.
**4:30 was the time when Dark Shadows ended in markets where the ABC affiliate went along with the network’s recommended schedule. Mustn’t have people outdoors between 4 and 4:30!
***Mrs Acilius pointed out this consideration when we were watching the episode.
The actors do what they can to hold it together, and there are a couple of memorable lines. Reclusive matriarch Liz calls her daughter, flighty heiress Carolyn, a “young girl” during yet another conversation pleading with her to stop dating the family’s arch-nemesis, dashing action hero Burke Devlin. Carolyn asks when her mother will admit that she is a woman. “When it is a fact,” Liz replies. Carolyn declares that “It won’t be a woman who bestows that title on me, but a man- Burke Devlin!” Everyone in Collinsport seems to be living according to a rule of chastity, so Carolyn’s open declaration that she plans to have sex with Burke is rather startling.
Liz’ brother, high-born ne’er-do-well Roger, comes home. Liz tells Roger that well-meaning governess Vicki is missing and may be in danger. Roger refuses to take an interest in the matter. When Liz is shocked by his indifference, he says that she sometimes expects too much of him. Considering that Burke and hardworking young fisherman Joe are searching the grounds of the estate for Vicki, and that the sheriff’s department has been involved in the search as well, Roger’s disregard for Vicki is not merely cavalier, but childish in the extreme.
When Roger finds out that Carolyn had been on a date with Burke, he tries to take the authoritative tone that her mother had taken with her earlier. Neither Carolyn nor Liz is impressed with the attempt this boy-man is making to impersonate a paterfamilias. Liz and Roger are the prototype for Dark Shadows‘ most characteristic relationship, that between a bossy big sister and her bratty little brother. She tries to correct his behavior, and when he disappoints her she shields him from accountability. In this scene, she sees yet again how useless he really is.
Burke and Joe come to the house to report that their search for well-meaning governess Vicki has been fruitless. Roger makes one sarcastic remark after another to Burke. Louis Edmonds is so skilled at delivering acerbic dialogue that these lines are fun to listen to, even though they don’t advance the plot or add to our understanding of the characters in any way.
It’s a shame the scene isn’t better written. During the nineteen weeks when Art Wallace and Francis Swann were in charge of writing the show, they hinted that there may have been some kind of sexual relationship between Burke and Roger. This time, Burke has borrowed Roger’s shotgun, and Roger very conspicuously handles the gun after Burke returns it to him. He unloads it, and for no reason that we can see reloads it. As directed by Lela Swift, the actors are uncomfortably close to each other, and can’t keep themselves from getting closer as they exchange their wildly bitter remarks. In the hands of Wallace or Swann, or for that matter of almost any moderately competent writer, that scene would have made sense as a Freudian interlude. But today belongs to Malcolm Marmorstein, and the evidence of repressed sexuality doesn’t add up to much.
Carolyn tries to break the tension in the drawing room by playing “Chopsticks” on the piano. All she gets for her trouble is an irritated look from her mother.
Joe and Carolyn were dating when the series started. All we saw of their relationship was one breakup scene after another. They have a nice loud one today. If there had ever been anything between them, it would be a dramatic moment.
Earlier in the episode, Burke had told Joe he didn’t think he would ever really put his attachment to Carolyn behind him. We’ve seen Joe have a couple of happy dates with Maggie Evans, The Nicest Girl in Town, and are hoping the two of them will have a storyline together. The prospect that Burke may be right and we may be sentenced to sit through yet more bickering between Joe and Carolyn is too dreary for words.
Dark Shadows Commentary 