Episode 446: You have given me nothing I can understand

Haughty tyrant Joshua Collins goes to the basement of the Old House on his estate and finds his son Barnabas rising from a coffin. Barnabas explains to his father that he has become a vampire.

Joshua and Barnabas in the coffin room. Screenshot by Dark Shadows Before I Die.

This scene prompts considerable discussion in fandom about gay subtext. In his post about the episode on Dark Shadows Every Day, Danny Horn points out that actors Jonathan Frid and Louis Edmonds were both gay, and speculates that this fact might have had some influence on the way they play Barnabas’ coming out to his father. “I’m not suggesting that this situation is intended to be a metaphor for a gay child talking to his father about his terrible, shameful secret life… But the ‘keep the secret, don’t tell my mother’ part — there’s some resonance, isn’t there? At least, it’s a hook into the story that helps us to get closer, and really feel some of the horror of this moment. A father hands a gun to his son, and says, Kill yourself, so that your mother never finds out.”

Even this tentative raising of the question, with its “I’m not suggesting” and “some resonance” and “at least,” is too much for Patrick McCray. In his Dark Shadows Daybook post about #446, he concedes that “homosexuality is the obvious choice” for an interpretive lens through which to read the scene, but goes on to flatly assert that “this isn’t a veiled metaphor for something like homosexuality.” For him, as for Danny, Barnabas figures in the scene as a murderer first and last, and Joshua as a man finding himself irrevocably severed from the world of rationally explainable phenomena.

For my part, I think that we have to remember that intentionality is always a more complicated thing in a work of art than it is when lawyers are interpreting a contract or cryptographers are cracking a cipher. Certainly the scene is not simply a coming-out scene played in code. Barnabas’ murders do not map onto any metaphor for sexual encounters. While the vampire’s bite is often a metaphor for the sexual act, Barnabas presents his acknowledgement in this scene that he has murdered three women in terms of the secrets he calculated he could keep by killing them and maintains a cold, matter-of-fact tone while doing so. When in the course of the scene Barnabas exasperates Joshua by attempting to murder him, there is nothing erotic between the men. No doubt the scene is at one level meant to be what Danny Horn and Patrick McCray say it is, the point when Joshua realizes he is part of a supernatural horror story and the audience realizes that Barnabas is a cold-blooded killer. As such, it is one of the key moments that defines the 1795 flashback as The Tragedy of Joshua Collins.

But there are other levels of intentionality here as well. One has to do with the word “vampire.” When Barnabas is trying to tell his story to Joshua, his first approach is to give him the facts and leave it to him to apply the correct label. But the facts are so alien to Joshua that they only deepen his confusion. Seeing his father’s bewildered reaction, Barnabas’ frustration mounts until he finally shouts “I am a vampire!”

We have heard this word only once before on Dark Shadows, when wicked witch Angelique mentioned it in #410, but it figured in the show as a metaphor for outness long before it was spoken. In #315, Barnabas’ associate, mad scientist Julia Hoffman, urges him not to murder strange and troubled boy David Collins. She catches herself, breaking off after saying that David deserves better than “to die at the hands of a-” Barnabas grins and teases her, asking “At the hands of a what, doctor?” He dares her to say the word and taunts her for her faux pas in coming so close to using it. Julia and Barnabas have a tacit understanding that they will discuss his vampirism only in euphemisms and circumlocutions. To say the word would be to push beyond the limits of Barnabas’ outness to Julia.

When he tries to avoid calling himself a vampire, Barnabas is trying to establish a relationship in which his father will know enough that he is no longer inclined to ask questions, but not enough to achieve any real understanding of his feelings. When he realizes that he cannot keep from using the embarrassing, ridiculous, utterly necessary word, Barnabas is forced to come out to Joshua in a way he had desperately wanted to avoid.

Moreover, Jonathan Frid’s performance as Barnabas departs starkly from anything else he does on Dark Shadows. After he calls himself a vampire, Frid’s whole body relaxes. His neck, shoulders, and hips are looser than we have ever seen them; even his knees bend a little. His voice shifts a bit away from the old-fashioned mid-Atlantic accent he typically uses as Barnabas, a bit toward twentieth century Hamilton, Ontario. At that point, he is not playing a murderer or a creature from the supernatural or an eighteenth century aristocrat- he is playing himself, enacting a scene from his own life.

Barnabas’ coming out to his father is not today’s only story about information management. Joshua rules his corner of the world by parceling out just that information he thinks people ought to have. We have seen this habit lead to disaster after disaster. In his scene with Barnabas, we see another such instance. Joshua has come to the basement because naval officer/ sleazy operator Nathan Forbes told him that he had seen Barnabas at the Old House, and that Barnabas had attacked Joshua’s second cousin Millicent. After Barnabas admits to his various murders, Joshua brings up the attack on Millicent. Barnabas denies that he had any involvement in that attack, sparking an angry response from Joshua. When Barnabas later asks Joshua why he came to the basement, he swears that Barnabas will never know why.

Had Joshua told Barnabas that Nathan sent him to the basement, the two of them might have figured out that Nathan faked the attack on Millicent as part of his scheme to trick her into agreeing to marry him and to blackmail Joshua into consenting to the marriage. That in turn might have helped Joshua find a way to prevent Nathan from carrying out his evil schemes. But his parsimony with information leaves Joshua believing Nathan’s story about the attack, and therefore puts him and the rest of the Collinses entirely at Nathan’s mercy. When we see the effect that the radical honesty of coming out as a vampire had on Barnabas, we can’t help but wonder how many misfortunes the Collinses might have avoided if they had not lived according to Joshua’s code of truthlessness.

A voice comes from the upstairs. Naomi Collins, wife to Joshua and mother to Barnabas, has entered the house. Joshua leaves his gun with Barnabas and tells him to do the honorable thing, then hastens up to meet her.

Naomi tells Joshua that she he came to the Old House because Nathan told her he had gone there. She insists that Joshua explain what is going on; he pleads with her not to ask. She tells him to think of her; a quiver in his voice, he says “I am thinking of you now.” Naomi is as mystified and as frustrated by Joshua’s refusal to explain himself as Joshua had been with Barnabas’ story, but even as she plays these reactions Joan Bennett also shows us Naomi softening towards her husband. She catches a glimpse of the lover hidden beneath the lord of the manor, peeking out from below the massive superstructure of his pride.

Back in the great house, Nathan is sprawled on the sofa, his boots resting on a polished table, guzzling the Collinses’ fine liqueurs. When Joshua and Naomi return, Nathan offers Joshua a snifter of brandy and invites him to drink it with him in the drawing room. Joshua reacts indignantly, protesting that he is not accustomed to a guest offering him the hospitality of his own house.

This exchange is familiar to longtime viewers. From March to June of 1967, when Dark Shadows was set in contemporary times, the great house was dominated by seagoing con man Jason McGuire, who was blackmailing reclusive matriarch Liz. Several times, most notably in #200 and #264, Jason poured himself a drink and invited Liz’ brother, high-born ne’er-do-well Roger Collins, to join him. Roger would protest that he was not accustomed to being offered a drink of his own brandy in his own house, often drawing the rejoinder that it was Liz’ brandy and Liz’ house, and that he was as much her guest as Jason was.

Roger and Joshua are both played by Louis Edmonds. Roger represents the final stage of decay from the height Joshua represents. He has squandered his entire inheritance, committed acts of cowardice that cost the lives of two men, and let a more or less innocent man go to prison in his place. In #4 he tried to sneak into well-meaning governess Vicki’s room while she slept, and when Liz caught him he told her he didn’t want to be lectured on his “morals,” leaving no doubt that he was looking for some kind of cheap sexual thrill at Vicki’s expense. He openly scorns his responsibilities as a father, cares nothing for the family’s traditions, and the one time we see him working in his office at the headquarters of the family’s business all he does is answer the telephone and tell the caller to contact someone else instead. He drinks constantly, is always the first to give up on a difficult task, makes sarcastic remarks to everyone, and backs down whenever he faces the prospect of a fair fight. In #273, he even admitted to Liz that, had he known what Jason knew about her, he probably would have blackmailed her too.

Joshua’s relentlessly dishonest approach to life may be rooted in fear, and it is never difficult to see that its end result would be to produce a man as craven as Roger. But Joshua himself is as strong as Roger is weak. It is impossible to imagine Roger shaking off an attempt on his life as Joshua shakes off Barnabas’ attempt to strangle him today. While Roger is prepared to sacrifice any member of his family for his own convenience, Joshua will go to any lengths to protect Naomi from the truth of Barnabas’ horrible secret. Nor does Joshua take the easy way out even when he is knuckling under to Nathan. In their scene today, Nathan makes it clear that he is willing to accompany Joshua back to the Old House. Had Roger known what Joshua knows about that basement, he would never have missed an opportunity to send Jason there and let Barnabas do his dirty work for him. But Joshua cuts Nathan off the moment he raises the subject.

Joshua does go back to the coffin room, and he finds Barnabas standing around. He is disappointed that his son has not killed himself. Barnabas tries to explain that he cannot die by a gunshot, but Joshua dismisses his words. He takes the gun himself and, with a display of anguish, shoots Barnabas in the heart. Only thus, he believes, can he keep the unbearable truth from coming to light.

Episode 195: It looked pretty dead to me

In Dark Shadows Version 1.0, well-meaning governess Vicki represents our point-of-view. In the 1930s and 40s, radio soap operas would often have a character to whom they would assign that role, one person to whom everything has to be explained so that the audience can be brought into the story. That may have worked on a show in a 15 minute time slot, but it’s a stretch to build a 30 minute daily drama around one character, and today’s hour-long daytime serials couldn’t possibly keep one person on the spot the whole time. In part, that’s because you’d wear the actor out. More importantly, it’s because soap operas are usually about abruptly disclosing secrets to the audience and gradually leaking them out to the characters. A character who has no secrets from the audience can’t generate that kind of action, and will sooner or later turn into dead wood.

Today, we start with reclusive matriarch Liz recruiting Vicki to help her keep one of her secrets. Vicki found Liz in the basement late last night, a fact which Liz has made her promise she will not share with anyone. Vicki does not see why anyone should care whether Liz goes into the basement of her own house at night or any other time, and indeed no one does care. But Liz insists she keep quiet about it, and when Liz’ daughter Carolyn mentions having heard her up in the middle of the night, she makes Vicki lie and say that she was the one who was up.

Since Vicki can have no secrets from us, she cannot be particularly good at keeping secrets from the other characters. If she were able to tell a convincing lie, a person just tuning in to the show might be deceived by Vicki. She has tried her hand at lying a few times so far, always with disastrous results when the lie immediately collapsed. This time, Carolyn doesn’t catch on, and there don’t seem to be any ill effects, but that’s just because it’s a topic Carolyn doesn’t care about. Vicki changes her whole demeanor when she’s getting ready to tell these lies, stiffening her spine, plastering on a smile, and speaking a little bit too loudly. On previous occasions she had different tells, looking down and taking a breath before she speaks, or looking around and stammering while she speaks, etc. A supercut of those scenes might serve as a catalog of the various types of inept liars. Alexandra Moltke Isles renders each type convincingly enough that such a video could be useful to students of acting, of psychology, and of poker. But it would also show why Vicki is facing a limited future as a soap opera character.

We’re supposed to be saddened that Vicki has had to damage her friendship with Carolyn by lying to her, but I was on Liz’ side, rooting for the lie to work and Carolyn to stop asking questions. Otherwise, we’ll have to hear more about Liz’ attitude towards her basement, and that is such a stupefyingly dull topic it makes us yearn for the days when they spent 21 episodes showing people wondering where Burke Devlin’s fountain pen might be. Besides, Liz is an accomplished liar. If Vicki can study under her and learn her skills, she might be able to continue as a major character.

While Vicki is struggling with the rules of the genre in which she exists, another character is comfortably embodying one of the most familiar stock figures of soapdom. That’s Jason McGuire, a con man who has a history with the matriarch of the powerful family. He’s in the restaurant at the Collinsport Inn having a breezy chat across the counter with Maggie, The Nicest Girl in Town, who is impressed by his habit of putting lemon peel in his coffee. Hey, you work for tips, you find ways to be impressed by the customers.

Vicki comes into the restaurant and chats with Maggie about Liz’ recovery from the mysterious illness that recently put her in the hospital. Overhearing Liz’ name, Jason sidles up to Vicki and questions her about the residents of the great house at Collinwood. He won’t give Vicki his name, but gets her to tell him about everyone who lives there. She describes her own duties as “governess… companion… tutor,” to which Jason replies that she sounds busy.

Coupled with the fact that we first saw her today sorting Liz’ mail, the word “companion” suggests that the show is changing Vicki’s job so that she will be the first involved, not only in stories that center on strange and troubled boy David, but also in those centering on Liz. That’s promising- not only would it give Vicki a chance to learn how to lie, but it also suggests that they might have figured out how to mirror the one consistently interesting relationship on the show so far, that between Vicki and David. Perhaps it will be as much fun to watch Vicki as Liz’ pupil as it has been to watch David as Vicki’s.

After Jason questions her, he tells Vicki that he will definitely be seeing her again soon. He then leaves, still not having told her his name. Vicki asks Maggie who he is. She tells Maggie that Jason made her uncomfortable with his questions about the residents of Collinwood, and that the theme of those questions was “not so much how they are… as where they are.” Dark Shadows has been heavy with recapping, but this may be the first example of a conversation in which two characters recap the conversation immediately preceding it, without even a commercial break in between.

Back at Collinwood, a knock sounds at the front door. Carolyn comes downstairs to answer it. As she does so, we see a mirror in a spot by the door. For some time, the mirror has been alternating on that spot with a metallic decoration. We saw the metallic decoration most recently, but now the mirror is back.

Carolyn opens the door to find Jason. He claims to be an old acquaintance of the family, but refuses to give his name. Carolyn eventually gives in and admits him to the house. While Jason is saying that nothing in the house has changed in many years, the mirror is filled with the reflection of a portrait. When we were watching the episode, this brief glimpse led us to believe that the mirror had been replaced with a portrait. We haven’t seen this effect before, and it is so striking that it is hard to believe it was an accident. Indeed, precisely the same image will be used under the closing credits of an episode coming up four years from now, suggesting that it is something they’ve given a great deal of thought.

The portrait by the door

In the drawing room, Jason continues to withhold his name, telling Carolyn that he doesn’t want to spoil the surprise he has in store for her mother. He charms Carolyn with his claims to have gone ten times each to Hong Kong, Naples, Madagascar,* and every other place that pleased him the first nine times he visited.

When Liz comes downstairs, Carolyn tells her that an old acquaintance of hers is waiting to see her. Liz smiles at this news, but when she sees Jason her expression turns to one of utter despair.

*In 139, David’s mother, blonde fire witch Laura Murdoch Collins, mentioned that when he was a little boy he was interested in Madagascar. When Carolyn brings up Madagascar today, we wonder if the Collinses have some connection to the island.

Episode 106: Swann song

At the end of Friday’s episode, dashing action hero Burke Devlin and the sheriff caught high-born ne’er-do-well Roger Collins digging up a fountain pen from under a rock. It appears to be the fountain pen Roger had stolen from well-meaning governess Vicki. Some think that Roger stole the pen and hid it because it is evidence implicating him in the death of beloved local man Bill Malloy. Today, Roger is in the sheriff’s office.

Accompanied by Richard Garner, the Collins family’s lawyer, Roger talks and talks, admitting that he saw Bill that night, badly injured and face-down in the water. He jumped to the conclusion that Bill was dead, and left the scene without notifying anyone. He also admits that he concealed evidence that he believed the police would find relevant to the investigation. As if that weren’t enough, he admits that he lied to the police time and again, most recently the night before, and is caught in yet another lie when he gives a nonsensical explanation of his plan to meet Bill that night.

Roger begins his confess-a-thon

Garner makes only one feeble attempt to interrupt Roger’s torrent of self-incriminating remarks. When the sheriff questions Vicki, Garner takes the opportunity to ask her some questions of his own, questions which produce even more information that is adverse to his client’s interests. On their site Dark Shadows Before I Die, John and Christine Scoleri feature commentary on Garner’s performance from a lawyer friend of theirs. Setting aside the utter hopelessness of Garner’s work from a real-world perspective, this friend analyzes his conduct by contrast with the standards set by other TV lawyers:

This brief addendum will review the competence of Garner using a “TV Lawyer Competency Rating” (TVLCR) scale. This WAG scale is based on my estimation of how a general audience might rate a TV Lawyer’s performance. I have supplemented these TVLCR scores with some comments reflecting real-world practices.

http://dsb4idie.blogspot.com/2016/11/episode-106-112166.html

Even by those standards, Garner doesn’t come out very well:

Garner strikes me as the go-to civil attorney for the Collins family who got dragged into this murder case just because they are familiar with him. Based on Garner’s poor competency rating as a TV Lawyer, Roger Collins should fire him and instead reach out to Raymond Burr or Andy Griffith.

Soap operas typically generate suspense by sharing information with the audience that some, but not all, of the characters have. We wonder when the secrets will be revealed, and how those to whom they are revealed will react when they finally get the news.

By the end of today’s episode, all of the characters will know almost everything the audience knows. Even what the characters don’t know, they’ve heard of. For example, Roger and drunken artist Sam Evans have not confessed the guilty secrets they share to any of the other characters, but everyone seems to have figured out more or less what they’ve been up to. Not everyone believes in ghosts, but it’s all over town that Vicki and her charge, strange and troubled boy David Collins, have seen ghosts in and around the great house of Collinwood, and even the most skeptical are not in a hurry to hang around the place after dark.

This is the next-to-last episode credited to writer Francis Swann. Swann will fill in for the new writers a week from Wednesday, but today is really the end of the Art Wallace-Francis Swann era of the show. From tomorrow, the new team of Ron Sproat and Malcolm Marmorstein will be holding the reins. By bringing all the characters up to at least our level of knowledge about the ongoing storylines, Swann is clearing the decks for Sproat and Marmorstein to set up their own crises and dilemmas.

Swann’s great strength is his ability to give actors room to show what they can do. Today’s episode is a case in point. Just when Garner’s disastrous intervention in the sheriff’s questioning of Vicki has led us to wonder if he’s all there, he has a moment when he opens his eyes wide and looks out the window. As Hugh Franklin plays it, that’s enough to make us wonder what’s on Garner’s mind, and to think he might be about to do or say something interesting.

Of course stage veteran Louis Edmonds thunders delightfully as the wildly indiscreet Roger, and of course TV stalwart Dana Elcar does an expert job of presenting the sheriff as a skilled professional firmly in control of the situation. There might be a crying need for a defense attorney to intervene when a suspect is blabbing as freely to the police as Roger is to the sheriff, but there is no need for a third actor to get in the way of Edmonds’ and Elcar’s interplay. Standing in the background between those two, Franklin occasionally gives a slight facial expression that underlines some point or other, but never upstages them.

In the first half of the episode, Alexandra Moltke Isles’ Vicki has to give some long speeches full of recapping, and in those she takes the character through several distinct shades of discomfort. She begins with diffident nervousness, builds up to frightened indignation, and ends with pure sadness.

Later, flighty heiress Carolyn comes into the sheriff’s office and pleads with Vicki to say that her beloved Uncle Roger couldn’t be a criminal. In front of the sheriff and Garner, all Vicki will say is that the two of them should leave. As Carolyn, Nancy Barrett makes the most of the melodramatic turn, but Mrs Isles takes possession of the scene with her few words spoken in a quiet, husky voice we haven’t heard before. Those brief remarks cap the progression we saw her making in her speeches earlier, and define the mood she is still in during a conversation between Vicki and Carolyn in Collinwood later. Vicki’s feeling for the pity of it all holds the episode together, and leads us back into the texture of the life of the family at the center of the story.

Episode 19: If it isn’t Burke Devlin, it’s somebody else

Most of this one consists of people worrying about each other’s attitudes towards Burke. Bill and Sam see each other, first in the Blue Whale, later in the restaurant, and in each place they share beverages while Bill needles Sam about Burke. In between these scenes, Joe and Carolyn are alone in the restaurant- completely alone, Joe apparently has to go behind the counter and prepare their meal himself- and they quarrel about Carolyn’s bold approaches to Burke before and during their date. At the end, Carolyn goes home, where her mother tells her about Roger’s wreck and about why she oughtn’t to be friendly with Burke.

Burke himself doesn’t appear in the episode, and none of the characters who do appear know as much about him as they think they do. What we get is a portrait of an isolated, gossipy little town, where rumors can start rapidly and grow in any direction. To the extent that “soap operas are approximately 90% information management,” as Danny Horn says, the typical setting of the gossipy little town, and its outgrowth, the false accusation, are the heart of the genre. As we watch these characters gossip and jump to conclusions, suspense forms as to how justice might miscarry if it isn’t stopped soon enough.