The Leviathan People, a mysterious race of Elder Gods, are planning to retake the Earth from humankind. They’ve started small, putting together a secret cult of devotees in and around the village of Collinsport, Maine, and placing a rapidly growing creature in a room above an antique shop there. Now the creature has taken the form of a 24 year old man, murdered a couple of people, and lost interest in the plan. All he wants is his intended bride, heiress Carolyn Collins Stoddard, and he wants her by Friday. Since she does not know the creature and is in mourning for her father Paul Stoddard, whom the creature murdered a couple of days ago, he would seem to have put some obstacles in his own way.
When he is in human form, the creature calls himself Jabez Hawkes. When we first saw him, he told people to “Call me Jabe.” Everyone called him Jeb instead. “Jabe” is such an unusual name, and the creature is so obnoxious and uninteresting, that it is understandable they would disregard his wishes in this matter, but I believe in calling people by the names they choose, so I’ll call him Jabe.
The Leviathan story has so far been pitched to an adult audience far more heavily than most segments of Dark Shadows, and today’s episode is a case in point. Carolyn’s family gathers in the foyer of the great house of Collinwood, ready to depart for Paul’s funeral. They have a big scene where Carolyn gets upset with her mother and uncle because they didn’t like Paul, and the bad feelings flare up again after the funeral, when they are at the graveside. That’s typical fare for soap operas meant for grownups, but we’ve never seen anything like it before on Dark Shadows, where graves are less often places of mourning than targets for robbing.
Jabe spies on Carolyn from behind the tombstone of Crazy Jenny Collins. For most of 1969, Dark Shadows was a costume drama set in 1897. Marie Wallace played Crazy Jenny then. Since the show returned to contemporary dress, Miss Wallace has been Megan Todd, fanatically devoted Leviathan cultist and foster mother to the creature now known as Jabe. They’ve had some fun depicting an erotic dimension to the relationship between Megan and the creature; Jabe clings to the tombstone suggestively, echoing this hint of Oedipal tension.
Carolyn goes to the antique shop to leave a note thanking Megan and her husband Philip for attending the funeral. Jabe sneaks up behind her and puts his hands over her eyes by way of introduction. You might think that Jabe, being just a couple of months old, would be ignorant enough to expect Carolyn to be charmed by this invasion of her space. But he pulled the same stunt on her when he was in the form of a thirteen year old boy, and she objected to it fiercely then. When she reacts just as negatively now, it leaves regular viewers with the sense that Jabe is going to keep doing the same pointless things over and again, not learning anything from his experiences. By the end of the scene she is showing some signs of attraction for Jabe, but she’s the only one. They haven’t given the audience any reason to expect him to be worth watching.
Later, Jabe tells old world gentleman Barnabas Collins that when the time comes, all members of the Leviathan cult will share his shape-shifting abilities, that “each one of you will be able to take on any form.” We know that Jabe is sometimes an inhuman monster, and that he once assumed the form of Carolyn as she was when she was eight, but this is our first confirmation that he can turn into anything he wants. It is also the first suggestion that the Leviathans’ human accomplices will receive any benefits at all from their triumph.
Sheriff Davenport and his new sidekick, mad scientist Julia Hoffman, have come to the top of the stairs above Philip and Megan Todd’s antique shop in the village of Collinsport. The sheriff has a search warrant that specifies the room by the landing as a place of interest in connection with the violent death of one Paul Stoddard. Philip begs the sheriff not to enter the room, saying that a boy who lived there recently died and that any disturbance would “defile” it. He swears the room is entirely empty. The sheriff expresses his sympathy, but opens the door anyway.
Inside is a young man. Philip seems as surprised at the sight of him as are the sheriff and Julia. He gives his name as “Hawkes, Jeb Hawkes. Short for Jabez… Call me Jabe.” No one calls him Jabe, which seems a bit rude. Jabe claims that he came by earlier when Megan was in and Philip was out, and that she offered to let him live in the room.
The room does not contain any furniture, any luggage, or any other movable property whatsoever. Moreover, while it is possible Megan might have rented the room without mentioning it to Philip, it is difficult to see what Jabe has been doing up there since she left, and since Philip has been moving around the rest of the building it is even more difficult to suppose Jabe could have left his belongings elsewhere without attracting Philip’s notice. Jabe claims to be a photographer, but does not appear to have any camera equipment. Moreover, the sheriff will later tell Julia that he noticed a distinctive odor on Jabe that was prominent on Paul’s corpse, and that he found one of Paul’s cufflinks, damaged as by fire, on the floor of the antique shop. In the finest traditions of Collinsport law enforcement, the sheriff does not take Jabe or Philip into custody, question either of them more than cursorily, or close off the antique shop for a further search. He does come back later to tell Jabe that he should think about finding another apartment.
Jabe is the latest embodiment of a mysterious creature that has previously taken the form of a newborn boy, an eight year old boy, an eight year old girl, and a thirteen year old boy. The boys were vicious little tyrants who did not seem to think at all, only to follow impulses to dominate and humiliate whomever they met. The girl was a Doppelgänger of Paul’s daughter Carolyn as she was when she was eight, and she existed specifically to make Paul feel worthless because he was a deadbeat dad. None of these children engaged with another character in a way that meant there was anything at stake for them in any scene. They as much as tell us that the same will be true of Jabe. When Philip complains today that he has put him and Megan in a difficult position by failing to tell them of his plans, Jabe answers “Maybe I just didn’t want to let you know. Maybe I just wanted to see you sweat it out.”
The only time one of the children did anything surprising in an effort to take on an adversary was when the eight year old boy shape-shifted and became the young Carolyn. Had the sheriff not shown the clownish ineptitude typical of his office, but instead done what a real cop would do and arrested Jabe and Philip, they might have created a situation in which Jabe would have to surprise us again. It might be interesting to see him turn into the grown-up Carolyn, for example. As it is, Jabe just insults Philip, goes to the police station, and murders the sheriff.
This puts a new spin on Roger Ebert’s category of “Idiot Plot.” Ebert said that a movie had an Idiot Plot when its story would end immediately if any of the characters had the brains of an average member of the audience. In this case, the story stays stuck in an angry and utterly predictable rut because of the sheriff’s inexplicable nonfeasance.
The first time Mrs Acilius and I watched Dark Shadows through, we hated Jabe and didn’t want to see Christopher Pennock again. Later, Pennock will return in several quite different roles, each of them more appealing than the one before. By the end of the series he had become one of our favorites, and it occurred to us that even as Jabe he managed to do a lot of things right. But there is only so much an actor can do to work around a script problem, and as written Jabe is barely a character at all. His actions cause problems for several other people, but nothing we see him do or hear him say makes us care about why he takes those actions as opposed to any others. It certainly doesn’t help that half of his episodes, including this one, are directed by Henry Kaplan, whose idea of visual composition was to shove a camera so close to an actor’s face that you can see about one half of one cheekbone.
It didn’t have to be that way. Not only was Pennock a fine actor when he had something to work with, but in this episode we have a scene between Julia and rakish libertine Quentin Collins that shows how a character with a bizarre backstory and a record of evil deeds can become an audience favorite. Quentin is down in the dumps because he just failed to rescue his one true love, Amanda Harris, from the realm of the dead. Julia urges him to reconnect with the Collinses of Collinwood. He asks how he can possibly explain that he is 72 years older than he looks and is now alive, even though his ghost carried out a protracted and deadly haunting of the estate. This dialogue shows that Quentin’s origins require us to believe any number of impossible things, and longtime viewers remember that he is a murderer who killed his wife in cold blood, among other unspeakable acts. But all we see in this scene are his charm and the affection that he and Julia have for each other, and we want to see more of that, as much as they can give us. With similar material, Pennock could have achieved similar results. But it is already clear that he won’t get it as Jabe.
Postscript
In his scene with Julia, Quentin says that no one at the hotel where he and Amanda have been staying remembers her, and that all traces of the alias she had been using seem to have disappeared. Julia speculates that when he lost her in the underworld, the last 72 years of Amanda’s life were negated, that the past was reset so that she did in fact die on a night in the 1890s when she might have died had one of the gods of the dead not intervened.
This raises two questions. First, Amanda has been keeping Quentin. If they are now in a timeline where she never came to town, who’s paying his hotel bill and buying his liquor? It’s a standard feature of soap operas that unless they are telling a story about conflicts over ownership of a business or a house or some other valuable property, everyone just has an inexhaustible supply of money, but they put enough time into Amanda and Julia’s squabble as to which one of them would be Quentin’s sugar mama that you might have expected a line or two about this question.
Second, if everyone else has forgotten Amanda, how does Julia remember her? Quentin journeyed through the infernal regions with her, and so I suppose it makes a kind of sense that from that supernatural location he would have a perspective that would transcend our perception of time and space. But Julia was in and around Collinsport the whole time Quentin and Amanda were harrowing the abode of the permanently unavailable. I suppose the real answer is that she is the audience’s point of view character, and as such knows everything we know. But it does leave us wondering if, in the course of her adventures, some kind of uncanny power may have rubbed off on her.
The current A-story is about a group of people under the control of the Leviathans, unseen supernatural beings. The Leviathans’ plan involves a mysterious force that has incarnated itself in a series of children, most recently an apparently thirteen year old boy named Michael, and will culminate in the obliteration of the human race. Since all of the actors who are under contract to appear on Dark Shadows are human beings, the success of this plot would leave Dan Curtis on the hook for a lot of buyouts, so we can be fairly sure the Leviathans will eventually fail. Besides, the non-human day players, such as the parakeet we saw in Wednesday’s episode, just haven’t caught on with the public.
Recovering vampire Barnabas Collins was originally the leader of the cultists who serve the Leviathans. Since his introduction in April 1967, Barnabas has been far and away the show’s biggest draw, so it is unlikely he will go down with the ship whenever the Leviathan story ends. Making him the chief villain means that we once more get to see him as he was when he was first on the show, an ice-cold, merciless villain, and also that we are in suspense the whole time as to how and when he will return to the side, not of good exactly, but of sustainable narrative development.
Three weeks ago, they decided to throw all of that away. Episode #915, aired on Monday 29 December 1969, was an homage to Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. As A Christmas Carol begins with Scrooge in his place of business denying a request from his subordinate Bob Cratchit, so #915 began with Barnabas in an antique shop in the village of Collinsport refusing to comply with a demand from Michael, who is currently under his charge. As Marley’s ghost appeared to Scrooge and warned him that he would come to a bad end if he did not become more obliging to Bob Cratchit, so an embodied Leviathan appeared to Barnabas and warned him that he would have to be more deferential to Michael. As Scrooge was visited by spirits representing his past, present, and possible future, so Barnabas is visited by a bat representing his former existence as a vampire, antique shop owner and fanatical Leviathan cultist Megan Todd representing his present, and a woman played by future four-time Academy Award nominee Marsha Mason representing the grim future that awaits him if he does not obey. As Scrooge ends by knuckling under to Marley’s insistence that he become joyous and loving, so Barnabas gives in to the Leviathan’s command that he go on acting on behalf of the plan.
Barnabas’ main activity yesterday was helping Paul Stoddard, who has been trying to warn people about the Leviathan cult, to escape from captivity in the great house of Collinwood, and his main activity today is trying to help Paul after he has sneaked into to the antique shop and come face to face with the mysterious force in its true form. Since his efforts are so completely counterproductive, they might have led viewers who missed #915 to wonder if Barnabas, still loyal to the Leviathans, has deliberately led Paul into a trap, or if he is sincere when he says he wants to help him and is just bungling as he usually does.
They might have, that is, had the show not gone out of its way to ensure it would not create any such suspense. Yesterday’s opening voiceover told us in so many words that the Leviathans were extorting Barnabas’ participation in their plot and that he was “desperate to find a way of stopping the menace.” Today, it tells us that Barnabas “has been forced to do things against his own will” but is trying “to secretly fight back.” As if that weren’t enough, today’s episode also interrupts a conversation between Barnabas and his sometime best friend, mad scientist Julia Hoffman, to give us an interior monologue in which Barnabas tells us exactly what’s on his mind.
Not only do they tell us too much today, they show us too much. Yesterday ended with Paul going into the room where the mysterious force is kept; we closed with a shot zooming in on the terrified expression on his face as he saw this force. We open with a reprise of that scene, which is harmless enough. But after the opening title, we return to the room and see Paul still standing around, still looking terrified. Eventually, Megan, her husband Philip, and Barnabas all come into the room as well and try to figure out how to get Paul out. The four-scene drags on and on, turning a quick moment of horror into a protracted scene of low comedy.
We also see too much of the antique shop itself. Yesterday Philip mentioned to Megan that he was going to add “a bolt” to the door of the room to keep the mysterious force from escaping. That left us free to picture a metal insert as massive as we please. But today we get a clear look at Philip’s handiwork, and it’s one of those little things that you accidentally tear out of the wall if you open the door when you forget it is latched. The mysterious force can’t be all that much of a threat if that bolt is enough to keep it in.
When Barnabas and the Todds finally extract Paul from the room, they take him to the prison cell in the basement of the antique shop. It has been well established by now that all houses in and around the village of Collinsport have prison cells in their basements, and since the Todds live above the shop they wouldn’t be up to code if they didn’t have one. The basement prison cells we’ve seen previously have been sparsely decorated, but this one features a stuffed deer’s head, a kerosene lamp, and several other objects. In that way it fits with the rule for disused spaces on Dark Shadows, which is to cram them with peculiar-looking junk. But since the only way into the cell is through a solid metal door, it would be easy for a prisoner to find a blunt instrument to bean any jailer who might come calling.
Again, this is a matter of showing too much. A person in a cell is already an intriguing visual- we are inclined to examine every detail of their expression, appearance, and attire to see how they got there, how they feel about it, what might happen to them while they are confined, and whether they might get out any time soon. You can add to that interest by juxtaposing them with other people or showing them looking at objects they can’t reach, but heaping up miscellaneous props is at best a distraction.
For the first 55 weeks of Dark Shadows, matriarch Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was under the impression that she had killed her husband Paul and that Paul’s associate Jason McGuire had buried his corpse in the basement of the great house on the estate of Collinwood. She spent nineteen years at home, terrified that if she left the estate someone might find Paul’s grave and hold her to account for his killing. Finally it turned out that she had only stunned Paul. He and Jason had faked his death to trick Liz into giving them a lot of money. Soon, Liz was no longer a recluse and that whole story was forgotten.
Now, Paul has returned. He denies knowing anything about his fake death, claiming that Jason acted alone. Longtime viewers will be skeptical of this claim, and Liz certainly is. But she doesn’t care about it as much as you might expect. She is now part of a secret cult that serves mysterious supernatural forces known as the Leviathan People, who plan to take over the earth, supplanting the human race. Paul has learned that he inadvertently sold Carolyn Collins Stoddard, his daughter with Liz, to the Leviathans, and he has been trying to sound the alarm about them. As a serenely happy devotee of the Leviathan cult, Liz has agreed to keep Paul at Collinwood where she can drug him into immobility.
The power of the Leviathans has taken bodily form in a succession of children who live in an antique shop in the village of Collinsport. The shop’s owners, Megan and Philip Todd, were the first people inducted into the cult by Liz’ distant cousin, old world gentleman Barnabas Collins. The latest manifestation of this being, an apparently thirteen year old boy known as Michael, had been attracting attention that threatened to blow the cult’s cover, so Philip and Megan faked his death. They held a funeral this morning.
Michael is supposed to retire into his room above the antique shop and stay there until he has graduated to his next form. He comes out and tells Megan and Philip that he has decided not to go through with this plan. Philip picks him up and carries him there, putting a new lock on the outside of the door to keep him in until he has gone through another transformation.
Carolyn calls the Todds and extends her mother’s invitation to an evening at Collinwood. They accept.
Unknown to Liz or the Todds, Barnabas has become disaffected from the cult. He visits Paul in his room. He gives Paul clothes and a lot of money and urges him to go far away. Paul doesn’t trust Barnabas, and holds him at gunpoint throughout their entire conversation.
When the Leviathan cult first emerged, its members were siloed off from each other. Barnabas gave Philip and Megan their instructions in dream visitations. When they were awake, they would not recognize him as their leader. They and Liz were not aware of each other’s connection to the cult, though Liz did know that Barnabas was her leader and her nephew David Collins was a fellow cultist. It reminded us of secret operations in the real world, where only people who work with each other directly are allowed to know of their shared allegiance.
Now, all that security is out the window. Liz and the Todds stand around the drawing room at Collinwood having drinks and talking about what Barnabas has and has not told them about the Leviathans and their goals. They do still keep some secrets, however. Liz says that she can’t help but wonder what Carolyn’s role will be in the time to come. Barnabas and the Todds know that she is fated to be the bride of the force currently incarnated as Michael, but they are not allowed to tell Liz this. They look at each other with alarm, and Barnabas gives her some vague and hasty assurances.
There is an unintentionally hilarious moment during the cocktail party scene. Megan is seized by enthusiasm for the Leviathan project, and starts babbling all sorts of portentous phrases about the new world that is taking shape through their efforts. Marie Wallace was one of the most committed exponents of the Dark Shadows house style of acting, which consists largely of delivering your lines so vehemently that you are in constant danger of spraining your back. For her part, while Joan Bennett sometimes played to the balcony as Liz and her other characters, she never really let go of the urbane and relatively understated approach that made her one of the biggest movie stars of the late 1930s. When Liz responds to Megan with the amiable smile and subtly musical voice of a sophisticated society hostess, it all of a sudden strikes regular viewers who have got used to the show’s peculiarities just how incredibly bombastic Miss Wallace was.
Meanwhile, Paul goes through a lot of business with Barnabas and Carolyn in which he is told to wait an hour, no half an hour, no ten minutes, before leaving the house. He steals the keys from Megan’s purse and sneaks off to the antique shop. He has decided he must figure out what exactly is going on there. He lets himself into the room where the Leviathan force is kept when it is not embodied as a child. He hears a heavy breathing. The camera zooms in on his shocked face. With that, the episode closes. Paul’s future would appear to be extremely brief. On the day of Michael’s phony funeral, he seems likely to bring the show’s first fake death firmly into the realm of the actual.
Today marks Michael Maitland’s last appearance as Michael. He did a lot of acting as a child, including major roles on Broadway both before and after his run on Dark Shadows. Playing Michael didn’t give him much chance to show what he could do. His resume suggests that is a shame- he must have had a lot to offer to get all those big parts. And by all accounts, he was a very nice guy.
Michael Maitland died of cancer in 2014, at the age of 57. That means that three of the five child actors who appeared on Dark Shadows during the Leviathan segment have died. Denise Nickerson, who played Amy Jennings, was 62 when she died in 2019; Alyssa Mary Ross Eppich, who under the name Lisa Ross played the Leviathan child in the guise of an eight year old version of Carolyn in #909, was 60 when she died in 2020. David Henesy, who played David Collins, and David Jay, who played the Leviathan child as an eight year boy called Alexander, are still going strong. So too is Sharon Smyth Lentz, who played the ghost of nine year old Sarah Collins in 31 episodes in 1967 and the living Sarah in six episodes in 1967 and early 1968.
Permanent houseguest Julia Hoffman, MD, is in the drawing room of the great house of Collinwood when a secret panel opens and a boy known as Michael comes strolling out. She asks him how he knew about the panel and the passages behind it; he says that thirteen year old David Collins told him. Julia asks if Michael knows what has become of David’s governess, the missing Maggie Evans. Michael tries to dodge her questions. When Maggie comes running into the room, screaming that she has been living a nightmare, Michael takes the opportunity to flee.
Michael emerges from the secret passage.
Returning viewers know that Michael is not really human, but is the latest in a series of manifestations of a monstrous force that has enlisted the support of several characters for its plan to supplant the human race. We also know that Michael trapped Maggie in the long-disused west wing of the house and tormented her there. She had been sure that Michael was her tormentor, but when Michael’s foster father, antique dealer Philip Todd, came to her rescue, Maggie beaned him with a small candlestick and jumped to the conclusion that he was to blame. She tells Julia that Michael is innocent and Philip is dead.
Maggie’s captivity is a remake of a story that ran from #84 to #87. In those days, the show’s liveliest villains were David and his father, high-born ne’er-do-well Roger. David locked Maggie’s predecessor Victoria Winters up in a room in the west wing, where he hoped she would die. Eventually Roger used the secret panel from which Michael emerges today to go to the west wing and investigate. He went straight to the room where Vicki was trapped. Roger shared David’s ill-will towards Vicki, and had in #68 encouraged him to harm her. In the corridor outside her prison, he took advantage of the situation to terrorize her further, disguising his voice and pretending to be a ghost taunting her with her doom. When he finally opened the door, she flung herself into his arms and declared that he was right and David really was a monster.
That story dragged out for so long that we couldn’t help noticing several steps Vicki might have taken to get herself free. Her failure to try any of them was a major step towards the creation of the “Dumb Vicki” image that would in time destroy the character completely. Maggie doesn’t outdo Vicki in engineering ability, but at least part of her helplessness can be explained by a taunting voice that she hears, on and off, from the beginning of her captivity. This one really is supernatural in its origin, projected by Michael. Her misunderstanding of Philip’s motives and condition is as total as was Vicki’s of Roger’s, but she corrects it by the end of the episode, when she realizes that Philip was coming to rescue her from Michael, and that he is fine now. She goes to his shop to apologize for accusing him.
The contrast between the two stories sheds light on the strengths and weaknesses of the show in the days when they were made. In the first months, individual episodes might have so little action that there was nowhere to hide a logical problem like Vicki’s immediate resignation when she realized that the window in the room was slightly out of her reach, even though the room was full of materials she could stack up and stand on. Still, Vicki’s reaction when Roger enters was electrifying, one of the best moments of acting in the entire series, and the change in her relationship with David in the weeks after her release is pivotal to everything that happens from that point on.
The relative busyness of the stories now allow us to overlook Maggie’s absurd helplessness while she is in the room, and her quick reconciliation with Philip papers over her inexplicable failure to remember that she heard Michael’s voice taunting her. But as Philip points out, Maggie doesn’t really know him. Nor will her experience shape her future attitude to Michael in any interesting way- as a creature who rapidly changes his form, he comes with a built-in expiration date. The whole story vanishes without a trace once Maggie leaves the antique shop. The individual episodes may not seem as slow now as they did at first, but when we find ourselves weeks or months into a storyline and find that very little has happened that we have any need to remember, we are left with a sense of motionlessness.
Roger’s use of the secret panel in #87 was the first time we learned it existed, and we didn’t see or hear of it again for two years, when both David and the ghost of Quentin Collins used it during the “Haunting of Collinwood” segment. David ushered visiting psychic Madame Janet Findley through the panel, directly to her death; Quentin came out of it and killed elderly silversmith Ezra Braithwaite. So to longtime viewers, the panel represents both murderous intentions and an intimate knowledge of the layout of the house. When Michael comes sashaying out of it today, we are meant to be a deeply unsettled.
Philip is disaffected from the project Michael represents; his wife Megan is still all in, and she combines her fanaticism with a desperate love for Michael. She talks with Michael privately, and tells him that he has been making himself so conspicuous that he has raised suspicions in the minds of many people. They will have to take steps to quell these suspicions, steps which neither she nor Michael will like at all.
Michael becomes very ill, and Megan calls Julia to come to the shop to treat him. She finds that his heartbeat is irregular and his vital signs are fading. She is calling the hospital when he goes into some kind of crisis; she leaves the telephone and injects him with a stimulant to jolt him back into stability.
Recently, we have heard several references to “Dr Reeves,” a character who was on the show a couple of times in 1966. Dr Reeves did not appear on screen, much to the relief of longtime viewers who remember how annoying he was, but the sheer fact that his name came up sufficed to assure us that Julia is not the only doctor in Collinsport. Since the group around Michael has been unable to absorb Julia and sees her as a potential enemy, Megan must have chosen her for some reason to do with the plan she was telling Michael about.
The current A-story is about the coming of the Leviathans, mysterious beings who act through a cult that has absorbed several people in the village of Collinsport and on the estate of Collinwood. Antique shop owners Megan and Philip Todd have been entrusted with the care of a creature that has assumed the forms of several human children in succession. This creature, currently presenting itself as a thirteen year old boy named Michael, is extremely obnoxious to everyone for no apparent reason, prompting them all to reconsider their commitment to the program. Philip is ready to turn against the Leviathans; Megan from time to time admits that he is onto something, but by the end of yesterday’s episode was back under Michael’s control. She had said Philip needed to be got out of the way and picked up a gun.
Old world gentleman Barnabas Collins goes to the Todds’ shop in the village. He finds Megan pointing her gun at Philip and orders her to cut it out. Barnabas had been the leader who initiated the Todds into the cult and as we hear his thoughts in internal monologues today we hear that he still has some loyalty to it, but Michael has been too much for him. When he tells Megan to listen to him instead of Michael, she is shocked at his sacrilegious words. He hastily claims that he was only testing her.
For his part, Michael is at the great house of Collinwood. Last night he was there as the guest of strange and troubled boy David Collins, who has shared supervision of the Todds with his distant cousin Barnabas. David’s governess, Maggie Evans, is not a member of the cult, and she had done something that bothered Michael. So he trapped her in the house’s long-disused west wing. She is still trapped there, and he has returned to use his powers to torment her further. David is anguished about this, but does not feel he can oppose Michael.
Maggie’s captivity prompts us to ask just why it is so frustrating that this episode is essentially a duplicate of Friday’s. In May and June of 1967, Barnabas was a vampire, he was holding Maggie prisoner in his basement, and there were a number of duplicated episodes. It was during that period that the show first became a hit, and it is that story that every revival of the show, from the 1970 film House of Dark Shadows on, goes out of its way to incorporate.
I think what kept people coming back to watch Barnabas’ imprisonment of Maggie was not so much what he was doing to her, but his relationship with his blood thrall Willie. In the course of Barnabas’ abuse of Maggie, Willie went through all of the psychological phases that Megan, Philip, David, and Barnabas exhibit today. I think the actors playing all four of those characters live up to John Karlen’s performance as Willie; even those who disagree with me on that will have to concede that some of them do good work. So the problem is not with the performances.
Rather, these episodes fall short because the character of Michael does not have the depth Barnabas had in the spring and summer of 1967. We kept wondering what Barnabas was thinking, and the more we learned about him the more puzzled we became, since all his ideas were so crazy. In his role as Barnabas’ external conscience, Willie gave us grounds to hope that we would eventually reach a layer of his mind where the nonsense would give way to something intelligible. But we don’t wonder what Michael is thinking, because there’s no evidence Michael is thinking at all. He demands submission from all and sundry and flies into a rage the instant he encounters resistance. He is just a spoiled brat.
Moreover, as a vampire Barnabas needed people to protect him during the day and to surrender their blood to him at night. When David is slow to submit today, Michael tells him he doesn’t need him or anyone else. This seems to be all too true- nothing is at stake for Michael in any interaction. No matter what Michael Maitland brings to the part, no matter how well his four Willies play their roles, the character is a dead end.
One viewer who seems to have been carried away with his frustration with this one is Danny Horn, author of the great blog Dark Shadows Every Day. His post about it includes some rather obtuse remarks about the performances, some of which fit with his usual shortcomings (e.g., his habitual underestimate of David Henesy’s acting.) But in other comments he loses track of his own analysis. For example, time and again throughout the blog he stressed that the show was made for an audience that saw each episode only once, and that their memories of the images that had appeared on their television screens would drift over time. When a particular moment makes a big enough impact that it is frequently referred to in later episodes and is a topic of discussion among fans, the images of that moment that appeared on screen during the original broadcast are at most a starting point, something that the viewers build on in their imaginations, so that the pictures that memory supplies soon enough have little or nothing in common with what was actually produced.
Danny makes all of these points over and over. Yet his post on #926 ends with this objection to the invisible form Michael and the other Leviathan boys assume when they are supposed to be mighty:
Dark Shadows actually has a great track record at creating scary things out of not that much money. The legendary hand of Count Petofi was incredibly cool and memorable — a Halloween decoration that they invested with real power. The scariest thing about the legendary hand was that it wasn’t under anybody’s control, even Petofi’s; it would fly around on its own, doing unexpected things. Not an expensive or difficult effect, just good writing, using what they have to tell an interesting story.
Television is a visual medium; we need to see the thing that the story is about. “It’s better in your imagination” is just a way to weasel out of coming up with a compelling visual. If you can’t actually show us the monster, then maybe you should consider a non-visual medium like print, or radio. Or not doing it at all.
I reached that point in Danny’s blog more than four years after the post went up, but even so I felt compelled to join those who piled on him for those two paragraphs. Here’s what I wrote:
I don’t think there would be a point in showing the monster. If the monster had done anything really scary, our imaginations would be working overtime to frighten us. Any image they put on screen would let the steam out of our anxieties. And since it hasn’t done anything scary, we won’t be worked up when we see it. Looking at it calmly, we’ll just be examining a costume or a prop or a visual effect or whatever.
Now, you can show the audience a thing or a person that looks harmless, and then build up fear around it. That’s what they did with The Hand of Count Petofi, which Barnabas observes with utter contempt when Magda first shows it to him, but which then wreaks havoc. Or you can build up a fear, introduce a person, and suddenly connect the person with the fear in an unexpected way. That’s how they gave us Barnabas- Willie opens the box, there are vampire attacks, a pleasant man shows up wearing a hat and speaking with a mid-Atlantic accent, and then we see that man without his hat, waiting for Maggie in the cemetery. There are lots of ways to scare an audience, but showing a picture of something that’s supposed to be scary isn’t one of them.
I still agree with that, more or less, though I suppose it makes the creative process sound a lot tidier than it ever is. I do wish I’d thought of the comparison I make above between the four disaffected cultists and Willie. Danny’s blog was still drawing comments in those days, and I think that would have attracted some responses.
In #891, old world gentleman Barnabas Collins gave a present to antique shop owners Megan and Philip Todd. It was a wooden box. When the Todds opened the box, it made a whistling sound. By #893, the whistling sound had taken the form of a newborn baby whom Megan introduced to heiress Carolyn Collins Stoddard under the name “Joseph.” In #905, Joseph had taken the shape of an eight year old boy, and was going by “Alexander.” In #909, Alexander briefly shape-shifted. He kept his apparent age and mass, but his body became that of a girl. In particular, s/he was for an hour or two a perfect double of Carolyn as she was at eight. In that shape, s/he tormented Carolyn’s father Paul, who had been absent throughout Carolyn’s childhood. In #913/914, Alexander gave way to a thirteen year old who insisted on being called “Michael.”
Clearly, none of these children is really human. They are manifestations of a supernatural force known as “the Leviathans.” The Leviathans operate through a secret cult that is gradually taking over people in and around the estate of Collinwood and the nearby village of Collinsport. Barnabas, the Todds, Carolyn’s mother Liz, and her cousin, strange and troubled boy David Collins, are among the members of the cult. Paul is one of its enemies, and others are coming into their sights.
As he was when he was Alexander, Michael is a bully, monotonous in his hostility and demands for obedience. Philip has had about enough of this. He spanks Michael today, and tells Megan that it is time they think about quitting the Leviathan cult. Megan is appalled by Philip’s apostasy. She and Michael talk alone. He caresses her face, exciting a physical response from her. She then agrees that Philip should be got rid of, and picks up a gun.
We have seen Barnabas caress the faces of people whom he wanted to bring under the control of the Leviathans, so the makers of the show could tell the ABC network’s Standards and Practices Office that Michael was doing a magic trick when he did that to Megan. But in a period when Sigmund Freud was the among most cited nonfiction authors in the English-speaking world, few adults in the audience could have failed to notice the erotic charge in the contact between Michael and his (foster) mother as they plot the murder of his (foster) father.
Freud has turned up on the show before. In September 1968, Carolyn hid Frankenstein’s monster Adam in a room in the dusty and long-disused west wing of the great house of Collinwood. Adam spent most of his time alone, with little to do but read. When Carolyn brought him a meal there in #577, Adam was disappointed she was not prepared to discuss Freud’s works with him. She mentioned that she was dealing with some family troubles, at which Adam invited her to sit down and to “Tell me about your mother.”
Adam is long gone, but we see today that the west wing is still dusty. Maggie, David’s governess, fell afoul of Michael yesterday and is wandering around there, hopelessly lost. For some time, Adam held Maggie’s predecessor Vicki prisoner in his room; evidently writers Sam Hall and Gordon Russell see some kind of connection between Freudian psychoanalysis and governesses stuck in the west wing.
Like Adam, Michael came into being otherwise than by sexual reproduction, and the arrangement of his anatomy is the result of a series of conscious acts of will. Also like Adam, he has an intense crush on Carolyn, one which does not exclude violence. In #549, Adam attempted to rape Carolyn. In #919/920/921, Michael introduced himself to Carolyn by creeping up behind her and putting his hands over her eyes; moments later, he was yelling at her and demanding “How dare you” when she would not go along with an idea of his. Since Carolyn is virtually the same height as Michael, his disregard of her personal space and his unrestrained bullying come off not only as bratty, but as rape-adjacent.
Furthermore, Marie Wallace, who plays Megan, first joined the show as patchwork woman Eve, Adam’s intended spouse. Megan’s desperate indulgence towards Michael puts her at the opposite extreme from Eve’s total rejection of Adam, but it is equally inflexible, and when she takes up her gun today it seems likely to lead to an equally disastrous ending. Whatever point Hall and Russell were making by associating Adam with Freud is apparently in their minds again when Michael and Megan play out their little Oedipal dance.
Closing Miscellany
When Maggie is first trapped in the west wing, she reaches up to bang on the closed panel. When her shoulders rise, the high hem of the outfit Junior Sophisticates provided Kathryn Leigh Scott exposes parts of her that performers on daytime television in the USA in 1970 did not customarily display.
Yesterday and today, David and Michael play a game they call “Wall Street.” They use Monopoly money and a playing surface which, when Michael overturns it today, proves to be a checkerboard with a backgammon board on the reverse. A board game called The World of Wall Street really was around in those days; it was produced in 1969 by Hasbro and NBC. The dialogue David and Michael exchange during the game sounds like things you might say while playing it. Perhaps the script called for the boys to play that game, but ABC vetoed it since the rival NBC network’s logo appeared prominently on the box.
Mad scientist Julia Hoffman finds that wicked witch Angelique has married a businessman who has a house on an island off the coast of central Maine. Angelique tells Julia that her husband’s love has freed her to live as a human being, and that for the sake of that love she has renounced her powers. In #882, set in the year 1897, Angelique said that she would soon have to return to the underworld unless she could find a man who would love her. The show has since returned to a contemporary setting, and she met her husband less than a year before, sometime in 1969. Evidently her time wasn’t running as short as she led us to believe it was.
In the 1897 segment, the show was quite clear that Angelique was aligned with Satan and that the underworld she was talking about was a Hell that Dante or Milton or other Christians would have recognized. The deal she described with her master therefore made little sense then. But Dark Shadows has drawn freely on the mythologies of many cultures and has made up stories about supernatural worlds of its own. The borrowings from the Christian tradition are a relatively minor part of the universe they have been patching together, and they have recently given us reason to suspect it is something they are backing away from. So I don’t think we are under any obligation to reconcile Angelique’s account of the lord of the damned with the teachings of any church.
Angelique is afraid that Julia has come to reenlist her in the cosmic battles surrounding the estate of Collinwood. In fact, Julia had no idea she would find Angelique. She went to the island because she had figured out that a painting she was looking for was there. It is a magical portrait of rakish Quentin Collins, obscured by a landscape painted over it. Quentin has amnesia, and Julia apparently thinks that if she shows him the portrait she will be able to jar some memories loose.
Angelique agrees to let Julia take the painting and expose Quentin’s portrait, on condition that the overpainting be exactly reproduced on another canvas and brought back to the house on the island before her husband knows it was gone. Julia suggests they tell him a lie that will give them more flexibility, but Angelique says he is “a very thorough man” and would ask too many follow-up questions if they gave him any information at all.
Before and after her scene with Julia, we see Angelique with her husband. The first scene begins with some very awkward kissing. The awkwardness is partly due to Geoffrey Scott’s total incompetence as an actor; he stands stiffly while Lara Parker simultaneously kisses him and nudges him to his mark, making it look like she is moving a couch. But part of the blame must rest with director Lela Swift, who set up the shot from an angle that puts the emphasis on the straining muscles in Parker’s neck and back. Perhaps Swift overestimated Scott’s abilities.
“Move three inches back and to the right, dummy, you’re supposed to be in the center of the frame!”
This scene is accompanied by some music for a small string ensemble; I don’t believe we have heard the track since the very early days of the show. It feels jarringly old-fashioned. All of Dark Shadows’ orchestral score strikes 21st century viewers as a relic of an earlier era, but it set it apart from other daytime soaps of the 1960s and early 70s, most of which had an organ playing on the soundtrack. Compared to the organ accompaniment, which today’s audiences would find simply intolerable, I suppose even these creaky old violins are relatively modern.
The second scene ends with a more successful kiss. It is accompanied by a woodwind piece that used to be associated strongly with well-meaning governess Vicki and her doomed love for dashing action hero Burke Devlin. Burke was written out of the show in 1967, Vicki in 1968, and this music cropped up occasionally in 1969 during sentimental moments. It is still noticeably more old-fashioned than the rest of the score, albeit more dynamic than the string serenade that went along with the first kiss.
Meanwhile, in the great house at Collinwood, strange and troubled boy David Collins is coming down with a cold. David’s governess, Vicki’s successor Maggie Evans, is trying to get him to take his schoolwork seriously. A boy known as Michael appears in the house and announces that he and David will be playing now. Maggie explains that it is not a good time, and Michael bullies both her and David into giving him his way.
Michael is not really human, but is a manifestation of a supernatural force that has subjugated David and many other people. Seeing Michael push Maggie around, we might remember May and June of 1967, when Maggie was the prisoner of vampire Barnabas Collins. Those episodes were bleak and at moments painful to watch, but they also drew a new audience and made Dark Shadows, for the first time, a hit.
Barnabas attracted a crowd, not simply because he was cruel to Maggie, but because we wondered how others would react to his evil deeds, because his motives were unbelievably zany, and because actor Jonathan Frid took a visible joy in playing him. He became a breakout star, familiar to millions who never saw a single episode of Dark Shadows or knew anything else about it, because he generated stories that allowed the whole cast to shine, followed his crazy ideas to the point where many of them became the realities of the show’s narrative universe, and had quirks that dovetailed perfectly with Frid’s strengths.
Michael has none of these things going for him. When he is nasty to Maggie, he does not produce any suspense as to what others will do. Not only do most characters assume that as a teacher she will be able to handle an obstreperous child by herself, but most of the people to whom she would likely turn for support are among Michael’s subordinates. There are no crazy ideas bursting out of him- he is just a little tyrant, who at no point seems to have any hidden motives or nuances of feeling. And Michael Maitland seems depressed the whole time he is on screen. As a result, Michael is as straightforward and tedious as Barnabas was luridly intriguing.
When Barnabas was holding Maggie prisoner, his blood-thrall Willie felt sorry for her. He occasionally made efforts to help her, none of which did anything but make her situation even worse. John Karlen’s portrayal of the feckless Willie brought him almost as much fan mail as Jonathan Frid received during that period. Today it is David’s turn to play Willie to Michael’s Barnabas, and he does not disappoint. Thirteen year old David Henesy plays David Collins’ conflicted feelings more subtly than Karlen had played Willie’s, and as a result we watch him very closely. Disappointed as we may be in Michael, Mr Henesy’s triumph in these scenes brings the episode to a strong close.
Centenarian Charles Delaware Tate, once a famous painter, is trapped in his parlor with a man who is threatening to kill him. The man is Chris Jennings. Chris tells Tate that there will be a full moon tonight, and he identifies himself as a werewolf. In 1897, Tate painted a portrait of Chris’ great-grandfather, Quentin Collins. That portrait had magical powers that immunized Quentin against both lycanthropy and aging, and Chris is demanding Tate do the same for him. Tate keeps telling Chris that he no longer has the ability to create such things, but Chris won’t listen. Tate does a sketch. He says that his work is finished and tells Chris to take it and leave. Before Chris can comply, he turns into the wolf and attacks Tate.
Chris had been in a secure room at a mental hospital controlled by his friend, mad scientist Julia Hoffman. He deliberately checked himself out and forced his way into Tate’s house because he wanted to use his condition as a weapon to coerce Tate. Julia is the audience’s chief point of view character these days, and she feels sorry for Chris. We also like two characters who care about Chris and don’t know that he is a werewolf. Heiress Carolyn Collins Stoddard is attracted to Chris and seems to have some lingering hopes that a romance might blossom between them, and Chris’ little sister Amy loves him and believes in him. Even one of Chris’ surviving victims, prematurely gray Sabrina Stuart, told Carolyn in #889 that while Chris is dangerous, “he is good.”
Despite everything these ladies are doing to help us like Chris, there can be no doubt that his attack on Tate is murder with premeditation and extraordinary cruelty. Roger Davis can usually be counted on to make us sympathize with anyone who is murdering one of his characters, but he plays Tate today with sensitivity and pathos, leaving us no way to avoid seeing a helpless old man locked up with a vicious killer. Chris’ future on Dark Shadows is limited for a number of reasons, chiefly his passivity in the face of his curse and his dependence on Julia and others to initiate action on his behalf. His abuse of Tate suggests that for whatever time he may have left on the show, Chris will be an unsympathetic villain.
Meanwhile, Carolyn is spending the day working as an assistant in an antique shop owned by her friends Megan and Philip Todd. Our first view of the shop today features Carolyn reflected in a mirror, but the main part of it is the taxidermied head of a baying wolf, emphasizing the danger Chris poses to everyone in and around the village of Collinsport.
A pair of hands cover Carolyn’s eyes. When they are pulled away, she expects to find that they belong to Philip’s eight year old nephew Alexander, but instead discovers that a thirteen year old boy she has never before seen has introduced himself to her by creeping up behind her and grabbing her face. The boy tells her that his name is Michael, that he is another of Megan and Philip’s relatives, and that Alexander has gone away. He tries to give Carolyn a pendant, but she recognizes it as one Megan wears and says that Michael can’t very well make a gift of something that doesn’t belong to him. He becomes very stiff and screams “How dare you not believe me!?” He doesn’t get any more pleasant as the scene goes on.
Philip comes in and tries to establish some kind of control; Carolyn takes the opportunity to excuse herself. As Michael and Philip talk, it becomes clear that they are part of a secret group with sinister plans. Returning viewers know that Michael and Alexander are not really human children, but are two manifestations of the same supernatural force. As Alexander, this force was a joyless, hateful little tyrant; Michael is no more appealing.
Dark Shadows originally ran on the ABC television network five days a week, from Monday through Friday. The episodes were numbered in a sequence reflecting the order of their original broadcast. When for whatever reason the show did not air on a given day, they would skip a number to keep the episodes airing on Fridays associated with production numbers divisible by 5. That made it easy to figure out how many weeks the show had been on, which in turn made it easy to keep track of where the show was in the thirteen week cycle that governed its long-term planning and the network’s decision to renew it.
In the last months of 1969, the show was being taped several weeks in advance of airdates, in a couple of instances more than five weeks ahead of time. This was atypical, and it led to a problem with the numbering. They knew that no episodes would air on Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Day, or New Year’s Day, but did not foresee that the network would preempt #891 for live news coverage of the return of the Apollo 12 astronauts to Earth on 24 November 1969. Since they had already shot that episode and many following it with the original production numbers on the opening slate, it wasn’t until this one that they had the chance to get the numbers back in synch. That is why it is listed with the three numbers 919, 920, and 921. The only other time they had to skip two numbers was in November 1966, when coverage of football games on and after Thanksgiving Day blotted out #109 and #110. Since that disruption to the schedule was planned, the slate for the next episode was just marked #111. This is therefore the only episode regularly referred to with a triple number.
In #701, old world gentleman Barnabas Collins traveled in time from 1969 to 1897. For the next eight months, ending in #884, Dark Shadows was a costume drama set in that year. On his way back to a contemporary setting, Barnabas took a detour to the 1790s, when he was a vampire. Before he left the 1790s, he was abducted by and absorbed into a cult that serves supernatural beings known as the Leviathans. At their behest, he took a small wooden box with him to November, 1969, and functioned as one of the leaders of the Leviathan cult in that period.
The first six weeks of the Leviathan story has had its strengths. Ever since Barnabas was first cured of vampirism in March 1969, he has been under the impression that he was a good guy and has been doing battle with various supernatural menaces. He was hopelessly inept at this, and created as much work for the other characters by his attempts at virtue as he formerly did in his unyielding evil. That has made him a tremendously productive member of the cast, but it does leave him with a tendency to seem harmless, even when he is trying to murder his way out of a problem. But Barnabas the Leviathan chief has been ice-cold and formidably efficient. Even though not much has yet been done to hurt anyone, seeing him in this mode adds a note of terror to the proceedings.
Moreover, the Leviathans have voided Barnabas’ friendship with mad scientist Julia Hoffman. Since the relationship between the two of them has been the heart of the show for over two years now, from the hostility of their early days to the close bond they formed in the summer of 1968, this reinvigorates the action. It is as interesting to see them fight with each other as it is to see them collaborate against a common foe, and their hate scenes gain an extra depth because we keep wondering about their eventual reconciliation. If they play their cards right, they should be able to keep this up for months.
Today, it all falls apart. Barnabas has drawn a huge following of very young fans who run home from elementary school to watch the show. The 1897 segment was a triumph in large part because it had a core of stories that could hold the attention of adults while also appealing to the preteen demographic. But the Leviathan arc has so far had little to offer anyone but grownups. Apparently the kids were writing angry letters, because this episode, rushed into production at the last minute and bearing signs of haste in every shot, turns Barnabas back into the would-be hero who was such a klutz that he couldn’t even stay in the right century.
The creature who emerged from the box Barnabas brought from the past now appears to be a 13 year old boy and answers to the name Michael. In the opening scene, Michael orders Barnabas to kill Julia. Barnabas declares that he will not, and goes home. There, he tells his troubles to the box, then falls asleep in his chair.
A hooded figure appears to him. This hooded figure says that he is a Leviathan, and tells Barnabas he must comply with Michael’s commands. The Leviathan is not named in the dialogue and there are no actors’ credits at the end, but reference works based on the original paperwork call him Adlar.
Adlar sets out to explain Barnabas’ position, much as Marley’s ghost did to Scrooge in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. The shortened production schedule shows in inconsistencies that litter Adlar’s speeches. At one point he says that the Leviathans needed Barnabas to transport the box from the eighteenth century to the twentieth; at another, he claims that they are holding his lost love Josette prisoner in the eighteenth century and will inflict a new, far more horrible death on her than the one she died the last time Barnabas was in the 1790s, a threat they will be able to carry out only if they have their own means of traveling back and forth through the years. Barnabas doesn’t pick up on this or any of Adlar’s other inconsistencies; perhaps he is too distracted by the many jump cuts that make this episode look like the videotape was edited with a rusty butter knife.
Adlar threatens to make Barnabas a vampire again, then disappears. He does not tell him that he will be visited by three spirits, one representing his past, another his present, and the third the future he is risking by his present course of action, but this is in fact what happens. Barnabas goes outside, and sees a bat. It was a bat whom he first saw on this very spot who initially made him a vampire. Barnabas rushes inside, looks in the mirror, and does not see a reflection. He thinks of his mouth, and feels fangs growing there.
Next comes Megan Todd, a Leviathan cultist who with her husband Philip is fostering Michael in their home. Barnabas cannot take his eyes off Megan’s long white neck. Megan keeps telling Barnabas that he is the only one she can confide in about her concerns with the progress of the Leviathan plan; he keeps demanding ever more stridently that she leave at once. His bloodlust may explain why he doesn’t notice the continuity problem in the scene. They’ve made the point time and again that it is only while Barnabas is giving orders to her and Philip that Megan remembers that he is their leader. At other times, she thinks he is an outsider. But Megan is the only one who can tell Barnabas a story of family life in any way paralleling that which the Ghost of Christmas Present brings to Scrooge’s attention at the Cratchit house. Continuity has to go if the episode is going to fit into the form of A Christmas Carol.
Suddenly, Barnabas finds himself in an alley by the waterfront. A sign behind him says that he is next to the Greenfield Inn; we saw this sign in #439, set in the year 1796. Evidently the Greenfield Inn is a long-established, though not very reputable, place of lodging.
A woman approaches him. She is very aggressive about insisting he take her with him wherever he is going. He is reluctant at first, urging her to seek friends at the Blue Whale tavern, but she won’t take no for an answer. All of a sudden, he brightens and looks at her with desire. She says she is afraid of him. He asks if she wants to go, and she screws up her courage to declare that she will stay with him. He bares his fangs and attacks. The rough videotape editing adds to the violence of the scene. There is no sensuous bite, only a flash as he lunges at her and then is standing up again, protesting that he didn’t want to do it. When the camera zooms in on the bleeding marks on her neck, it is surprising to see that he didn’t rip her throat out altogether.
We cut back to Barnabas’ house. He is dozing in his chair, and the woman, displaying vampire fangs of her own, walks in through the front door. She approaches Barnabas. He awakens, and is horrified. Adlar tells Barnabas that “she is not up to your usual standards.” She’s standing right there, that’s pretty tactless. Also, she is future four-time Academy Award nominee Marsha Mason. The only other Oscar nominee Barnabas bit was Grayson Hall as Josette’s aunt, the Countess DuPrés, in #886. Hall was only nominated once, so if anything this woman is a step up for him.
Adlar makes the woman disappear, and shows Barnabas that he is not really a vampire again. With that, we see that she is a shade of a future that may come to be, not one that is already ordained. Adlar also tells Barnabas that it is not now necessary to kill Julia. But he does say that Barnabas will have to do something to ensure Julia’s silence, or else Josette will suffer. Barnabas hangs his head and says to the mirror that he has no choice to obey.
Dark Shadows Commentary 