The day before Halloween 1967, I came home from school, turned on the television, and discovered the supernatural soap opera Dark Shadows. All I saw was the episode’s final minute:
A beautiful blonde descends a staircase and stops in front of a portrait. She loosens her scarf to reveal two puncture wounds on the side of her neck. It seems that the glowering man in the picture is probably the vampire that bit her. Cut to commercials, followed by the closing credits, which are accompanied by the haunting theme, composed by Robert Cobert and performed by him on an eerie-sounding electronic instrument called a theremin.
I was sixteen and, though not a soap opera fan before, drawn to Dark Shadows by its supernatural premise (I loved reading about the paranormal), its angst-ridden vampire (every teen needs a role-model), and the beautiful ingénues (I was a horny teen), who included Nancy Barrett—a Southern belle miscast as a New England debutante, and Alexandra Moltke—a patrician miscast as an orphan from New York.
I had such a crush on Moltke that I was depressed when she suddenly left Dark Shadows. I wrote to the show asking what happened, and all I got was a form letter thanking me for watching. What I know now—that Moltke married, became pregnant, and turned down an offer to return to the show—was none of my business, but I could not appreciate that then. I was a fan, and the fandom for Dark Shadows was nothing if not fanatical. Jonathan Frid, who played the vampire Barnabas Collins, was mobbed everywhere he went. Moltke was attacked by a fan who pulled out some of her long, flowing hair. There were fan magazines and knickknacks, including a Barnabas bobble head and Josette’s music box. Robert Cobert wrote a number of melodies for the show, many of which were just background music, but several, including Josette’s theme, were genuinely popular.
At first, my younger sister, Carol, watched it because I watched it, but then because she liked it, too. My neighbor, Paul, came over when I was watching Dark Shadows, and said, “You’re watching a soap opera?!” But it wasn’t long before he was hooked, too. I was like a drug dealer leading family and friends astray.
Originally broadcast on ABC from 1966 to 1971, Dark Shadows has been through syndication, cable, home video, and, now, streaming video. (It is currently available at Amazon Prime.) Most soap operas of its era routinely recorded over their video tapes, but almost all 1225 episodes of Dark Shadows are intact with a few exceptions: Some color episodes are available only as black-and-white copies, and one episode exists only in audio format.
Producer Dan Curtis created Dark Shadows as homage to gothic novels Jane Eyre and The Turn of the Screw. It began as the story of Victoria Winters (Moltke), the governess of a nine-year-old boy in a mansion on the Maine coast. Collins family matriarch Elizabeth (Joan Bennett) was evasive about why she had entrusted the care of her nephew to a twenty-year-old stranger. Hints that Victoria might be related to the Collins family were never resolved.
In its five years on the air, Dark Shadows reinvented itself frequently, reinvigorating its ratings. When the ratings dipped the first time, Curtis threw Bram Stoker into the mix. Barnabas (Frid) was introduced with an expiration date of thirteen weeks at which time he was to be staked through the heart, but when the ratings skyrocketed, his character was spared, and the narrative shifted from Victoria to him.
Shortly after I began watching, Barnabas and his nemesis, Dr. Julia Hoffman (Grayson Hall), reached a stalemate. Unwilling to kill off either of them, the writers had the Collinses hold a séance (the fourth of the series), as a result of which (do not ask how), Victoria traveled to 1795 to witness Barnabas’s origin story. (Never mind whether the historical details were authentic; at the time, they seemed authentic enough to me.)
The production, writing, directing, and acting were sometimes inspired, just not usually at the same time. The crew “borrowed” equipment for the special effects, and these failed often enough that it seemed miraculous when they occasionally worked. Boom microphones and their shadows appeared so often on screen that the show was nicknamed “Mic Shadows.” When the video tape was edited to eliminate mistakes, it looked so choppy that most mistakes were just broadcast as is. My favorites are 1) two actors caught studying the script between scenes and 2) an actor saying “my incestors” instead of “my ancestors.”
As blogger Danny Horn says, makers of soap opera are like someone “helplessly falling downstairs every weekday, and praying that they find something interesting at the bottom.” Even if I do not get the same frisson from it today that I did as a teen, as I re-watch Dark Shadows, I can understand the paranormal-angst-sex combination that attracted me originally, but also see the show from a different angle. Dark Shadows’s creators never envisioned viewers binge-watching or rewinding the tape. I am now intrigued by the constructed melodrama and mash up of literary references. I have an appreciation for the inspired lunacy of it. As Horn says, “Good soap opera runs almost exclusively on lunatic plot contrivances.”
Those are to be found in all their glory in Dark Shadows.
Share this post with your friends.