“It’s obvious that secrets are now allowed.”
Ben Cross can’t do it, Johnny Depp can’t do it, Alec Newman and Andrew Collins can’t do it. I love ’em all, except for Ben Cross, but nobody, I mean nobody, can be Barnabas Collins except Jonathan Frid.
I will now demonstrate, using a three-round prizefight between Count Dracula and common sense.
Round One: Werewolf vs Space Octopus
The story so far: ancient killer space octopi from before the dawn of time have been locked in battle with werewolves — their only natural enemies — for countless millennia. Seriously, werewolves. No, I don’t know how that happened. All I know is that werewolves have a hard-on for hurting Leviathans, and I for one am not going to stand in their way.
So now tentacled teen emperor Jeb Hawkes is being hunted by local lycanthrope Chris Jennings. It’s possible that the werewolf is reacting instinctively to the sight of its age-old foe, but this is the way werewolves usually act anyway, so it’s hard to tell.
Jeb has taken refuge in the Old House, which isn’t a great move, because the security system at this rickety haunted house is slipshod at best. Jeb needs to spend less time shouting for Barnabas and more time getting that iron door that leads to the basement between him and the snarling assassin on the front porch.
Ker-rashing through the window and exploding into the living room, here’s Jeb’s nightmare in living flesh and claw and fang. Jeb tries to shove the wolf away into a nearby chair, but the animal leaps back up and vaults over a stray end table which was obviously placed there for this specific moment. They’ve taken most of the furniture that they care about out of the room so it won’t get damaged, but there’s still lit candles all over the set because nobody really cared about basic workplace safety in 1970.
As always with these loosely-rehearsed stunt spectaculars, they just turn on the cameras and hope for the best. Yes, Jeb tosses the werewolf into the broken window glass, yes, the carpet in the hallway slides around, and yes, big brass coatrack and more candles. It’s called show business.
The wolf grabs Jeb before he gets to the door, so he dashes up the stairs and tries to kick the monster in the chest. It doesn’t work very well. Jeb goes down, with the creature standing above him, and the werewolf winds up and delivers a powerful backhand SMAKKK across the kisser, and Jeb tags out. Check and mate.
But the werewolf has troubles of his own; earlier in the evening, he was shot in the gut during an unrelated dispute. Once Jeb is laid out pretty on the stairway, the wolf remembers that he’s hurt, and he staggers around the room looking for a clean spot to fall over backwards on and turn back into a guy. End of round one.
Round Two: Vampire vs Explaining Things
Once the sun’s up, Barnabas comes home, and he does a lovely little what in the hell take where he notices the remnants of what used to be part of his house. There is maybe a thirty percent chance of this happening every time he comes back from an evening out; that’s one of the downsides of an active lifestyle.
The first thing he sees is Jeb sprawled out on the staircase, and he quickly checks for vitals which it’s possible that Jeb’s species doesn’t necessarily have. Then he hears Chris moaning on the hearthrug, and finds there’s another unexpected guest to attend to.
What separates Jonathan Frid from anyone else who could play this role is that he instantly snaps into action without a moment’s hesitation or surprise. There’s a blood-spattered beast-man lying in the wreckage of his former decor, and Barnabas wastes exactly 0.0 milliseconds wondering what led up to this particular instance of interior destruction. He just kneels down, and starts shaking Chris’ front paw.
Barnabas: Chris, can you hear me? Open your eyes, and look at me!
Chris: Barnabas? Where am I? Oh my god, what have I done?
Barnabas: Be quiet, and listen to me. Can you get up on your feet?
Chris: Yes.
Barnabas: Let me help you. We’ve got to get you out of here!
And then he just pulls on Chris until he’s vertical, and frog-marches him towards the door.
And I swear, I don’t think that anyone else could do this. Frid has this gorgeous gravitas that somehow makes it all seem like sense. In pensive mood, he can sometimes drift into mopey, but a moment of dramatic urgency like this is exactly what Frid does best. He’s escorting a wolf man out of his house before the slime god in the stairwell comes to, and there is no doubt in his mind about whether this is an appropriate course of action. He has determined his objective, and he is executing on it.
Chris tries to linger by the stairs, asking, “Barnabas, did I kill this guy?”
“He’s alive, he’s all right,” Barnabas says, pulling the guy by the elbow.
“Who is he?”
“Never mind, keep moving!” And then he basically shoves Chris out the door, and closes it behind him.
On the porch, Chris asks, “Did I kill anybody else?”
Barnabas’ reply: “I don’t know, I’ve been looking for you all night. I only found you just now!” He sprints through the “I don’t know if you killed anybody” part of the conversation, because who even cares, we have business to attend to.
Chris asks, “Why do you keep protecting me?” and Barnabas is ready for that one too: “Because you need to be protected, from him!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t explain now. Just go to your house, and get some fresh clothes, and come back here later on. I’ll explain everything to you then. Now, do as I say, Chris!”
And then he pushes Chris off the set, end of round two.
Round Three: Jonathan Frid vs Dialogue
Then Barnabas spins straight back inside and rouses Jeb, who scrambles to his feet and tries to figure out what’s going on.
Barnabas shouts, “It’s all right, the animal is dead now!” and instantly takes control of the entire scene. Jeb is frightened and angry and confused, and Barnabas Collins is a chilled steel mendacity machine.
Jeb says Barnabas should have been here to protect him, and Barnabas fires back, “I think that is a most unfair thing to say, considering that I saved your life!”
He’s not reading off the teleprompter, by the way. Frid’s got a good number of lines to deliver, quickly and forcefully, and there isn’t a hint of Fridspeak in sight.
“I came in the house, and you were lying on the stairs! He was coming at you to kill you, and I drove him off!” Jeb asks how, and Barnabas brandishes his cane. “I had this. The head is made of silver; I beat him with it! If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been dead by now.”
I mean, at that point, yes, he peeks at the teleprompter, and there’s a couple more minor incidents during the rest of the conversation, but the point is, he got this far because he knew this sequence was exciting and important, and he needed to get at least 85 percent of the way through it on his first try.
This storyline is insane, absolute barking madness, with several spring-loaded plot points popping off in all directions. Half the show is engaged in an improvisational deep-cover double-cross against the other half, with no clear exit strategy.
But Jonathan Frid is the calm center of this storm, the only man with the innate bonkers authority to tame this wild beast. He can make this sequence work, and I don’t think anybody else in the cast could. He has the magic power to hold this show together, and if he ever leaves for six weeks to star in a motion picture, then I honestly don’t know what would become of us all.
Tomorrow: War Games.
Dark Shadows bloopers to watch out for:
There’s an edit just as the werewolf falls over backwards, which is a shame because that’s one of my favorite werewolf stunts. We see him start to fall, and then he’s just on the ground for the transformation effect.
When Barnabas kneels down to rouse Chris, there’s a bit of yellow marking tape on the carpet.
After Chris leaves, when Barnabas approaches Jeb on the stairs, the camera swings a little too wide, and you can see the edge of the set.
Jeb wakes up on the stairs, and tries to run — but he trips and falls on his face, and then scrambles back up. He also trips on something at the start of the cemetery scene in act 3.
When Sky says to Angelique that they’re “not really alone,” someone coughs in the studio, proving his point.
When Angelique walks from the hallway into the drawing room, you can see a boom mic at the top of the doorway.
At the top of act 3, Jeb says, “So everything he told me this morning was a lie! And I thought he had saved my life!” Sky responds, “Evidently, everything he told you was a lie.”
Tomorrow: War Games.
— Danny Horn
Dark Shadows Every Day 
Julia might have been able to pull it off, but it would have taken longer, since she would be running at approximately 45 to 50 facial expressions per minute, and would have had to come up with some extra super lies for why when saved Jeb.
Sabrina might have done, but she would have been so shouty and shrill that she would be incomprehensible, and all the microphones on the set would have broken. Besides, she’ s all mushy about Chris, she would have wanted to help get him back home and change his clothes and stuff. (Yeah, okay, I would have had the same reaction, and I wouldn’t be all shrill and shouty about it, either. Just sayin’.)
Carolyn couldn’t, she is too honest and sincere, and besides, she’s getting all mushy about Jeb.
Quentin might have been good, but again, there’s that antagonism between him and Jeb.
Let’s have Liz try, just for grins! All she needs is a clear view of the teleprompter, and a couple glasses of sherry (or brandy, or scotch, or rum, heck, just leave the bottle.)
Nope, Barnabas is the only one in the right point, plot wise, to make it happen. Besides, he (very conveniently) has that dandy silver cane. Just all came together, or would have if it hadn’t been for that meddling Sky Rumson…
I have no doubt Humbert Allen Astredo as Nicholas could have handled the whole sequence with panache, authority and elan.
Three words to sum up Jonathan Frid: Style. Elegance. Class.
In one of his later appearances at the Dark Shadows Fan Conventions, he described the theatrical technique he brought to television to lend his spoken dialogue a more nuanced quality: elocution.
Regarding the notorious Fridspeak, in those first few Barnabas episodes of 1967 Frid delivers his lines with pinpoint precision without so much as a glance at the teleprompter. That was before the role transitioned from an interesting short-term job to an ongoing weekly grind where he was being used “rather indulgently” as he once put it, so that moments like “This night must go… nothing wrong” became a regular occurrence.
Dennis Patrick spoke of the memorization part being very hard work, made all the more trying with the way lines would be cut and whole new lines written in just prior to taping.
I suspected there were lots of last minute script revisions; that makes the line flubs much more forgivable, especially Frid’s, since he probably had the most lines, therefore the most changes. Thank you, Prisoner, for confirming that for me. 🙂
Prisoner, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been memorizing a daily script. I had to memorize lines for a local children’s TV show, but ours was weekly and we could edit. Hats off to the DS actors for taking this on.
The Frid speak just made Jonathan more likable. If he’d been spot on perfect in his line delivery, we would have just taken his performance for granted. The flubs made us appreciate his efforts even more.
Exactly. I wish he could’ve grasped that. An understanding of why people would like something that had mistakes in it seemed to elude him.
Talking of ‘taken for granted’, I want to give some mention to Kathryn Leigh Scott – I’ve been binge watching on Decades this weekend, all through the ‘Maggie Evans Must Die’ plot, and she does some great work through this (and NO, it’s not just because she gets to fondle and kiss on Joe)! And Joel Crothers, who possibly got the most thankless role on DS, The Square-Jawed-White-Bread-Good-Guy (as well as a fun time as everyone’s favorite seaman – Hullo, Sailor!).
Can’t give enough props to Nancy Barrett, giving such wonderful life to so many characters, same for Clarice Blackburn, and Jerry Lacy, Louis Edmonds, John Karlen, David Henesy, Thayer David…please feel free to add to the list!
Ah, if only he could have played in Doctor Who. I’m sure he would have coped equally well with having people floating around in “Spain”!
In the pre-Barnabas episodes, a number of characters get long speeches full of flowery gibberish written by Malcolm Marmorstein. It’s interesting to watch those speeches defeat one actor after another. Shortly after Barnabas was introduced, all of those speeches went to him, and Frid made the sound gorgeous. They still don’t make a damned bit of sense, and that very quality goes a long way towards creating the character. I sometimes wish Marmorstein could have stuck around, just to write the final draft of Barnabas’ dialogue. Barnabas works best when he’s incomprehensible.
If I had to choose a Barnabas to be bitten by, it would be Ben Crosss. He was sexy.
As thrilling as a werewolf jumping through a window is, the part that really got me was when Barnabas quickly managed to put a huge spin on what just happened, and Jeb believed him. It’s the most breath-taking moment they’ve had in a while.
Danny, reading your writing usually has me somewhere between giggles and busting out laughing so hard, I have to get up and walk around while trying to get a grip because I’ve done lost me’senses and I’m still laughing.
I love Andrew Collins as Barnabas! ❤ ❤ ❤ ! ! ! ! !
His voice is beautiful (wee!) and I love his portrayal of the sad vampire.
I’m always hoping Big Finish will do more audio adventures with his Barnabas.
“The Eternal Actress” is also a lot of fun.
Cheers, dear! – Oh and I still love Johnathan Frid.
I remember this episode specifically because Chris says “Did I kill this guy?” Ah, the trouble for folks with supernatural curses, I tell you!
“The Unquiet Grave” is one of my favorite folk songs.
I’m going to start listing in “Innate Bonkers Authority” under Special Skills on my resume.
I like that after Barnabus lays a series of explicit instructions to Chris, he then tells him to come back “later on” and he’ll explain everything.
i’m with Saturnberry. Andrew Collins is splendid.
I’ve found myself wondering in a couple of episodes why this werewolf backhands his victims. Does he know he has wolf claws? Does everyone escape werewolves with zero scratches from claws?
Angelique tells Sky all about the Leviathans. Why? She could have just said that there was an unstable Manson-like cult leader pursuing Carolyn and left it at that. Most men would think she was lying with a crackpot story like the Leviathans. The fact that he accepted it should have been a red flag. Domesticity must have made Angelique stupid.
Exactly. That massive info-dump she delivers to Sky is both awkward and unlikely. Angelique has always been one of the smarter characters and it’s tough to believe a stiff like Sky Rumson could fool her for very long.
Angelique does have unfortunate tunnel vision when it comes to her personal demands–she basically thinks anything/person she wants belongs to her by infernal right, so she never questions that a millionaire who is clearly a robot built by the Leviathans (seriously, that dude moves and speaks like a JC Pennys mannequin come to life) is nothing but super in love/devoted to her. So it never occurs to her that he might have had some other agenda all along.
When Alex Stevens crashes through the window he seems to knock over a bunch of lit candles, which may be why the scene fades to black so quickly. You can bet they didn’t have to worry about that kind of stuff on Love of Life.
One thing I do like about the ridiculous werewolf=threat to Cosmic Octopus plot is that it FIIIIIINALLY gives Jeb a weak spot. He’s been strutting around like the arrogant teen punk who walks like a faux-man for weeks now, and it’s getting real, real old.
Watching Pennock play scared is terrific. Because he makes all the right choices–folds like a cheap suit and instantly becomes a whimpering baby with no idea how to ward off or face a real threat. It’s perfect for Jeb–a bully with absolutely no inner resources, who has during his eleven weeks of human life haughtily delegated every last task, no matter how idiotic or impossible, to his underlings.
Fits right in with his last minute cold feet with Carolyn too, really. Oh, of course they’re trotting out the “but I have real actual feely-feelings and I can’t force her, she must love me spontaneously” crap horse again because that’s a standard Soap Trope (as is Carolyn having terrifying nightmare warnings about this arrogant insane prick who demands she marry him within four sentences of their first conversations but falling in absolutely unjustified fascination with him instead), but it comes across as him basically chickening out, totally and completely, once she’s served up to him on a silver platter.
There she is, all unconscious, with Skye beep-booping about how everything’s all set, Dark Lord and Master, have at her, and now that he’s got what he’s been insisting on, he falls apart, panics and retreats. His excuses about how much she needs to want him ring as hollow as his head. He’s a big ol’ yellowbelly space monster, is what he is.
Agreed, cowardice rules this big deal demon threat. He must have been rejected early in his teen/puberty years.
Why didn’t Liz or Carolyn notice the painting of Angelique in colonial garb ? It’s the same portrait that Vicky bought in Collinsport, and was displayed prominently in the drawing room, prior to the arrival of Cassandra. Shouldn’t that have clued them in that they had crossed paths with Angelique before ?