Sometimes, things just fall into your lap. You don’t even have to be trying and something significant will happen. You find twenty bucks on the sidewalk. Somebody says you have a nice smile. The person who made the off-color comment at the New Year’s party is arrested for public indecency thirty seconds into the decade.
Sometimes, you’re just looking through some drawers to find some dull letter that really means nothing to anybody, and you discover the suppository that proves the kid you’re being paid to take care of is a murderer. Sure, you never made any great effort to make yourself a detective in this mystery, nor did you ever think to find these clues in any capacity, but if life served only the most natural heroes, we’d all be stars of our own stories.
Thankfully, Victoria Winters is just like us: she isn’t the star of anybody’s story, but has to bully on anyway with what she’s given.
Vicky’s monologue today is again about all the tension that’s hanging out in Collinwood, but you’d think there might be a mention or two of that significant clue she found. You know the big cliffhanger that dangled over the whole weekend and that whichever idiots are still watching Vehicular Homicide Half-Hour that this show is so determined to be would have raced home to see?
But no. It’s enough to know that things are supposed to be tense, because Art Wallace understands that a story requires tension in its forward momentum, even if he doesn’t quite understand what tension means.
That’s the mysterious locked wing of the house David is casually getting out of. We were told it’s locked, but apparently our little scamp knows ways around such things. He’s reading Vicky’s stolen letter, though it is by no means irrelevant to ask why he should care, since the letter going missing was just a plot device to get Vicky searching David’s room so she could find the suppository.
Ah. Good.
So, Victoria knows very well what the suppository is. Roger was kind enough to show her the cool concept art Bill Malloy made of it. She has also heard time and again that the suppository was the necessary piece whose removal from the Rogermobile caused it to crash. She also knows that David has repeatedly expressed homicidal thoughts about his father, in subtly worded phrases like “I hate him” and “I wish he was dead”. As well, she knows that David actively sabotaged one of the clues from the scene to obliterate fingerprints.
So it seems she’s finally caught on to what’s up. So what does she say to this nine-year-old attempted murderer?
That…that is his name, yes.
David plays dumb and tries to return the letter, but Vicky keeps plaintively saying things like “Your father could’ve been killed” and “why did you do it?” and, I dunno, it seems like this whole thing calls for more urgency.
They actually cut to credits from Vicky shoving the suppository in David’s face.
David, naturally, claims Vicky is lying and he never saw this suppository in his life. This is poised to go on a long time, but Victoria finally gets the right idea.
Which indicates she’s learned better about going to his father following their last adventure together.
Really, it might’ve made more sense if Vicky had gone to Liz before ever giving David the indication she had the suppository. It’s not like he’s checked on it once since he hid it. There would’ve been enough time for Vicky to tell the sanest person in the house what was up and let her handle this madness.
But no, Vicky may be smarter than she will be, but she’s still not that on it. Thankfully, this is the last time she’ll ever have to play Girl Detect…
Oh. Wait. Nevermind.
Remember that epic fight scene? Well, it’s time for Round 2.
It’s hard to determine what the highlight is. Vicky barricading herself in her room? The desperate tussle at the dresser? That bit when David is thrown to the floor and Vicky seems almost to check if he’s still alive? Or even the theatrical hair toss David Henesy does before giving his next line:
He sounds honestly out of breath, but it still seems safe to say he won this one too.
Vicky now, for the first time, sounds frightened of David, quietly, but nervously saying she’ll show him where she found the suppository if he wants the key to the drawer it’s now locked in.
Ah well.
I know this might be confusing to you. But Vicky has just locked herself in her room, at the same time leaving the person she means to (or she should mean to) isolate and interrogate able to roam the house and go wherever he pleases.
If you were following along, you might assume that Vicky was going to lead David back to his room and lock him in there while she went to get Liz like she said she would, but then you see, we would have no story.
Or we would, but it would move faster, and that isn’t allowed. It’s Monday, after all.
You know who else is a few thumbtacks short of a pincushion?
You will recall that Roger, following his over the phone temper tantrum last episode, vowed that he would have a “talk” with Sheriff nee Constable Carter. We already know Roger never misses a chance to embarrass himself, so here he is and welcome to the “fun” part of the episode.
Appreciate Louis Edmonds continuing to carry his arm like it’s been sprained. Fun while it lasts.
Roger impresses on Carter that he intended him to arrest Burke immediately.
It feels like Carter is supposed to be doing what is nowadays called “trolling”, but the earnestness of Michael Currie, compounded by what ends up actually happening in these scenes indicate that this man isn’t capable of standing up to anybody. Even Roger Collins.
He’s even performatively contacting his underpaid labor to perform inessential personal tasks in front of Roger, as if to prove to Roger that he isn’t his priority, and also that his penis is bigger.
Oh thank Christ.
Carter does accurately assess that arresting Burke would do jack all at this point, since there is no concrete evidence on which to hold him. Something that may have (but we know, would not have been) challenged by the fingerprints on the wrench, so really we’ve all been spinning our wheels here.
Thankfully, Victoria Winters is on the case.
Vicky tries to spook David by telling him that his “father will be coming home soon”, like he’s just some ordinary child who hasn’t already tried to kill that mothershucker. Vicky ought to open that famously loose window and scream for help, allowing her cries to carry across Widow’s Hill on the wind, like the ghostly voices David claims give him instructions. Wouldn’t that be badass and a helpful reminder of the Gothic nature this show was supposed to have before it became a suppository saga?
Of course, Vicky could also just not have locked herself in her room, but I digress.
Carter spends the rest of this scene picking at that sandwich Harry brought him during the break. This does very little to help him look assertive.
See, it’s supposed to be cool of him that he isn’t frightened by big, bad scary Roger Collins, but poor Michael Currie’s biggest bit of street cred is getting off this show alive. He just doesn’t have it in him. Can he play a nice, honest cop? Sure. Can he play anything tougher than Matlock?
Evidently not.
It seems absurd that Carter might quail beneath this “May I speak to your manager?” energy, and yet…
Wow, he seems almost suave when he says that. Carter then walks Roger and us through the circumstances of the crash and Burke’s decade-old vow yet again, in an attempt to convince Roger that Burke’s motive is shaky.
What the hell is even supposed to be the point here? Is Carter tough? Is he weak? Is he standing up to Roger? Is Roger intimidating him? Does he just not like mustard?
Or detective, rather.
Which is exactly the reason his entire neck just disappeared.
Roger then suggests that Carter’s usual routine of white trash crimes isn’t up to the scratch of such things as missing suppositories.
We then get to something resembling the Point.
Gee! That’s longer than the Targaryens held reign over the Seven Kingdoms!
Golly! They command an entire economy built on cheap manual labor!
Gosh! This is why he changed job titles between episodes!
This has already been discussed on Dark Shadows From the Beginning, but the only real reason (besides just the inherent silliness of having a “Constable” in an American town in the 20th century) for Carter to go from Constable to Sheriff seems to be so that Roger could hold his title over him.
A sheriff is elected, a Constable is appointed by the King or the Grand Mage or such like. Thus, as an elected official, Carter becomes extraordinarily susceptible to the age-old democratic accessory of bribery.
This is perhaps the most cartoonishly supervillain thing Roger has yet said. All we need is some organ music and canned lightning, both of which we’ll get healthy heapings of in a few hundred episodes.
And then, just when it seems clear what the purpose of this scene is…
Well, shit. Carter does have a spine after all. He’s not here for Roger’s arrogant, snobbish posturing.
Roger flusters, proving he’s somehow even worse than his son when caught in the act. His obvious threats weren’t threats, he claims, but encouragements for Carter to do the best he can.
Okay, let’s not go too crazy, now.
Roger points out one significant thing that by all rights Carter ought to have looked into: searching the room of the only suspect he has yet been given. All Carter’s done was question Burke and promptly give up. This could very well turn up several clues, if not about the crash, than about Burke’s true purpose in Collinsport.
Carter rightly points out that it isn’t sensible to assume the suppository would still be lying around the room as…
This again draws a line to Carter’s belief that violent crimes are only committed by the “insane”, rather than just the sufficiently motivated and/or bored.
The immediate fade to David
Can be seen as Art Wallace’s tipping of the hand as to which of Carter’s designations the Collins kid is meant to fall under. But, in the greater scheme of things, is David really a psychotic? This, as with many of Wallace’s original plans for the residents of Collinwood, ends up taking new, unexpected and ultimately rewarding turns as we meander our way along.
So, for some reason, David just gives up hanging around outside the door, and Vicky immediately leaves her self-imposed prison.
Liz has returned from, I dunno, visiting Matthew, remember him, and regards the chiming clock and its never-readable face.
She has arrived just in time to watch this daring escape.
You have to love that he had enough time to leave Vicky’s door (we saw her open it at once after), go to his room and get his coat before running down the stairs, all without being caught by Victoria.
Liz tries to figure out what the hell is going on, and David again tries to blame the babysitter.
Depending on your view of that fight scene, she only hurt her dignity.
Liz takes David into the drawing room and Vicky has still not shown up.
Again, it’s very lucky that David is making all of this up, because there’s something about a child telling his guardian how a caregiver pulled him into a room to ‘hurt him’ that really ought to have elicited more than ‘stern exasperation’ from Liz.
I mean, he did, but holy shit.
This is what is called ‘thinking ahead’.
Vicky tells Liz she’d like to talk to her alone, away from David’s poisonous words, but…uh…I dunno, it seems maybe they should keep him close at hand considering he’s not entirely sane and also knows exactly where that suppository has been locked because GOD KNOWS why Vicky didn’t take it out of the drawer and bring it with her for this.
Oh, yeah, sorry: spoiler alert. Vicky did not bring Liz the suppository to show her.
Liz, for some ungodly reason, agrees with Vicky’s strategy and tells David to wait outside. David tries to warn Liz that Vicky will lie about him.
Hm…maybe that has something to do with the mystery of Vicky’s…
Oh. Oh wait. Spirit phone from Art Wallace.
Really?
No?
Oh. Why?
Oh well.
Might as well wax poetic about the newest set. The Collinsport police station is as lovingly crafted as Dr. Reeves’s two part office/waiting room, but we’ll actually get to see this one a fair amount. You’ve already spotted the attractive wire-frame window with the single tree limb outside it that will be milked for dramatic shots of people looking outside, same as the Collinwood drawing room window.
Roger is currently pacing next to what we must assume is a gun safe, on top of which are some…I dunno, law books, since Carter is really into the law.
My favorite detail is the strange photo of that one cop dressed, not in the big Cowboy hat Carter wears, but like some random NYPD guy or something. Who is he? Where did it come from? Is he just Sy Tomashoff in a Halloween costume? Who knows?
Carter returns from a visit with the judge, carrying a search warrant for Burke’s room.
He intends to search Burke’s room for a suppository he is quite certain he will not find…once he finishes his lunch.
Really, what is the point? Carter sticks to his guns and vouches for evidence and the rule of law, etc. but he also bends before Roger’s threats and gets a search warrant, even though he believes he doesn’t need one. Is he Roger’s toadie? Is he contemptuous of Roger? He can’t be, or else he would’ve kicked him out of his office, to hell with his threats.
Roger asks if Carter intends to search the place “thoroughly”.
So that seems to be the resting state of this. Carter is a cowardly stooge who bent beneath threats from the local ruling class. He doesn’t seem willing to plant evidence to incriminate Burke, though, so he’s not completely corrupt, just a bought and paid for sycophant who serves no function besides the illusory “dignity of his badge”.
Carter learns (presumably from Mr. Wells) that Burke left his room. We know he’s gone to Bangor to meet with the mysterious ‘Bronson’, yet another addition to the steadily growing cast of unfortunate supporters. Regardless, Carter will take advantage of this time to search the room for the thing he and us know he won’t find there.
That was a random call from a random Mrs. Turner to report that her dog was not, in fact, stolen and just turned up.
Is this supposed to mean something? Maybe a cue that Roger is barking up the wrong tree? Is it just another look into the blasé everyday experience of Collinsport?
One thing or another… Michael Currie needs a drink.
Maybe it’s the dryness of the script.
Roger tries to insinuate his way into the search.
Now that he’s figured out which one he is, he just has to rub it in everyone else’s faces.
After Roger is gone, Carter calls Harry to check up with the NYPD Homicide Detective he wanted to look into Burke.
Why, Burke Dev-Devlin, of course. Carter snaps at Harry, before remembering that he is a Christian.
This is either the most tragically or sloppily constructed character on the show.
Why the mustard fixation? Might it be just a ‘funny’ thing to draw attention to? Could it perhaps be alluding to the old expression “A red herring without mustard”, meaning a pleasurable thing losing its inherent pleasure in the absence of a special something?
The saying lends itself to the title of the third installment of Alan Bradley’s delightful Flavia de Luce series of mystery novels, chronicling the exploits of a British Girl Detective/Chemist on a decaying postwar estate who uses her skill with poisons and being a general nuisance to solve murders.
Flavia is very much like David Collins. At the start of their respective stories, they are alike in age, the scions of old families on grand estates shrouded in lore and mystery. They are pursued by the ghosts, literal and figurative of old families troubled by Gothic tragedy. Both of them pine for lost mothers (though Flavia has a much more positive relationship with her father), and seek solace in strange hobbies (chemistry, attempted murder).
The cop in the Flavia books is actually pretty decent at his job, though, despite Flavia figuring the mystery out ahead of him every time. He comes off as competent but traditional rather than buffoonish, which is the kind of result you get when you know how to tell a story.
But might it be that Carter’s search for “mustard” (the missing spice) is really his own innate sense that there is something missing from the “red herring” (Burke) who is, after all, a red herring, and that only the discovery of the mustard will bring to light the truth of…
Never mind.
Vicky describes her adventure to Liz, and it’s really something that we needed all this filler just to place this in the last act.
Liz thinks it’s “nonsense” that David might’ve tried to hurt the woman he repeatedly intimated he wanted to get rid of.
Liz’s skepticism might make sense. I mean, what idiot locks themselves in and lets the psychotic child run loose, right?
When Vicky points out David’s repeated references to the crash and being sent away and his fear about being connected to the accident, Liz reacts like she just heard a mildly amusing anecdote at a cocktail party.
You’d think we were heading to the old horror story standby of ‘heroine discovers the truth and finds that nobody believes her, dooming her to a perpetual Cassandra-like madness’ and, while that would be awful, it’s a damn good thing we don’t have to deal with suppository-induced psychosis.
The phone rings, because we just have to force Joan Bennett to play at phone calls every episode. It’s Roger, presumably to debrief her on the more interesting half of this episode.
In the next room, the canny David picks up the phone…
…and eavesdrops.
She has? Forehead aside, Michael Currie looks closer in age to Roger than Liz, and Liz hasn’t left her house in 18 years. What exactly is this relationship between her and the Consteriff?
Clearly, she can’t know him that well.
This concluded, Liz tells Vicky about the search at Burke’s room, and the hope that the suppository will turn up there.
This is where, if Vicky had prepared like a sensible person, she would whip out the suppository and show Liz what’s up, but instead she must simply tell her that she found it in David’s room and its’s upstairs in her drawer and why didn’t she open with that?
Liz is understandably distressed at the idea that her nephew almost killed his father. I mean, it’s an unpleasant thing to contemplate but, as the most reasonable member of the family, she consents to be shown proof.
And now you understand why Vicky didn’t bring the suppository down with her.
Liz is as impatient to get to this foregone conclusion as we are.
You don’t say? If only there’d been a way to avoid this.
This Day in History- Monday, August 1, 1966
Charles Whitman, an ex-Marine sniper and a student at the University of Texas at Austin shoots 43 people on the university campus, killing 13. He had earlier in the day killed his wife and mother. The bloodshed continues for 96 minutes until he is confronted and killed by police.
Some shit, different decade.
Kooks of Collinwood 