The Subtle Art of Fanging (According to Barnabas Collins)

Jonathan Frid hated 'em, but c'mon ... you gotta admit there's something awesome whenever Barnabas bared those bad boys and fanged the nearest doxie, family member, or (if you're me), Nathan Forbes.  I think that, by now, we all know that the vampire in popular culture has come to stand as a metaphor for, oh, ten trillion different kinds of everything, from alcoholism/addiction to the destructive power of infection to plain old sexual penetration.  This latter substitution was one of the reasons that Barnabas bit poor Willie on the wrist upon his initial de-incarcerating:  one dude sinking his incredibly protuberant teeth into another dude's neck, a highly sensitive erogenous zone (witness every Christopher Lee Dracula film ever) reads as just a teensy weensy bit homoerotic.  Or a lot homoerotic.  This is nothing you don't already know, Dark Shadows fans, which is why you also know you'll never actually observe Dirk Wilkins fanging Tim Shaw or Barnabas putting the moves on the good Lieutenant.

But it was those repressed housewives we've all heard so much about who put their irons down and, if legends are to be believed, actively swooned whenever Jonathan Frid flashed his extended pearly whites and plunged them into the nearest doxie, making him a star and sending Dark Shadows into previously unheard of heights, delirious with purple gothic plush. 

What it really comes down to for me, psycho/pseudo/Freudian bullpucky aside, seeing Barnabas baring his fangs reminds me of the little thrill-tickle-chill I'd receive as an eight year old fascinated with old horror movies:  the vampire is defined by his fangs, as the werewolf by his fur, the witch by her hat and broom, the Frankenstein monster by his green skin and neck bolts.  That moment when the fangs came out for the first time was thrilling.  Thirty years later, I'm still thrilled.

 Thusly: a tribute to the fangs of Barnabas Collins.

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