Volume I, Issue vi

February 1999

Small Things: Photographs and Memories by Teresa Leslie

In mid-January, when Jason was reeling from the news that Robin had gone to AJ about Michael's paternity, the moment was made more poignant, for me, by the glimpse of a framed picture on the mantle behind Jason at the penthouse--a photograph of Jason holding baby Michael.

That same picture had been prominent in the background earlier in that same week, when Jason and Robin were breaking off their relationship. As Jason sat before the fire, listening to Robin and holding her hands, his head was framed by two pictures on the mantle, the Jason/Michael picture on one side, a picture of Jason and Robin on the other.

In February, when the audience was still trying to figure out what Carly was really doing at the Quartermaine mansion, we got an important clue that she had not turned against Jason when we saw the picture she had chosen to bring with her--a "family" portrait of Michael, Jason, and herself. When Carly clutched the frame and spoke to Jason's image, wishing he would be home soon, it was clear that she had not simply turned against him.

Photographs are staple soap opera props. Characters have been hugging pictures of lost loves while sobbing uncontrollably and doing double-takes at snapshots of people from their secret pasts and angrily smashing photographs that remind them of people and places they would rather forget since soap operas hit television. GH is no exception. GH is particularly adept at using these props to help us see what is going on inside characters' heads without resorting to DOOL-esque interior monologues. When Brenda was having a breakdown, she cut up all the photographs of herself she possessed (and I'll resist comment on how many pictures of herself the lovely model had in her house). Now Jax regularly gazes sadly at a photograph of her, and we know he is remembering and missing his lost love. Words are not needed.

GH also uses photographs to establish atmosphere and to define characters. A good friend pointed out to me in email the contrasting styles of photo display at the Spencer and Cassadine households, which, as he so rightly noted, highlight important differences in emotional style between Laura and Stefan. I mentioned in an earlier column the touching scene in which Stefan presented Laura with a photograph of young Nikolas, and she tearfully thanked him. The way the picture had been displayed at Wyndemere is a perfectly-executed small detail. Stefan retrieved the picture from a glass-fronted cabinet filled with precious items and expensively-framed photographs. Nikolas (his image, anyway) had been locked away under glass, separated from the rest of the world, on display in a formal, remote, carefully-arranged way.

Contrast that setting with the display of photos at Laura's house on Charles Street. She has a mantelpiece cluttered with photos of her loved ones, casually arranged and completely accessible. The mantle, unlike Stefan's cabinet, is a focal point of the room. These photographs take center stage.

Laura has pictures throughout the house. In an all-American touch one would never associate with Wyndemere, she even has photos in her kitchen, fastened to the refrigerator. In the scene earlier this winter when Katherine dropped in on Laura in the midst of oven-cleaning, we saw that there was a candid shot of Nik stuck on the fridge, comfortably commingling with Lulu's art work and refrigerator magnets and other typical homey stuff. The contrast between the formality and remoteness of Wyndemere and the informality and openness of the Spencer house is clear.

It would be remiss of me to talk about photographs and Laura without mentioning the photograph of Laura prominently displayed in Luke's office. I've been waiting to see a scene now that Luke is back in town that allows us to notice whether the photo, a staple of his office as long as I can remember, is still there. (And as we went to 'press,' we got just such a scene, and I had my answer, which I will discuss in a postscript below.) Again, there is a contrast between Spencer and Cassadine. Stefan never had a photograph of Laura on public display, but he has had two very memorable painted portraits of her, a more formal memorialization.

Other people close to Laura have also realized that a photograph is the perfect gift for this sentimental creature. For her birthday, shortly before Christmas, her children gave her something she would not have dared to dream of only a year ago--a portrait of all three of her children smiling together. Their gift was a framed photograph taken by Elizabeth. It was a powerful statement, symbolizing how far Nikolas and Lucky had come in realizing and acknowledging that they are family. Laura spoke poignantly to Stefan several years ago, in one of their park scenes, of her frustration at trying to fit all of her family into one picture, like assembling a puzzle, and how she had to face the hard fact that some of the pieces seemed destined never to fit. At the level of the next generation, at least, the Spencers and Cassadines she loved did all fit into one picture at long last.

Interestingly, Laura gave Stefan much of the credit for that, in a scene that took place when he came by her home shortly before Christmas and noticed the photo of which she is so proud. "It's all three of them together," she said, pointing out the obvious, before continuing, "You made that possible." "I? No." "Yes, you did, by raising Nikolas to be the generous and patient and forgiving young man that he is. And for bringing us all together." At that, Stefan bestowed upon her his own Christmas gift, yet another photograph of Nikolas, this one taken when he was six years old. Realizing that precious as such mementos are to her, it paled in comparison with the photograph of Nikolas with his siblings, rather than alone, and in the present, rather than the past, he apologized for the redundancy.

Emily treasured another picture taken in Lucky's apartment that day, the one of the four teens together. On her birthday, as she prepared for her party, she had been looking at that photograph in her room and smiling at the image of Nikolas so close to her, paired with her like the romantic couple beside them, Elizabeth and Lucky. Her teenaged heart held out hope for Nikolas to notice her and for them to become a couple as well. She was excited that he had agreed to come to her celebration. Then she headed down the hall to borrow something from Katherine, only to walk in and discover Nikolas and Katherine in bed together. A new image of Nikolas blotted out the earlier one in her mind.

Sometimes it is the act of taking pictures, rather than the photos themselves, that is emphasized. While Carly was in Ferncliff, Jason faithfully took a picture of Michael every day, in order to record the changes that took place in her absence and to let her see what she had missed. It was a wonderful way to show Carly that her "family" had not forgotten her, and for Jason and Michael to remember her as well. The picture-taking was as important in fostering and preserving a sense of family for them as Jason's ritual of telling Michael each night that Carly loved and missed her baby.

Photographs also serve to remind us of characters who are gone. I will close with one last photographic image from a recent episode that stands out in my mind. The Spencers held a memorial for Ruby recently at Kelly's Diner, with a simple photograph of Ruby prominently and tastefully displayed. The episode ended with a lingering shot of that picture in the empty diner, after Luke tearfully closed the door. It was a fitting final glimpse of dear Norma Connolly and the lady she portrayed for so many years. Even though Ruby was gone, her image and her memory remained, in the photograph and in the hearts of those who loved her.

POSTSCRIPT

As this issue went to press, GH had yet another episode in which photographs played an important role in helping us see how a character was feeling. Earlier I mentioned the photos strewn throughout Laura Spencer's house. She nervously eyed one particular picture on her mantle, a shot of Luke and Laura in happier times, as she talked to her sister Amy after Lulu's Valentine party, in a conversation in which they discussed Laura's conflicted emotional state. The next day we saw Laura look at the photo again before picking up the phone to make sure Luke was at his club. It was as if that image was haunting her.

Another photo visible in that scene also stood out for me, a head shot of Laura that is not on the mantle but on a table near the front door. It caught my eye because it is the same photograph that Luke has on his desk at the club, as we saw later in the episode, the photograph I had wondered if we would still see there. We did.

After Luke and Laura's conversation, in which no progress toward reconciliation was made, Laura returned to the house she had just confided to Luke she had grown to hate, the home that no longer seemed a symbol of her dreams for the future but a tomb, haunted by ghosts of their past. Wearily, she sat on the stairs that lead from the entryway into the living room proper, and wept. Then she resolutely went to the mantle and removed that photograph that had been troubling her so. She glanced twice at the fireplace, as if she were considering burning it, before moving to place it in a drawer, along with her wedding ring. Laura is acutely aware of the symbolic heft of mementos, so seeing her hide the picture away but not destroy it, spoke volumes about the state of her marriage.

[Ed. note: The transcripts here, as the ones in the episode reviews, come from Alynn's GH Transcripts page.]