| "Naked Eyes" : Analysis of the "Naked Eyes" Arc of ABC-TV's Port Charles
(c) Alison Armstrong |
| An analysis of the "Naked Eyes" episodes of the show Port Charles, formerly of ABC-TV. This site will focus on the scenes featuring the vampire character Caleb Morley/Stephen Clay (portrayed by actor Michael Easton). The character of Caleb Morley/Stephen Clay and any other characters relating to Port Charles are the property of ABC and their creators. This is a fan-run site and is not an official site, nor is it affiliated in any way with ABC, Port Charles, or the actors portraying any of the Port Charles characters. No copyright infringement is intended. The writings on this site are copyrighted by the author, Alison Armstrong, and may not be reproduced without the author's express permission. |
| "Naked Eyes" #2 (cont.) Intrigued by Marissa’s rather strong-willed opposition to his plans, Stephen cocks his head beguilingly and tells her she is more interesting than he had thought. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he emphasizes. “You have a gift.” |
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| When she insists that “it is going to take more than cheesy flattery” to convince her that he is Stephen Clay, he shifts the conversation into a discussion of the music she still refuses to believe he created.
“You feel a connection to it. It speaks to you,” he says softly. “How did you know that?” she asks, her obstinate opposition beginning to fade. “That’s the same way I feel about your lyrics,” he explains. “It gets under my skin, into my blood. It stirs me. That’s how powerful your words are.” The reference to blood, like the “bite” joke, reinforces the association between “Stephen Clay” and the man we knew as the vampire Caleb. “So, then, we’re a good team? I mean Stephen and I,” she replies, catching herself off guard as she becomes increasingly drawn towards the stranger with whom she reluctantly finds herself sharing a deep connection. “Have you ever felt this bond with any other musician?” he pauses, and then taking Marissa’s silence as the answer he seeks, continues. “I didn’t think so. That’s because you and I are a lot alike.” “You don’t even know me,” Marissa responds. Like Livvie in “Tainted Love,” Marissa is amazed and somewhat frightened that this stranger can see inside her heart and soul. “I know you better than you know yourself,” he explains, echoing the words he told Livvie on the riverbank at their first meeting. “I think like you. I feel like you. We both have this need, this drive to have our voices heard. Some may think they know the truth but illusion is all they see.” “Those are lines from my song,” Marissa gasps. “I can’t believe you’re using my own lines on me.” “I only use the best,” he replies, drawing her into his web, the web they as creative people share, the self-enclosing world of their imagination. “You gave me this gift when you gave me your words, and now I’d like to give something back to you in return.” His eyes seem to focus deep within himself, as if retreating back into the web they now both inhabit. “Who am I? I don’t know, Marissa, you tell me. Am I imposter or the real deal? Someone destined to pass through your life or change it? Am I a player or a poet, a saint or a sinner, the voice in the crowd or maybe a whisper in the dark? Who am I and what do I bring to the party?” Having picked up his guitar, he strums it, evoking a sinuous chain of chords that snake and quiver in the cloistered darkness of the moving car. “I’m the dream you keep reliving that I’m slipping and it’s taking its toll. I’m the gift that keeps on giving. My fire’s in your soul.” With the last sensuously murmured word and languorously resonating chord, he suddenly breaks his spell and turns towards the young woman he has succeeded in enchanting. “Convinced yet?” he asks. Marissa’s misgivings about Stephen Clay have vanished, swept away by his passionate expressiveness. The intensity in his voice, the seductiveness of his music, and the enticing paradoxes described in the lyrics bedazzle Marissa. She has begun to surrender. Like a giddy, awe-struck schoolgirl, Marissa gushes with admiration. “Oh, my God,” she breathlessly exclaims, “No one else can play like you. You have this certain touch, a distinct sound I would know anywhere.” “So, I passed the test?” Stephen teases. After Marissa , still gushing, assures him she no longer has any doubts that he is Stephen Clay, he apologizes for “all the mystery” surrounding their meeting. “I know it’s a little dramatic, but necessary,” he explains. “For me, it’s not about being a rock star. It’s about the music. I don’t want to be seen. I . . . I want to be heard.” “So, what, you’re like shy?” Marissa asks, struggling to comprehend this star who has shunned the spotlight and shrouded himself in mystery. |
| Snappies of "Naked Eyes" scenes taken by A. Armstrong |