Kolchak: The Night Stalker

Before The X-Files, before post-millennium paranoia and deep-state conspiracy theories became mainstream television fodder, there was Kolchak: The Night Stalker. And although its lifespan was short and its formula imperfect, the series left an indelible mark on the world of television horror, laying the groundwork for an entire sub-genre of supernatural investigative thrillers.

It all began with a spark of genre-blending inspiration from author Jeff Rice. Reflecting on the genesis of his idea, Rice once said he realised he could combine two seemingly unrelated genres—a police thriller and a vampire story—into something that hadn’t quite been done before. He wanted to explore what might happen if the existence of a real vampire posed not just a physical threat, but also an economic one, particularly to a city whose identity and livelihood depended on tourism. He envisioned, quite presciently, how the bureaucratic and political response would likely focus on suppression and denial rather than transparency.

That concept became The Kolchak Papers, an unpublished manuscript that found its way to Dark Shadows producer Dan Curtis. The result was the 1972 TV movie The Night Stalker, adapted by legendary genre writer Richard Matheson. What followed was nothing short of a phenomenon: with 75 million viewers tuning in on its first airing, it became the most-watched TV movie of its time. Matheson’s smart, Edgar and Writers Guild award-winning script introduced audiences to Carl Kolchak, a down-at-heel newspaper reporter in Las Vegas, played to perfection by the gravel-voiced Darren McGavin. Wry, cynical, and dressed like a man who hadn't updated his wardrobe since the '50s, Kolchak uncovers a string of killings tied to a modern-day vampire and, despite facing disbelief at every turn, pursues the truth with dogged determination.

Following the TV movie’s massive success, a sequel, The Night Strangler, aired in 1973. Set in Seattle, it again paired McGavin with Simon Oakland as the eternally exasperated editor Tony Vincenzo. This time, Kolchak unravels a mystery involving a string of cyclical murders dating back over a century. The climax, set in the real-life historic underground streets of Seattle, adds an eerie and exotic touch. Once again, Matheson’s script blended urban realism with gothic horror in a way that proved both credible and compelling.

These two films laid the foundation for the weekly series Kolchak: The Night Stalker, which debuted in 1974. Produced by McGavin himself under his own Francy Productions banner, the show relocated Kolchak to Chicago, working for the International News Service. Each week, he found himself drawn into confrontations with supernatural threats—werewolves, ancient spirits, undead killers—all while butting heads with bosses, bureaucrats, and disbelieving authorities.

Despite lasting only twenty episodes, the series achieved cult status. The inherent flaw in its format—requiring Kolchak to uncover a "monster" every week, only to have all evidence erased or discredited—eventually became a narrative straightjacket. Even McGavin himself, frustrated by the formulaic nature and lack of creative control, asked to end the show. Compounding this was a legal dispute, as Jeff Rice sued ABC for launching the series without his permission.

Still, for all its limitations, Kolchak delivered some genuinely gripping television. The pilot episode “The Ripper” set a high bar, with Kolchak fleeing in terror from a supernatural killer who may well have been the original Jack. Another standout, “Horror in the Heights” (written by Hammer Horror veteran Jimmy Sangster), featured a shape-shifting demon that appeared as a loved one to its victims—a masterclass in psychological horror. And like its spiritual descendant The X-Files, Kolchak made clear that nothing was ever as it seemed. Bureaucrats couldn't be trusted. Reality was suspect. And the monsters were all too real.

Yes, there were weak links. Episodes like “Chopper”, featuring a ghostly biker without a head, and “The Sentry”, which pitted Kolchak against a man in a rubber lizard suit, are more camp than compelling. But even in its lowest moments, the show was never dull, held aloft by McGavin’s commitment to his character and the caustic chemistry between him and Oakland.

Carl Kolchak is a man forever on the edge—of discovery, of madness, of bureaucratic patience. His world is one of late-night newsrooms, shadowy alleyways, half-lit morgues, and the ever-present weight of truth just beyond reach. He’s Mulder before Mulder, armed with a tape recorder and a battered straw hat rather than an FBI badge. His war is a solitary one, fought not for glory or science, but because he simply knows what’s out there.

In the age of the X-Files, we were told “the truth is out there.”
Kolchak? He found it first—and no one believed him.

Verdict: A flawed but fascinating precursor to modern paranormal drama. Often brilliant, occasionally silly, but always ahead of its time.
★★★★☆