Archive for July, 2004
Probably the most interesting interview I’ve read in years: Salon.com has an article about Alan Moore (watch the cheesy Flash commercial to gain access). The author quite rightfully calls Moore not only one of the world’s best comic writers, but one of the world’s best writers, period. I am consistently awestruck by Moore’s output. In the 1980’s, this British writer transformed the medium of comic books from a pulpish world dominated by hack-jobs that would insult a child’s intelligence, to a form of high literature which even the New York Times has learned to take seriously. His tales turned a third-rate hollow character (the Swamp Thing) into a book that startled the whole industry and awakened the publishers to the fact that you can have a book aimed at an adult mind. His Watchmen showed us the “true lives” and neuroses of superheroes, making them real for the first time (in a way that Stan Lee, writing for teens, never could). His intricate and well-researched storylines in “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” and “From Hell” (both of which were shamed by their respective film versions) brought a power to the medium that imitators have yet to grasp. And the man continues to produce work that reinvents not only the industry, but our notions of humanity.
The interview examines Moore’s vision of today’s world, looks at how several of his works predicted current events such as “America’s War on Terror,” discusses the short-circuiting of reality with media, and reveals his thoughts on what an artist must do to prepare the world for the upcoming deluge of information that’s about to sweep us all away. A must-read, even if you haven’t heard of the man.
You can read a bio on his fan site.
July 22nd, 2004
Long before the turmoil of puberty, back in the days before cable, and when I had exhausted our little library of books, I used to listen to shows from the Golden Age of Radio (the 30’s to 50’s). My father had bought a dozen cassettes from a company called “Radio Reruns” that offered about a hundred shows from various genres. On rainy or stormy days and nights, when I couldn’t go out into the woods, I would sit down in an old recliner with my portable cassette player (a foot long, and about six pounds) balanced on my lap. I would insert show after show, and would listen to them time and again, until I knew the words to every one. While some shows like Inner Sanctum, Suspense and the Lone Ranger were very enjoyable, the show that captured my imagination more than all of the others combined was The Shadow.
For those who are not familiar with this character, he was a mysterious figure clad in black trenchcoat, a wide-brimmed slouch hat, and a long red scarf. He would appear from the shadows to dole out justice, his twin .45s spitting fire into the night, his chilling laugh echoing through the dark streets. He possessed “the power to cloud men’s minds”, and would rely upon a number of agents whose lives he saved to aid him in his struggle against evil. There was the playboy Harry Vincent, the cabby Moe Shrevitz, the eagle-eyed Hawkeye, the Chinese physician Dr. Tam, the communications expert Burbank, and of course the beautiful Margo Lane, among many others. By day, the Shadow would disguise himself in numerous disguises, including that of the laissez-faire millionaire playboy Lamont Cranston. But by night, he would become the dark avenger, a force of nature… a judge, a jury and an executioner emerging from the darkness to strike fear in the heart of criminals.
The Shadow was also the first true multi-media phenomenon. Eager fans devoured two novels a month in his magazine (of which poor Maxwell Grant, a.k.a, Walter Gibson, wrote one or two a week). His radio show was consistently the highest rated on any station, and featured the likes of Orson Welles and John Archer as the title character. Movies and serials thrilled people in the cinemas. Comic books appeared all-too-briefly on the stands, and the comic strip was syndicated in the papers. Millions of people belonged to “The Shadow Club” and splurged on merchandise of every shape and form. Everywhere you went, you heard the famous tagline, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” followed by mocking laughter. Scores of imitators appeared in The Shadow’s wake, including Batman.
In recent years, The Shadow has popped up occasionally. There have been several series of modern comic books (some certainly more adult than others), and there was a decent 1994 film directed by Russell Mulcahy and starring Alec Baldwin, which didn’t fare so well at the box office. (Sam Raimi, now known as the director of Spider-Man, wrote another screenplay about the Shadow, but couldn’t secure the rights… that film eventually became Darkman.)
But the real interest in The Shadow has manifested itself in another way: the Internet. Up till recently, there was no problem finding the original 1930’s-1950’s pulp novels, ready for download from a number of sites. You could view all of the amazing and lurid covers of the magazine. You could listen to the original radio broadcasts, adorned with crackling sound and melodramatic acting. And of course you could discuss and share information about this character in numerous forums. Then, suddenly, a few months ago, most of the fan-driven sites disappeared from the face of the Net.
What happened? Conde Nast, the modern-day proprietor of the trademark The Shadow, and the publisher of such magazines as Glamour, GQ, Vogue, Wired and Modern Bride, has sent a cease-and-desist letter to all the fans hosting information about the character. Since few people have the money to front an expensive legal battle, most of the webmasters simply threw up their hands in frustration and walked away. There is speculation that Conde Nast will be licensing the character for books and another movie, but so far I haven’t heard anything confirmed. What gets me angry is that Conde Nast seems unaware of the power of the Internet to foster a community of fans that do far more than a PR firm ever could. The dime- novels, radio shows and covers are symbols of another time, and would not be valued today by very many people except ardent fans and nostalgia seekers. What is the harm in letting the fan sites promote their character?
There are still a few sites up and running where the webmasters have either not received the letter, or have decided to stand up against the publisher.
- The Shadow Fan is a fairly recent site with plenty of background on the Shadow and his various media incarnations.
- The Shadow: Master of Darkness is another comprehensive site.
- BlackMask Online is an absolutely wonderful collection of books and literature, and their Shadow collection possesses (almost?) the entire collection — in multiple formats, to boot.
- Various OTR (Old Time Radio) stations on Live365 play episodes of the Shadow, among many other marvellous radio shows from yesteryear.
On a related note, I was digging through a few directories of graphics and found a wallpaper that I put together a few years ago with the then-freely-available covers from the old pulps. Download it by clicking on the thumbnail at right, if you wish. The colours will make your eyes begin to vibrate after a short time: don’t say I didn’t warn you. 
July 12th, 2004
Conor Douglas Johnston, our first-born, emerged into our world at 5:18 am, Saturday, July 3rd, 2004.
Jenny was eleven days late. We had just finished moving apartments in the wee hours of the night before, and the place was filled with boxes, bags of clothes, teetering piles of knick-knacks, computer guts and wires. Still, we could get to our bed, and that meant we could get a few hours of restless sleep before we had to appear at the hospital to be induced. We rushed around in the morning, extracting things like hair dryers and underwear from the various boxes, and eventually grabbed a quick McDonald’s breakfast on the way to the hospital, our poor little hound stuffed into a cage in the back of the Jeep.
Jenny had been suffering from pre-labour contractions for the past month (which, I’m told, are quite different from real ones), and this morning was no exception. She was put on a machine that measured the duration and intensity of the contractions, and the doctor gave her the first “smear” around 9:30 am. The chemicals used are generally given in small doses, so as not to be too overpowering, although women sometimes need several doses. Even then, many of them do not begin labour, and a “drip” is set up the next day which rushes things along.
By mid-afternoon, the doctor had to administer another smear. The contractions continued, but by 8 pm, the nurses told us that labour had still not started. Since Jenny’s mother had shown up, Jenny told me to go home and get some rest, and that they would call me if labour started during the night. I borrowed a cell phone (our apartment phone had not yet been activated), and went home. I spent a few hours unpacking before dropping into a dead sleep around midnight.
At just after 2 am, the phone rang and I lept to my feet. Jenny’s mother said that she was now in active labour, and I should come as soon as possible. I quickly threw on a t-shirt and shorts, grabbed the dog, and sped to the hospital, my heart beating in my throat.
Rushing up to the maternity ward, I found Jenny spawled out on a delivery bed. She had been sucking down nitrous oxide for a couple of hours, and was murmuring things like, “Take those tea-towels down, they don’t belong there.” Her mother told me that she was in a fair degree of pain earlier, but they let me get a few hours’ sleep as long as I could make it in time for the delivery.
I stood beside her and helped talk her through the pain of the contractions as best I could. I told her how very proud I was of her, and that she was handling everything so well. After nearly three hours, the nurse called the doctor.
Jenny’s water had broken, and the nurse was monitoring the situation as best she could and waiting patiently (there was another woman giving birth at the same time just across the hall). The doctor arrived just in time.
What a strange and miraculous sight! The head appeared, seemingly with the crown of his head folded in half. The nurse told Jenny how to breathe, and when to push. Jenny cried and screamed and breathed and pushed, over and over. The baby’s full head started to emerge. I saw cords wrapped around the neck. Another push or two and he was out. The doctor quickly unwrapped the cords while the nurse exclaimed, “It’s a boy!”
Jenny and I cried tears of joy. All I remember saying was, “It’s a boy, it’s actually a boy! We have a baby boy!”
My joy was short-lived as the doctor quickly snipped the umbilical cord, and I noticed that the body was mostly blue, and it wasn’t moving. He rushed the baby over to the waiting nurses, and they began pumping oxygen into him and rubbing his extremities to aid his circulation. I didn’t want to let Jenny know my worries, so I pretended everything was perfect.
A long minute or two later, we heard the first little cry. It was a short, muted, high-pitched cry, like that of a puppy. A few seconds later, and the voice picked up in intensity and tone. He was all right….
We all began to cry again, partly out of relief, partly out of joy, partly out of sheer exhaustion.
Moments later, little Conor took to his mother’s breast and began to feed. I stared into those dark little glimmering eyes, and stroked his arm. The tiny fingers seized my finger and held it strong.
You can find some pictures of Conor in our new online gallery (www.douglasjohnston.net/gallery/).
July 6th, 2004
This is the personal weblog of Douglas Johnston, a consultant, project manager, multimedia developer, web technologist, and self-professed “education geek.” Originally trained as an English and French teacher, he has since produced or performed integral roles in over a hundred websites, the CD-ROM Cabot: Discovery of a New World, and the award-winning CD-ROM The Bend in the Road: An Invitation to the World and Work of L. M. Montgomery (available from the L.M. Montgomery Institute). He has also produced work or consulted for the Canadian Government, the Government of Newfoundland & Labrador, the US Navy, a large marketing/communications company, and several multi-national organisations.
His focus nowadays in on e-learning, teaching, training, curriculum development, consulting and experimenting with technologies. Current interests also include media studies, photography, videography, writing, design, historical literature and medieval longbow archery.
He lives in Newfoundland, Canada, with his beautiful and intelligent wife, artist Jennifer Pohl, their newborn son Conor, and an overly-sentimental hound named Locksley.
A curriculum vitae is available upon request.
He can be reached via email at douglasjohnston@gmail.com.
July 1st, 2004
