Golden Sunsets Redux - 60 Years of Memories - Part 28 - 1994

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?..

1994:

The trivia:

• During a quiet Wednesday evening meeting of the local neighbourhood crime‑watch group in Homestead, Florida, things took an unexpected turn. The residents were midway through discussing suspicious cars and porch lights when the sound of a very low‑flying plane rumbled overhead. Before anyone had time to look up, a package tumbled out of the sky and landed slap bang in the middle of the gathered crowd. It turned out to be a 75‑pound bag of cocaine. The plane kept going, leaving a group of stunned Floridians staring at a bale of narcotics that weighed roughly the same as a small child. Local police later suggested it was part of a drug‑smuggling drop gone badly off‑course, though “badly” feels like an understatement...

• When rain began to fall in Oakville Washington in the early hours on 7th August 1994, residents noticed that it was not water but a strange jelly-like substance. Within a few hours various people became violently ill with vertigo, blurred vision, nausea and trouble breathing. when a sample of the material was examined it was found to contain human white blood cells and was teeming with two species of bacteria, one of which lives in the human  digestive system, Over a period of three weeks this strange phenomenon would occur a total of six times and while theories abounded about the cause - ranging from human waste from an airplane, jellyfish thrown into the air by a naval bombing exercise and even the testing of a military biological weapon - nothing was ever confirmed. Apparently no samples of the jelly still exist. I wonder why?...

• After an earthquake knocked out power across most of Los Angeles, the city was plunged into an unfamiliar darkness. Streetlights, neon signs, porch lamps - everything was gone. Something unexpected appeared overhead - a vast, shimmering, silvery cloud stretching across the night sky. Within minutes, observatories (and allegedly even emergency services) began receiving calls from worried residents reporting the strange phenomenon. A glowing mass. A mysterious haze. A possible chemical spill. Something unnatural. It turned out that it was simply... the Milky Way. For many Angelenos, it was the first time they’d ever seen it. The galaxy had always been there, of course, but with the usual glow of light pollution suddenly wiped away,  the universe came rushing back in...

The memory:

The Shadow:

I have already established with previous entries that I have a real fondness for the 'pulp' characters from the early part of the 20th century - heroes such as 'Doc' Savage, Buck Rogers, Flash Gordon, Biggles and Tarzan. I'd enjoyed many of their exploits in the pages of numerous paperback novels, on television and on film. And in fact, the main memory of this post is a cinematic one. However with "The Shadow", I came to know him first through another medium. But as always, let's start at the beginning. 

Originally "The Shadow" was simply part of the "Detective Story Hour" radio show. He wasn’t a character, just a narrator - a sinister presence who framed each episode with ominous commentary - actor Frank Readick delivering the introductions in a chilling, whispering tone. However listeners wrote dozens of letters asking for “more Shadow stories,” assuming he was the star of a magazine. Publishers Street & Smith, realising they had stumbled onto something, decided to create a publication to meet the demand. They hired Walter B. Gibson, a professional magician and prolific writer, to invent a character worthy of that eerie voice.

Gibson created the foundations of "The Shadow" - including his persona, multiple aliases, helpers, and super-villains - and detailed how he terrified criminals as he prowled the streets under the cover of night. His mocking, disembodied laugh, wide-brimmed hat and red lined cloak, coupled with the crimson scarf that just left his eyes and nose exposed and dual Colt .45 pistols, gave the character a look and feel distinct from previous masked adventurers.

Beginning in April 1931 and continuing for almost two decades, Gibson incredibly wrote a novel-length story twice a month. Under the pseudonym Maxwell Grant, he penned 282 out of the original 325 adventures of the dark vigilante, with other guest writers such as Theodore Tinsley, Bruce Elliott, and Lester Dent completing the remainder. Dent of course would go on to create his own pulp hero in the form of 'Doc' Savage in 1933.

The Shadow faced everything from gangland empires to occult conspiracies, from scientific madmen to international masterminds. Gibson had a gift for taking the familiar crime‑thriller template and twisting it into something stranger, darker, and more atmospheric. There were also memorable villains - such as Shiwan Khan, the self‑proclaimed descendant of Genghis Khan, and The Voodoo Master (Doctor Rodil Mocquino), whose blend of mesmerism and ritual magic pushed the series into full‑blown supernatural territory. And there were countless masked criminals, corrupt tycoons, and criminal geniuses whose schemes ranged from the plausible to the outrageous. Gibson also excelled at crafting elaborate set‑pieces - bank vaults breached by impossible methods, sinister laboratories hidden beneath respectable businesses, night time chases across the rooftops of Manhattan, and death traps involving gas chambers, collapsing buildings, or mechanical horrors. 

The success of "The Shadow Magazine" was nothing short of extraordinary. At its peak, it was selling hundreds of thousands of copies per issue, an astonishing figure for a bi‑weekly publication. Its combination of atmospheric crime fiction, exotic villains, and the eerie, almost supernatural presence of the Shadow himself struck a chord with Depression‑era readers. A big part of that success came from the magazine’s consistency and its iconic branding. It became one of the most recognisable images in publishing, with newsstands displaying the covers prominently.

As his popularity grew, "The Shadow" expanded into other mediums. He was given his own radio drama in 1937, starring a 22-year old Orson Welles as wealthy socialite Lamont Cranston, the vigilante's civilian identity (confusingly, his real name is Kent Allard - trust me, it only gets more complicated as the years go on...). It's here that he first exhibited the ability to 'cloud men's minds' so that he could effectively become invisible, and where Margo Lane - Cranston's love interest, crime-fighting partner and the only person to know his secret identity - was introduced. She was created specifically for the show to give Cranston someone to talk to, and her presence added warmth, wit, and a touch of romantic tension. She proved so popular that she was eventually imported into the pulp novels four years later. 

After Welles left the role in 1938, a succession of skilled voice actors followed - including Bill Johnstone, Bret Morrison, John Archer, and Steve Courtleigh - each bringing a slightly different tone to the Shadow’s eerie whisper and Cranston’s urbane charm. Under their stewardship, "The Shadow" became a Sunday‑night staple on the Mutual Radio Network across the USA, running from 1937 all the way to 1954. 

1937 also saw the first film adaptation from Grand National Pictures. Starring silent‑era leading man Rod La Rocque as Lamont Cranston, "The Shadow Strikes" is very much a product of its time - a brisk, low‑budget mystery with Cranston functioning more as a suave amateur detective than the eerie vigilante of the pulps. But it performed well enough for a follow‑up the next year. 

"International Crime" leaned even further into the gentleman‑sleuth angle, with Cranston hosting a fictional radio crime programme called 'The Crime Doctor' with "The Shadow" simply being a name he uses. He stumbles into a conspiracy because he’s present at the crime scene and his broadcasts make him a public figure. It’s a light detective thriller, but it uses the "Shadow" name more as branding than anything else. However it shows how quickly the character was being adapted to different formats.

The most faithful screen version of the era arrived in 1940 with Columbia Pictures’ 15‑chapter serial, simply titled "The Shadow", starring Victor Jory. He actually dons the familiar slouch hat and scarf, and the serial pits him against the villainous Black Tiger, a criminal mastermind who uses an invisibility device and a “death ray” to terrorise the city. The production values may be modest, but the tone - all secret lairs, coded messages and rooftop chases -  is surprisingly close to the pulps.

After the serial, the character moved to Monogram Pictures, specialists in fast, inexpensive B‑movies. In 1946 they produced a trio of features - "The Shadow Returns", "Behind the Mask", and "The Missing Lady" - all starring Kane Richmond. These films are lighter and more comedic, with Cranston juggling social obligations, baffled policemen, and a steady stream of jewel thieves and murder suspects. 

The last Shadow film for decades arrived in 1958 with "Invisible Avenger" — though calling it a “film” is generous. It was assembled from two unaired episodes of a proposed television series and released theatrically. The result is uneven but historically interesting - a noir‑tinged take set in New Orleans, with a jazz‑infused atmosphere and a more psychological approach to Cranston’s abilities. After that, the character vanished from cinema screens.

"The Shadow" has naturally been adapted for comics several times during his long history. The first major attempt came with the daily newspaper strip, written by Walter Gibson himself and illustrated by Vernon Greene. These drew heavily from the pulp novels, but the strip format forced Gibson to compress his labyrinthine plots into tight, punchy sequences.

Street & Smith soon realised they were sitting on a multimedia goldmine and launched "Shadow Comics" in 1940. This title lasted 101 issues until 1949 and remains the most substantial comic‑book incarnation of the character. Early issues stayed close to the pulps, with Cranston operating as a dark, gun‑wielding vigilante supported by his network of agents. But as the 1940s progressed - and as superhero comics surged in popularity - the tone shifted. The Shadow became slightly more colourful, the villains more outlandish, and the action more exaggerated. 

Then came the strangest reinvention of all. In the mid‑1960s, Archie Comics acquired the licence and produced eight issues that transformed the Shadow into… well, something else entirely. Gone was the large hat and cloak. Instead, he became a blonde, square‑jawed superhero in a bright green‑and‑blue costume, complete with a sidekick and a rogues’ gallery that felt more like early Marvel than Depression‑era pulp. It was an attempt to modernise the character for the Silver Age, but the tonal whiplash was too extreme, and the run has become nothing more than a kind of cult curiosity.

When DC Comics acquired the rights to "The Shadow" in the mid‑1970s, they made a deliberate choice to return him to his pulp roots. The result was one of the most well-regarded, atmospheric and faithful comic interpretations the character has ever received. The initial 12‑issue series was written by Dennis O’Neil, and illustrated by Michael Kaluta, whose lush, ornate linework felt like it had stepped straight out of a 1930s magazine cover. Kaluta’s Shadow - all swirling cloak, and razor‑sharp silhouette - remains one of the definitive visual interpretations of the character. His New York was a world of fog, fire escapes, speakeasies, and shadow‑soaked alleyways, and the stories leaned heavily into the tone of the original Gibson novels. After Kaluta left the book, artists Frank Robbins and E.R. Cruz continued the run, each bringing their own flavour, but the tone remained consistent - this was not a superhero book, but a pulp crime thriller in comic‑book form.

The 1970s also saw The Shadow step into the pages of "Batman" - a meeting that felt both inevitable and long overdue. In issue #253, Bruce Wayne calls The Shadow “his greatest inspiration.” This wasn’t just a character moment - it was a nod to real history. Batman co‑creator Bill Finger had openly acknowledged that The Shadow was a major influence on the Dark Knight’s creation. Batman’s first published story, “The Case of the Chemical Syndicate” was even loosely based on the Shadow novel “Partners of Peril”.

A second team‑up followed in Batman #259, which deepened the relationship between the two characters. In this story, it’s revealed that Kent Allard once saved Bruce Wayne’s life when he was a child. It’s a lovely bit of mythology - the idea that Gotham’s greatest hero was shaped, quite literally, by the man who inspired him.

At last we hit the mid-1980s, where I enter the picture. We have a crime fighter who had been around for more than fifty years across multimedia platforms. Yet somehow I had never read a single one of The Shadow's adventures in prose or comics, nor seen or heard any of the various adaptations. I think it had all been too far in the past, or I was too young - I was only six when the O'Neill / Kaluta series was published and the black and white serial was not shown on the BBC in the school holidays like the Buster Crabbe "Flash Gordon" epics. Beyond being aware of the name, and a vague idea of his literary origins, he was a blank canvas to me.

So all of the above history is, of course, knowledge acquired long after the fact - at the time, I couldn’t have told you the difference between Margo Lane and Lois Lane.

That soon changed however, via the controversial 1986 mini-series "Blood & Judgement" from "American Flagg" creator Howard Chaykin. Instead of a period piece, this was a sexy, violent re-imagining, which transplanted the nocturnal crime fighter to then-modern-day New York. Crucially however this was not a reboot. It postulated that Lamont Cranston had vanished in the 1950s, only to reappear thirty years later looking not a day older when his former associates were targeted by an assassin. Dealing bloody justice to a sea of criminals, The Shadow is engaged in a desperate race against time to track down his oldest enemy and counter a deadly plan to bring about nuclear armageddon.

I'd been a big fan of Chaykin's work on "American Flagg" and this was very much in the same vein, helped by long-time lettering collaborator Ken Bruzenak. This was a fast-paced, action-filled thriller full of square-jawed men, drop-dead gorgeous women, seedy dens of iniquity, and violent death - no wonder it was labelled for mature readers. Yet despite being set in the contemporary USA, it seemed to ooze a certain 1930s style, and I immediately took to the character - even though this new take was unpopular among pulp purists.

The mini-series was successful enough to warrant an ongoing comic book, but Chaykin was busy elsewhere. Enter writer Andy Helfer (who had been the editor on "Blood and Judgement") and eclectic artist Bill Sienkiewicz, hot off his runs on "New Mutants" and "Elektra: Assassin". Helfer added newcomers to The Shadow's list of agents, as they investigated ever more bizarre cases. The sex quotient was phased out in favour of black humour, which ramped up even more when Kyle Baker came on board as artist with issue eight (Marshall Rogers drew the bridging issue seven).

Baker was new to the comics scene at this point. Seminal works like "Why I Hate Saturn" were still in his future, so this was the first time people got to experience his style and see him grow as an artist. I loved his cartoonish renderings and while the series was quite different to that produced by Chaykin, it still became one of my top monthly reads. Under Helfer and Baker "The Shadow" became a virtual psychopath, little better than some of the villains he fought and their take on the hero and his attitude towards his calling became more and more irreverent - culminating in them killing him off only to resuscitate his head atop a giant robot body.

But rumours had begun to circulate that current copyright owners Condé Nast were not happy with the direction their property was being taken in. Whatever the truth, the popular series was abruptly cancelled with issue nineteen and the next "Nuts & Bolts" storyline was never published. It was a sad end to a brilliant comic. Helfer's skewed vision and Baker's cartoon-like stylings were a perfect match. 

When the character returned in "The Shadow Strikes!" in 1989, it was back in his original hunting ground of the 1930s in a more traditional take on the pulp stories. Gerard Jones and Eduardo Barreto did a competent enough job - with the artist being particularly suited to 1930s adventure fiction - but I had moved on to other things by that point, and despite it lasting 31 issues, I only picked up a couple when it crossed over with "Doc Savage", which DC also published at that time. That would be the end of my involvement with "The Shadow" for five years...

Finally, after all that history, we come to the core of this memory for 1994 - and the moment "The Shadow" stepped back onto the big screen in a lavish, big‑budget Hollywood production.  Directed by Russell Mulcahy (fresh off the cult success of "Highlander") and starring Alec Baldwin as Lamont Cranston, the film promised a glossy, modern take on a hero who had been haunting popular culture for more than sixty years. Penelope Ann Miller co‑starred as Margo Lane, with Ian McKellen, Tim Curry, and John Lone rounding out a surprisingly heavyweight cast. It was a film that tried to combine elements of all the various versions - the pulps, the radio show, the comics -  and then layer on a few new ideas of its own, such as Cranston’s uncanny ability to conjure a different face when operating as "The Shadow"

Unlike the much earlier tongue-in-cheek adaptation of "Doc Savage", this pulp film is more straight-laced, building a downbeat origin story for the masked crimefighter - with just a touch of "Doctor Strange" to it - and crafting a reason for him to stalk the mean streets with his cape, wide-brimmed hat, silver pistols and maniacal laugh. Cranston is also a ruthless individual who coerces those he saves into joining his team of operatives - everything is in service of his war on crime. Yet he's a tormented soul, who seems confused about who he really is. At one point during a conversation with Margo Lane he proclaims "I dreamed I tore all the skin off my face and was somebody else underneath"...

The villain for the film is the pulp novels' recurring mastermind, Shiwan Khan - who I actually had come across previously in the DC comics runs. A direct descendant of the Mongol warlord Genghis Khan, he has telepathic, hypnotic and mind-controlling powers and is very much the Moriarty to Lamont Cranston's Sherlock Holmes, having had similar training by Tibetan monks. Khan intends to dominate New York by both scientific and mystical means and only The Shadow and his associates can stop him.

Visually the film is incredible, with a sumptuous Art Deco New York as its centrepiece, replete with towering city blocks, vintage cars, period costumes and swirling mist. It really does evoke the feel of the time the original stories were written. Clearly there is *some* influence from the superhero movies that came just a few years before - Burton's "Batman" immediately comes to mind - yet "The Shadow" manages to plough its own furrow in most areas and in some ways harks back to the more absurdist take on the Dark Knight from the classic Adam West series of 1966 - the nuclear bomb in the finale is a giant pinball that careers across a tilting floor and down a maze of hallways.

The modest SFX are also very good. Sure they might look a little dated to today's audiences, but to be honest, even though today's CGI wizardry might enable directors to put actors into any scenario or backdrop, there is something rather special about pre-digital matte paintings and optical effects. Maybe it's just my generation.

Are there some liberties taken with the source material in the transition to celluloid? Probably. But you have to remember that at the time I first watched the film I was totally unfamiliar with any of the pre-80s versions - and those certainly weren't afraid to tinker with the perceived lore built up over the past decades! Maybe that helped me embrace the fun and excitement when so many others had problems with it. Sure the story is hardly original and some of the dialogue might be a bit dramatically overstated, but what do you want from a pre-war mystery magazine adaptation? It was never going to be a Shakespearean classic. It helps that it's also well cast, with Baldwin in particular doing well in the dual roles - effortlessly charming as the playboy socialite by day, and all gravel voice and dark obsession by night, as he strikes fear into the heart of the criminal fraternity.

What really works for me is that the film feels like a live‑action extension of the 1980s comics I’d fallen in love with. Not the original pulps, or the 1940s serials, or even the more traditional "Shadow Strikes!" revival, but the bold, stylish, slightly unhinged reinventions of Chaykin, Helfer, Sienkiewicz, and Baker. The movie isn’t grim or grounded - it’s heightened, stylised, and knowingly over the top. It embraces the weirdness, the mysticism, and the operatic excess - and that was the core of those influential comics. Everything just works, and you can sit back and enjoy a rip-roaring, high-action, old-school adventure. It's unapologetic good fun and sometimes that’s exactly what a hero born in the shadows deserves.

Sadly the movie didn’t spark the franchise Universal perhaps had hoped for, but The Shadow didn’t vanish - he simply slipped back into the modern medium that had always seemed to treat him best - comics. The first major follow‑up was a number of Dark Horse mini‑series, which leaned into grit and psychological tension rather than the operatic sweep of the film. These were short, self‑contained projects - respectful, moody, and very much aimed at the existing fanbase rather than a new audience.

After that came a long quiet spell, broken in the 2010s when Dynamite Entertainment launched a full‑scale revival. Their flagship series brought in heavyweight writers like Garth Ennis, Matt Wagner, and Chris Roberson and these books were stylish, violent, and unapologetically pulpy - closer to the 1930s novels than anything since the O’Neil/Kaluta era, but with a modern sense of pacing and spectacle. They even enticed Howard Chaykin back to the character with 2014's "Midnight in Moscow".

The Shadow did also return to his literary roots eventually, in the authorised story "The Sinister Shadow", an entry in the 'Wild Adventures of Doc Savage' series from Altus Press. The novel, written by Will Murray, used unpublished material originally written in 1932 by Doc Savage creator Lester Dent. The story details the conflict between the two pulp magazine icons during a crime wave caused by a murderous kidnapping-extortion ring led by the mysterious criminal mastermind known as the Funeral Director. A sequel, "Empire of Doom", was published in 2016. 

Then in 2020, Condé Nast Entertainment announced a new series written by James Patterson and Brian Sitts. The first novel, "The Shadow", released in 2021, serves as a sequel-update with some science-fiction elements, bringing Lamont Cranston from 1937 into 2087 to battle Shiwan Khan in a futuristic New York. It sounds like the spiritual successor to the Helfer / Baker comics, so I wonder what the purists made of it. The second in the series, "Circle of Death", was published in 2023.

There have been other appearances - some anthology stories, fanzines and print essays, even the occasional rumour of a new film - but for me nothing has matched the ambition or visibility of the 1994 movie. Maybe one day I’ll brave all 325 pulp novels. Until then...

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows !

Honourable mentions:

• Starman - James Robinson’s new take on the son of one of DC's original Golden Age heroes was one of those rare reinventions that didn’t just update an old hero - it made the entire legacy feel richer, stranger, and more meaningful. Robinson not only told a mature, original story, he somehow wove the history of every character ever to bear the Starman name into a single narrative that made perfect sense. It’s a masterclass in how to use DC’s sprawling mythology to create to create a new hero for the modern day. Across its six‑year run, the series explored themes of nostalgia, age, collecting, family, and the long aftereffects of violence. It was a superhero comic that cared as much about memory as it did about cosmic rods and super‑villains. What’s most impressive is that "Starman" ended exactly when it needed to. Jack Knight’s story reached its natural conclusion, and Robinson stuck the landing so perfectly that no one has seriously tried to resurrect him since. In a medium where no-one stays dead for long, that alone feels like a small miracle. Definitely one of my top twenty comics - and one of the few that genuinely earns the title “modern classic.”

• Inside The Actor's Studio - I’ll admit I didn’t get to see this show until Sky's satellite channels started broadcasting episodes in the UK - by which point it had already been running for several years - but I became addicted almost immediately. The format couldn’t be simpler - every week, James Lipton, Dean Emeritus of the Actors Studio Drama School at Pace University, would sit down with one of the world’s biggest film or television stars and takes them (and us) through their entire career, from humble beginnings to the present day. These were not promotional chats. There was no new film to plug, no studio‑approved anecdotes. Instead, Lipton conducted long, meticulous, deeply researched conversations about craft, life, influences, failures, and the strange business of being an actor or director. His preparation was legendary - there are delicious moments where guests realise he’s dug up something they hadn't thought about in decades. Sure, the tone could occasionally drift into the cosy or even the faintly fawning, but more often than not the guests would genuinely open up. You got real insight into their personalities, their process, and what it took to be at the top of their field. And then, of course, there were the infamous ten quick-fire questions devised by French journalist Bernard Pivot - which would somehow coax out answers that were funny, revealing, or unexpectedly moving. It was a perfect little closer, equal parts theatre and therapy.  Lipton kept the show going well into his nineties - just a man armed with a stack of blue cards, a bottomless curiosity, and the ability to make Hollywood stars talk about their childhoods. Endlessly fascinating.

• True Lies - Arnold Schwarzenegger has made a lot of good movies, but this is one of my favourites because it blends action and humour with such ridiculous confidence. Arnold plays a mild‑mannered computer salesman whose real job as a government super‑spy is a secret from his wife and family. It’s essentially a “what if James Bond was married?” scenario, and the film has enormous fun with that premise. Cue explosions, fistfights, motorcycle chases, and enough cheesy one‑liners to fill a small warehouse, all layered with romance and a knowing wink at its own absurdity. It’s packed with moments people still talk about - Jamie Lee Curtis’s iconic hotel room dance, the horse‑versus‑motorcycle chase through a luxury hotel, and a gloriously over‑the‑top finale involving a Harrier jet and a terrorist dangling from a missile. The sort of film where every set‑piece tries to top the last, and somehow succeeds.  It helps enormously that Arnold is supported by Jamie Lee Curtis (who steals half the film), Tom Arnold (who steals the other half), and James Cameron behind the camera, orchestrating the chaos with his usual blockbuster precision. It’s big, loud, silly, and somehow still charming.

• Caliban's Hour - Another entry for Tad Williams, though this one is a far slimmer volume than his usual door‑stop fantasy epics. It's a sequel of sorts to Shakespeare’s "The Tempest" (always one of my favourite plays from the bard), but it takes a wonderfully unexpected angle. The monstrous‑looking Caliban forces a captive Miranda to listen to the dark tale of his origins, and the magical, terrible events that shaped him into the villain we think we know. Except, of course, things aren’t quite as black and white as they first seemed. Caliban presents his own version of events - which offer a new perspective on the original play, and Williams uses that gap to expand the world, deepen the relationships, and turn Caliban into something close to an anti‑hero. His story becomes about power, cruelty, loneliness, and the way history is shaped by whoever gets to speak. It’s a brilliant examination of one of Shakespeare’s most famous characters, and although knowing the original text certainly helps, it’s not essential - Williams gives you everything you need. A small book, but a surprisingly powerful one.