SHADOWMAN
Copyright © 2003 ACCLAIM COMICS
All Rights Reserved.

Shadowman

DEAD ON ARRIVAL

 

Most people never saw Turok/Shadowman #1,
including me. I've never seen even one page of art from this book. I've never seen the cover (the art at left is from an. issue of Shadowman's monthly comic). From all reports, however, T/S was a mess of irreducible proportions. Another in a long line of crash-and-burn comics that shipped in 1998-99: comics I worked myself nearly into the friggin' grave on, that, somehow, spiraled out of control once the script left my hands.

There were a couple of interesting things about T.S. One was Acclaim asked me to re-conceptualize Garth Ennis' vision for SHADOWMAN (which might explain Ennis' UNKNOWN SOLDIER, but I digress). Shadowman was very Vertigo Comics in execution, and when I was approached about T/S, I initially declined on those grounds. I don't much understand what they do at Vertigo, which is not a shot at Vertigo so much as an admission that what they do their probably sails over my head.

I thought Shadowman would work better as a John Woo character: martial arts and lots and lots of gunplay. I had never seen The Matrix, but a lot of what appeared in the lamented T/S reminded the few readers who saw it of that film: high energy, fast action, kewl stuff.

I gave Michael LeRoi (the Shadowman) a new career— late-night radio D.J. And I put him in a suit and tie instead of the ragged, bare-chested primitive look. I gave him a smoking habit and made him hipper, cooler and more laid back than he'd been, modeling him after Donald Fagan's Firefly album.

The opening scene of the complex (I'm tired of writing complex), layered (ditto) drama was overlaid with background noise from LeRoi's radio broadcast.  I really should have been paid almost double-rate for doing this running monologue in addition to the normal story pages.  I have no idea whether the monologue appeared as designed or whether it was legible, but it was intended to border the story pages and provide an eerie, quirky atmosphere to the stage.

I've included the radio broadcast here, perhaps the only remnant of this train wreck worth saving, and a reminder of the disastrous string of projects I sold my soul to write, only to be ruined by inattentive or inept editors, and artists who, from all appearances, cared only about the paycheck.

Christopher Priest
November 2000

1 DETAIL: A HAND FLIPS OPEN THE HINGED CAP OF A CLASSIC ZIPPO CIGARETTE LIGHTER. 

COLOR: NOTE THIS HAND IS AFRICAN-AMERICAN.

          2 VOICE:           (Off) Ten seconds.
          3 SFX:            CHINNKK.
  
2 DETAIL: THE HAND FLICKS THE FLINT, THE LIGHTER SPARKS TO LIFE.

          4 SFX:           FFLIKK… FFLIKK…  

3 DETAIL: IN VERY CLOSE ON THE END OF A CIGARETTE, FLAME FROM THE LIGHTER IGNITING IT, THE TOBACCO GLOWING EFFUSIVELY.

          5 SFX:           FFFTTHHHHH…  

4 DETAIL: EXTREME CLOSE-UP: THE CIGARETTE NOW IN THE LIPS OF A BLACK MAN. THE MAN INHALING.

          6 SFX:           EEEEFFFF… 

5 SAME: THE CIGARETTE IS REMOVED, THE LIPS EXHALE A CLOUD OF CIGARETTE SMOKE. ARTIST: GIVE THIS SMOKE SOME PERSONALITY, SPIDERY, WRAITH-LIKE WINDING SMOKE, NOT CARTOONY BALLOON-LIKE SMOKE.

          7 SFX:           FFFFFFFFFFFF!
  
6 DETAIL: A GOVI, A SMALL EARTHENWARE POT USED TO CONTAIN A DISEMBODIED SOUL. MIKE MARTS HAS COLOR REF ON WHAT GOVIS LOOK LIKE.
NEXT TO IT: A PORTRAIT (HEAD AND SHOULDERS) PHOTO OF CLAUDINE (SEE SHADOWMAN #8 FOR REFERENCE). THE PICTURE FRAME RESTS ON A COUNTER. CLAUDINE’s PHOTO IS UPSIDE DOWN INSIDE THE FRAME (THE FRAME IS RIGHT SIDE UP; THE PICTURE WAS DELIBERATELY INSERTED UPSIDE DOWN).THIS IS A SMALL-ISH PHOTO, 5 INCHES BY 7 INCHES. A ROTTED CHICKEN’S FOOT HAS BEEN BOUND TO THE FRAME BY STRANDS OF HUMAN HAIR WOUND AROUND THE FRAME.PLACE A FEW SMALL VOTIVE CANDLES AROUND THE FRAME. THIS PHOTO CLEARLY HAS SOME RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE.

          8 VOICE:           (Off, Lower Case) kaff.
  
7 DETAIL: THE MAN’s HAND, HOLDING THE CIGARETTE. ANGLE ON AN EXPENSIVE, ORNATE CUFFLINK. A DEMONIC EYE SEEMS TO PEER OUT OF THE CUFFLINK, BUT THIS MIGHT JUST BE THE LIGHT REFLECTING OFF THE HIGH GLOSS OF THE CUFFLINK’S ONYX STONE.NOTE: THIS CUFFLINK IS MADE FROM THE ONE EYE OF LéROI’s BROTHER’S TEDDY BEAR (SEE ISSUE #3).

          9 VOICE:           (Off) Three… two…  

8 EXTREME CLOSE UP: LéROI’s EYES. HE IS WEARING HIS TRADEMARK SUNGLASSES, ROUND MATTE BLACK. 

          — no copy — 

And we’re back.

2:15 in The Big Easy. A cool 82 degrees in Jackson Square where the creatures of the night must have taken holiday. Our nightly death toll is at a pathetic low of 3 for this evening. Come on, Vieux Carré— a city so obsessed with facade maintenance— we’re falling down on the job.

Moonlight is the klaxon call for murderers and madmen. The night is still young, the line at the Praline Café has shortened to half a block, the rooftops and alleyways are alive with the ministry of our hard-working night strollers.

Secret krewes stage bal masqués in concealed chambers hidden from the prying eyes across Canal Street, while Voudou queens— fat, old, oiled, and naked— ramble out their hag’s complaint in between Jerry Springer reruns.

Hello, Desire.  I will be among you shortly.

Les Mystéres inhabit the dead, the dying, and the will of tyrants and evil men.  The streets are lined with bloated, drunken tourists. C’mon, Bourbon Street—  aissez les bons temps rouler—

—let the good times roll. Line 6, you’re on the air.

I don’t think you’re very damned funny, Leroy.

I agree.  I have no sense of humor, that I’ve noticed.

Right.  All that crap about you being undead…

I am not undead. Vampires are undead. I am half-dead. There’s a difference.

That’s what I’m talking’ about. You being some kind of super-hero… The Shadow-Man or some nonsense…

You are obviously a first-time caller. I am not a super-hero.  Were you dying in the street, I would step over you to get a good beignet and café aulait.

Bull.  You say you fight zombies and witches…

My mission is to keep the denizens of Deathside from overrunning the Earth. The rest is up to you.

So you run around killing people.

Dead men, possessed men, reanimated corpses, that kind of thing. Mama Nettie called me “The Conscience of the Night,” and its protector

And you talk about it on your stupid little chat show?!? Aren’t you afraid the cops will come after you?

There is no statue prohibiting me from shooting people who are already dead.  I’m a licensed bond enforcement officer with limited police powers.

You tryin’ to tell me the cops LICENSE a zombie hunter?

There is a small fee. Line 8, you’re on the air.

Ramma thal ngeah yusef laganora ha cumma nor edoi—!

Valmont, stop speaking in tongues on the air. Gives me gas.

The Amaranthine Accordance shall utterly destroy thee!!

Okay, well, I’m a little busy tonight… I get off at 3, but I’ve already got two death bouts and a dental cleaning…  what if you utterly destroy me, say, Thursday—?  Line 4, you’re on the air.

WHAT THE HELL IS WITH THIS ALL-JETHRO TULL FORMAT?!?!?

Tull rocks, sir.  Think of it as “Music To Cut Your Throat By.” Line 6, you’re on the air.

Mr. LEE-Rah, I just love your show.

Thank you, ma’am.

As a Voodoo mastuh, I though maybe perhaps you could help me win at the casinos tonight?

I don’t know anything about Voudou, ma’am.  I am a Shadow Man, enslaved by the recently and literally jarred Mama Nettie.  I have great and fearsome power, but I’m not a Houngan or anything.

It’s kind of a Windows 98 version of Voudou— a point and click type of deal.

Aren’t you afraid your high visibility will bring those demons to your door?

I am the Shadow Man, ma’am, the last and most powerful of my kind, capable of banishing and destroying Deadsiders. I am not hiding from anyone.  I am in the yellow pages under “Man, Shadow.”

Trust me, I am the last thing a dead person ever wants to see.

The Amaranthine Accordance shall destroy thee!!

Thursday, Valmont. Hang up now, you’re getting boring. Go ahead, Line 2.

So, in all of this holding back the gates of hell, Mr. LéRoi, let me ask you—how’s your love life?

You’re on the air.

Mr. LéRoi—?  I love your show!!  I’m at CSU in Boulder, and we pick it up here over the college network.

Thanks.  What’s your name?

Denice.

How old are you, Denice?

I’m 17.

And does your mother know you talk to Shadow Men?

Now that I’m away at school, there’s a LOT of things my mother doesn’t know.

No doubt.  What’s on your mind, Denice?

Well, it’s kind of a personal question.

I get those all night long, Denice.

Well, I was wondering if the dead, well, if they— ah—  do they—

Yes.

Really?

It’s pretty much all there IS to do in Deadside. I’m sure you’ve heard of evil spirits called succubus, who entrance you with desire?  That’s where they come from.

Wow.  Have you— I mean— did you ever—?

No, but I hear it’s great

So, does that mean you’re celibate—?

I’m a Shadow Man.  Not a monk.  But I’ve got RULES, Denice.  No corpses or coeds.

What’s wrong with coeds?

You can’t handle the emotional consequences.  You still think this is all recreational— a beer keg and B.C.— ignoring the spiritual side of intimacy. But there is a bond created every time and with every partner, one you’re not spiritually or emotionally prepared for.

And, no offense, Denice, but most corpses have more experience. Hello, Line 4.

Uh— hi, Mr. ah— Man. I think my neighbor may be dead. How can I know for sure?

Urinate on him.  Not many living people would let you do that without a fee.

No, I mean, he may be a zombie or something.  I heard you could tell by looking at the pupils— if they have a distinct black ring around the corona…

No, sir— that’s the Illuminati.  They have nothing to do with Deadsiders. They just run the country.

What about smell?  What does death smell like?

About the same as Brute after-shave. Or Eartha Kitt.

But, I mean, there must be some kind of test…

There are many Deadsiders living among us.  Most are up to no good, but some are just trying to live their deaths in peace.  If your neighbor isn’t bothering you, say, with all-night bloodfests or ritual strangulations, I think it’s safe to say he’s probably just really old. Hi, line 7.

Hi Mr. LéRoi.  I’m in Florida and…  I’m sorry… I just can’t stop crying… I recently lost my grandma… and… I was hoping maybe you could contact her…

Sorry, I don’t do that sort of thing. 

But, aren’t you in contact with the dead?

Miss, Deadside is huge.  It’s like New Jersey. Imagine walking around all of New Jersey looking for your Nana. That’s the odds I’ll bump into her there. Line 3, you’re up.

The Amaranthine Acc—

Line 5, go ahead.

That poor girl was begging for your help!  How could you be so— so heartless—?

You must be a new listener.  Last year, Tommy Lee Bones ripped my beating heart right out of my chest and squashed it.

In other words, I am heartless. Line 9?

Uh, hi.  I’m an aspiring serial killer, and I’m having trouble coming up with a good enough motif.

Go on.

Well, you’ve got your Jeffery Dhamers, your John Wayne Gacys, your Joel Rivkins… the Hannibal Lecter thing in that movie was interesting… but nothing’s really grabbing me yet.

How about cows?  I had this dream about cows the other night.  What if, after every kill, you slit a cow open and stuffed the corpse inside the cavity.  Now that would be new.

Hey… that might work.  Need to walk through the logistics… beta test it a bit… I’ll call you back.

Yeah, let me know how that one works. You’re on the air.

Hi, Michael, it’s Sandy.

Hi Sandy, what are you cooking tonight?

Trout Meunière.

Just about the easiest fish recipe there is. No one could screw it up unless he wasn't paying any attention at all.

It’s the butter. Having trouble skimming it.

Clarifying butter is tricky if you don't do it a lot. Try straining it through a cheese cloth to get rid of the residue. If you don't get rid of the milk solid, the butter will turn toxic in the pan, and ruin the flavor the fish. Or do what I do— go wait in line at Galatoire’s on Bourbon Street. Leave this stuff to the professionals.  Hello, Line 8.

Shadow Man— can you settle a bet for us?

If I can.

We’re halfway through the Rhadhzi Bone Man human ritual sacrifice.  Now, do you eat the heart before or after the decapitation?

Before.  It must be fresh, or the whole deal’s shot.

Great, dude!  Later!

Go ahead, line 5.

Saints-Cowboys?

Well, since both teams are already eliminated from playoff contention, the only question is: will one of the Cowboys shoot Billy Joe Hobert in the face, or will Ditka?

I think you're being too hard on Hobert. He's no worse than Jim McMahon, who won a Super Bowl. And Billy Joe doesn't headbutt offensive linemen.

You may be right, but Lamar Smith isn't Walter Payton, and Qadry Ismail isn't Willie Gault. With that in mind, never, EVER compare the Saints to the '85 Bears. Next caller. You’re on the air.

Ey, yo, wassup S-M, it’s G-Rock.  I move weight over on Poydras.  Y’know, rock, horse, herb, ecstasy— and some new designer BLEEP!, knowatemsayin’.

I’m there, G-Rock.  Go on.

Well, brother gots to look out for his future, knowatemsayin,’ so, I was thinkin’ maybe I move my shares of Trakon into a lower-yield but more stable stock, like Beyers-Rinhold or Terry Toys. And convert my mutual funds to T-bills or Index funds or sumathuh BLEEP!  to minimize my capital gains sit’iation, knowatemsayin’?

Wait, wait— you got any girls on the street?

Yeah, I’m runnin’ some Ho’s over on Fonatine.

Well, see, G-Rock, personally, I’d keep my Ho Money separate. Check out the NASDAQ and move the Trakon shares into technology stocks like Empras or Stacer.  You can move them as a block, and then keep your Ho Money in a 401k you open with S-corporation documents you could file in Delaware. Leave the mutual funds where they are because, in the long run, I doubt T-bills will out-perform them. Cool?

Cool.  Peace out, zombie-dude.

Hello, line 4.

The Amaranthine Accordance shall utterly destroy you—!!

Look, Valmont, this isn’t funny anymore.  Get a life, please.  Line 6, go ahead.

Say— just what IS an “Amaranthine Accordance,” anyway?

Dinosaurs disguised as human beings. It’s a long story. Think: a really dangerous, scary version of “Barney.” 

But, why would they want to kill you?

I’m a Shadow Man. Comes with the gig. Line 6, you’re on.

Hey— I’m a first-time caller from Oakland— this show… this is a JOKE, right?  This is sketch comedy, right?

Of course.

 I mean, come-onnn… giving advice to serial killers?  Instructions on ritual sacrifice?

Trout recipes.

Yeah, see— this IS just all in FUN, right? A killer… a self-proclaimed “Shadow Man,” listed in the yellow pages?!? Who runs a nightly talk show?

Sir, have you ever BEEN to New Orleans?

Well, no…

Sketch comedy.  You’ll sleep much better at night.  Line 8.

I’m calling from the roof of the Westin Canal Place!  I’m gonna jump— and YOU CAN’T STOP ME!!!

Fine. When you get to Deadside, look up a guy named Guts.  He knows where all the best bars are. Line 2, you’re on the air.

Shadowman— I’m having a helluva time installing a neutral safety switch on my ’83 Mercury Cougar.

Is that the XR7 or the LE?

Uh— how do I know which is which?

The LE has coach lamps.  The XR7 has a manual 5-speed gearbox and a turbo.

The turbo.

You have to pull the exhaust manifold and put the switch in sideways because of how the gearbox is mounted, and you’ll need a reversible .05mm driver because Ford was transitioning to metrics that year.  Line 10, you’re on.

Gee thanks a freaking LOT, Shadow Man!!  What was that crap about Barney being possessed?!?  Now my kid can’t sleep!!

Barney is not possessed.  Go ahead, Line 7.

I recently upgraded to Windows 98, and now every time I boot up, I get a network error.

Are you on a LAN?

No, but I have a 3Com Fast EtherLink XL 10/100Mb TX Ethernet card. Should I pull it out?

No. Since you have the card installed, the O/S is looking for a network. What you need to do is open your control panel  and chose the Network icon.  Under configuration, chose “MS Family Logon” as your primary network.  Under “components,” remove the “MS Network adapter,” restart Windows, and you should be out of the woods.

Sounds like a lot…

You’re in the deep end of the pool, ma’am.  You want simple?  Buy a Mac.  Line 8—?

What are the words to “Louie-Louie—?”

There are no  words, sir.  It’s actually an ancient Satanic mantra sung at entry-level bloodletting ceremonies, as are most Lionel Richie songs.  Go ahead, line 3.

Are you a Satan worshipper, Mr. LéRoi?

God and Satan are matters of opinion, sir.

But aren’t you an expert on the occult?

Voudou has nothing to do with the occult. Many Voudou practitioners are devout Catholics.

And you?

I am neither.

Does Satan use Windows or a Mac?

Satan uses Unix.

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