Children of the Revolution
Watchmen rules.
BY GREGORY
The promise of Cinéma -- its grandeur and glamour, audacity and complexity, impact and after-effects -- is well within
the grasp of a young upstart director called Zack Snyder. Upon emerging from his latest (and greatest) motion picture,
the quarter-century-in-development comic-book-adaptation Watchmen, I must admit, I was awestruck. Throughout, and
of course immediately thereafter, I was nitpicking -- and I have found plenty of details (technical, narrative, ideological)
which reasonably may be called flaws. But nonetheless, this movie is perfect -- fulfilling its obligations to its audience
100%, and even cajoling a determined nitpicker (yes, I have some negative comments, below) to stay engaged
throughout its generous run-time, whilst feeling very much like I was being, well, rocked. Watchmen is cool as hell.
Watchmen is epic in every sense of the word. Watchmen rules. A high new bar for pop cinéma, by it, has been set.
Of course, odds had it that this production would represent an ideal marriage. A few years ago, I grudgingly forced
myself into a screening of Snyder's remake of Dawn of the Dead, at the Cineramadome in Hollywood, and although I
was ready to skewer it for its pointlessness (the original is another example of pop-art perfection), I emerged impressed
(take a bow, Sarah Polley). Likewise, and moreso, Snyder's adaptation of Frank Miller's 300, the bait for which had been
an invitation to a little advance party to view some scenes and then munch little fried things with the film's creators
(Snyder and his wife, producer Deborah Snyder, it turns out, are smart and lovely people). This paid off immensely in its
big-screen bravura -- and I'm not even the man-panties'n'slaughter type! With 300, some bold and breathtaking cinématic
muscles were being flexed, and from Lena Headey's early-on doggie thrust (with that big, showy, unabashedly Cinemax-
late-nite slo-mo gasp) via her snarling, doomed King, I could see it: This guy, Snyder, he is here to give the people what
they actually want.
No exception is Watchmen, which I won't hesitate to tell you kicks The Dark Knight's little Akira-cycle-riding Bat-butt all
over Gotham (in this case, "New York," which is actually, of course, Vancouver -- btw, why don't they ever just say,
"This is Vancouver"?). The Dark Knight had its merits (mostly pre-sold merits, IMHO -- people decided to show it
religious devotion before they actually saw it), but its objective, despite its overly ample bombast, was far too facile:
Punish and Pontificate. As a regular moviegoer who enjoys neither onslaught, The Dark Knight, while earning some thin
respect for its ugly energy, was at once far too simpleminded and too ridiculously LOUD for my tastes, and it shan't be
mentioned again here. The contrast is noteworthy, however, when considering the fascinating layers of meaning imbued
throughout Watchmen. While general audiences -- outside of the estimable Alan Moore fanboy army -- may initially find
these characters unfamiliar (or too familiar, which I suppose is part of its charm and point), we have here a rich and
compelling narrative open to any smart viewer -- and it certainly doesn't hurt that this movie does everything within its
considerable power to own your mf'n ass.
Watchmen is the sort of movie best viewed 100% cold (as I did), that every moment may bring a new surprise, but I'll
give you a little bit here (with no major spoilers). We open with rotten old-school superhero The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean
Morgan, looking all the world like Tony Stark gone to the Dark Side) getting attacked in his urban hang suite, then we
launch into what may be -- really, seriously -- the greatest opening title montage I have ever seen. As "The Times They
Are a-Changin'" resounds through your local big-screen movie palace, you'll be treated to a visually stunning 20th-
century history of America's off-beat superheroes the Minutemen, who evolve gradually (and painfully) into our
eponymous Watchmen -- and if you don't dig it, you should bail immediately, because you don't deserve the movie that
follows. I don't even like Bob Dylan, and I could watch this sequence ten times a day.
Thereafter -- and I'm really not going to give you much (if you care about modern cinéma, you should just go see it) --
we meet our hapless, flawed, scrappy and sometimes bewildered superheroes the Watchmen, as a complex (and
ultimately truly shocking) mystery unfolds. Each character has a civilian name, but much as Clark Kent is really the
disguise for the true identity of Superman, so do these heroes come alive (quite relatably) when called to action by their
"Mask" names.
I could spend all day with the particulars, but Jackie Earle Haley, as Rorschach, is the standout here, making good not
only on his rightfully Oscar-nommed performance in Little Children, but going all the way back to his turn as angry little
guy Moocher in Breaking Away, thirty years ago ("Don't forget to punch the clock, shorty!" has returned with a
vengeance). Rorschach, a creature of abuse and rage, could have been a dud due to the limitations of his motivations (as
with the more disadvantaged comic-book guys, his one note is: DESTROY!) -- but Haley somehow makes the character
fascinating, much as Hugo Weaving did with the masked 'V' in the terrific cinématic adaptation of Moore's V for
Vendetta.
Segue now, for three paragraphs: It occurs to me that Alan Moore really should leave his name on these movies, and
learn to be proud of them. Moore is a comic book writer -- one of the more noteworthy ones, certainly, but in many
ways simply a dirty-minded beardie-weirdie nihilist with a gift for gab (and an obnoxious taste for "eerie" Kubrickian
posing in photoshoots). If he wishes to be perceived as a respectable writer (outside of hawking pussy and slaughter to
adolescents), he should at least try to get something significant published outside of comic books. Meanwhile, as a
passionate pulpster, he ought to be delighted that Hollywood pays him for his fun and rich material -- as movies are a
good medium for him.
As for my own comic-book credibility, my very first non-Disney comic was Iron Man, and later I totally thrilled to The
Dark Knight Returns (i.e.: the movie they should've made). In my undergrad years, a very hyper friend gave me a copy
of Watchmen. I enjoyed its weird imagery, but did not feel compelled to read it (much as with Moore's other books, it
starts off captivating, and becomes, for me, a chore). I gave that copy away somewhere along the line, and still haven't
properly read the thing. That same friend used to jump up and down and shout that certain artists would "make you
wanna FUCK a comic book!" -- and...no, thanks. Ew. Doubleplus-Ew. Although I have accumulated a couple of boxes
of the things since, because of guys like that, I still don't know how to "get into" comics (much less copulate with them).
Speaking of which, though (and here endeth the segue), as life tries to illuminate us, I had a not-unreasonable (nor
unsummoned) attraction toward a comic-book artist for a few years -- and it was terrible, and she was terrible (as a
person; handy with a brush, though), and I wish I had that chapter of my corporeal existence back. Such is life when
fantasy overwhelms reality.
Segue back: Speaking of corporeal existence, the other major standout in Watchmen is Billy Crudup, who plays a scientist
caught in a sort of blue version of the Hulk machine -- who becomes Dr. Manhattan -- a fascinating quantum being. This
could have been handled in thousands of embarrassing and ridiculous ways. Snyder and crew, however, imbue the
character, his relationships (likes to stand around orchestrating floating exploded diagrams of machinery while he should
be making love to his old lady -- well, sort of), and his struggle with his lost aspects of humanity -- all with a huge
amount of soul. Mostly a ripped, nude CG apparition throughout (including a field-trip to Mars to construct what appears
to be a huge, particularly confusing puzzle from Myst), Crudup brings depth and even tenderness to a guy who -- via
some Hollow Man-type CG effects -- becomes essentially a god. Intriguing? You bet. Oh -- and fanboys (and, especially,
fangirls), please note: With Dr. Manhattan's electric-blue schlong on proud (and usually surprisingly tasteful) display, the
Batsuit-nipples controversy of yore has been well and truly laid to rest.
The many remaining subplots are better revealed to you via multiple viewings, but basically this is a screwed-up soap-
opera family of superheroes, appropriately about one-third as funny as the brilliant low-budget The Specials, which takes
the concept in a whole different direction -- although the costumes aren't much different. That's the thing here: These
heroes are people, and when Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson, another alum of Little Children) gets it on with Silk Spectre II
(Malin Akerman -- good but seems a bit lost, like a genuinely shallow girl) in his hot bronze Owlship, to the tune of
Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," high above Vancouv--oops! New York, where they've just completed the only conventional
scene in the movie by saving the residents of a burning tenement, one senses that -- well, yeah, sure, this is sort of an
echo of Revenge of the Nerds (his romantic competition, after all, is a deity) -- but, y'know, it would be nice to be that
guy. Up there. Doing that. Yeah.
It behooves me to tell you also -- and this is where I think Snyder has some growing and learning to do -- that some
scenes here are absurdly, repulsively sadistic. These shots are mercifully brief, and most have something to do with
Rorschach, but literally for every nice pelvic thrust there's a meat-cleaver flailing into a skull (six of each, I think; ask the
ratings board). Snyder and crew do sex well -- there's even a great giggle with Dr. Manhattan...plus Dr. Manhattan -- but
this director's penchant for the extremely graphic depiction of violence is disturbing. I really didn't need to see that guy's
glasses split in two when the bullet hits him between the eyes. That sort of thing. Tone down your aggressive instincts,
Zack -- they make you look childish...or Cronenbergian (which has been done to death).
My only other complaints -- and they are huge and petty, respectively -- are the ideological issues here, and some of the
casting. In the first category, it bugged me a bit to see a totally white crew of superheroes responsible for the deaths of,
say, a black man fried to death in burning grease, or a pregnant Asian woman ruthlessly shot dead. I'm not missing the
point -- I get that some of the Watchmen are nasty (and they're all technically Baby Boomers, 90% of whom, from my
experience, are ghastly creeps with big fake smiles -- appropriate, Messrs. Gibbons and Moore, that Smiley logo!) -- it's
just that it's very unpleasant, even in an alternative 1985 wherein Nixon is still in power and nuclear war between global
superpowers looms uncomfortably near, to watch such hideous acts transpiring (a whole lot less still would've gotten the
point across). Meanwhile, this story's great ultimatum (I'll say no more) is extremely mega -- and yet, narratively, it's
sort of glossed over in the way that hardly anybody questions the massive dubiousness of 9/11 anymore. I found this
movie's ending to be quite brilliant, and don't give a toss if it matches the book exactly (it most certainly does in spirit) --
but WHOAH. This sort of thing should not be given such a light treatment. Again, Zack has some growing to do (though
it's not entirely his fault, for the young director has, thus far, chosen rigidly structured stories by other people to turn
into movies -- a reliable source indicates that the graphic novel itself, not a screenplay, was used as the shooting script
for much of the filming).
And as for casting, I was delighted that Watchmen is not a big goofy star vehicle, and everyone in it is good, some being
great. Matthew Goode, however, as Ozymandias, is the weak link. He's passable, but simply too effete to bring his role
to the level it needs to reach. Not a crippling flaw, but could have been better.
All in all, though, we're lucky to have this movie. Terry Gilliam, for a long while the industry's sole working fantasist,
was slated to make Watchmen, but for whatever reasons, didn't. I think he's a genius, and The Fisher King is one of the
greatest, and most relatably human, movies ever made (features New York as New York, btw) -- but Gilliam could not
have made this Watchmen. Likewise, schmaltzy old man Spielberg. Likewise, irritating master of pointless overkill Mike
Bay (Oh, how that would have sucked!) Kubrick would have wasted the entire budget on the opening title sequence alone
-- and taken ten years to shoot it. Indeed, a movie like this required a fresh vision -- someone like Ridley Scott when he
was young and exciting and had a reason to exist -- and Snyder steps up to the challenge with literally flying colours.
Relative to its era of release (there's a lot of impressive male-oriented fantasy and adventure out there now), Watchmen
handily challenges Star Wars, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Lawrence of Arabia and Citizen Kane, in terms of pure
revolutionary entertainment. Yes, really; it's that good. Plus it's a hell of a lot sexier than all of them put together. Bravo!
WATCHMEN
Entertainment Value: 13/13
Style: 13/13
Philosophical Insight: 10/13
20 February, 2009
© 2009 Gregory Weinkauf
Watchmen rules.
BY GREGORY
The promise of Cinéma -- its grandeur and glamour, audacity and complexity, impact and after-effects -- is well within
the grasp of a young upstart director called Zack Snyder. Upon emerging from his latest (and greatest) motion picture,
the quarter-century-in-development comic-book-adaptation Watchmen, I must admit, I was awestruck. Throughout, and
of course immediately thereafter, I was nitpicking -- and I have found plenty of details (technical, narrative, ideological)
which reasonably may be called flaws. But nonetheless, this movie is perfect -- fulfilling its obligations to its audience
100%, and even cajoling a determined nitpicker (yes, I have some negative comments, below) to stay engaged
throughout its generous run-time, whilst feeling very much like I was being, well, rocked. Watchmen is cool as hell.
Watchmen is epic in every sense of the word. Watchmen rules. A high new bar for pop cinéma, by it, has been set.
Of course, odds had it that this production would represent an ideal marriage. A few years ago, I grudgingly forced
myself into a screening of Snyder's remake of Dawn of the Dead, at the Cineramadome in Hollywood, and although I
was ready to skewer it for its pointlessness (the original is another example of pop-art perfection), I emerged impressed
(take a bow, Sarah Polley). Likewise, and moreso, Snyder's adaptation of Frank Miller's 300, the bait for which had been
an invitation to a little advance party to view some scenes and then munch little fried things with the film's creators
(Snyder and his wife, producer Deborah Snyder, it turns out, are smart and lovely people). This paid off immensely in its
big-screen bravura -- and I'm not even the man-panties'n'slaughter type! With 300, some bold and breathtaking cinématic
muscles were being flexed, and from Lena Headey's early-on doggie thrust (with that big, showy, unabashedly Cinemax-
late-nite slo-mo gasp) via her snarling, doomed King, I could see it: This guy, Snyder, he is here to give the people what
they actually want.
No exception is Watchmen, which I won't hesitate to tell you kicks The Dark Knight's little Akira-cycle-riding Bat-butt all
over Gotham (in this case, "New York," which is actually, of course, Vancouver -- btw, why don't they ever just say,
"This is Vancouver"?). The Dark Knight had its merits (mostly pre-sold merits, IMHO -- people decided to show it
religious devotion before they actually saw it), but its objective, despite its overly ample bombast, was far too facile:
Punish and Pontificate. As a regular moviegoer who enjoys neither onslaught, The Dark Knight, while earning some thin
respect for its ugly energy, was at once far too simpleminded and too ridiculously LOUD for my tastes, and it shan't be
mentioned again here. The contrast is noteworthy, however, when considering the fascinating layers of meaning imbued
throughout Watchmen. While general audiences -- outside of the estimable Alan Moore fanboy army -- may initially find
these characters unfamiliar (or too familiar, which I suppose is part of its charm and point), we have here a rich and
compelling narrative open to any smart viewer -- and it certainly doesn't hurt that this movie does everything within its
considerable power to own your mf'n ass.
Watchmen is the sort of movie best viewed 100% cold (as I did), that every moment may bring a new surprise, but I'll
give you a little bit here (with no major spoilers). We open with rotten old-school superhero The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean
Morgan, looking all the world like Tony Stark gone to the Dark Side) getting attacked in his urban hang suite, then we
launch into what may be -- really, seriously -- the greatest opening title montage I have ever seen. As "The Times They
Are a-Changin'" resounds through your local big-screen movie palace, you'll be treated to a visually stunning 20th-
century history of America's off-beat superheroes the Minutemen, who evolve gradually (and painfully) into our
eponymous Watchmen -- and if you don't dig it, you should bail immediately, because you don't deserve the movie that
follows. I don't even like Bob Dylan, and I could watch this sequence ten times a day.
Thereafter -- and I'm really not going to give you much (if you care about modern cinéma, you should just go see it) --
we meet our hapless, flawed, scrappy and sometimes bewildered superheroes the Watchmen, as a complex (and
ultimately truly shocking) mystery unfolds. Each character has a civilian name, but much as Clark Kent is really the
disguise for the true identity of Superman, so do these heroes come alive (quite relatably) when called to action by their
"Mask" names.
I could spend all day with the particulars, but Jackie Earle Haley, as Rorschach, is the standout here, making good not
only on his rightfully Oscar-nommed performance in Little Children, but going all the way back to his turn as angry little
guy Moocher in Breaking Away, thirty years ago ("Don't forget to punch the clock, shorty!" has returned with a
vengeance). Rorschach, a creature of abuse and rage, could have been a dud due to the limitations of his motivations (as
with the more disadvantaged comic-book guys, his one note is: DESTROY!) -- but Haley somehow makes the character
fascinating, much as Hugo Weaving did with the masked 'V' in the terrific cinématic adaptation of Moore's V for
Vendetta.
Segue now, for three paragraphs: It occurs to me that Alan Moore really should leave his name on these movies, and
learn to be proud of them. Moore is a comic book writer -- one of the more noteworthy ones, certainly, but in many
ways simply a dirty-minded beardie-weirdie nihilist with a gift for gab (and an obnoxious taste for "eerie" Kubrickian
posing in photoshoots). If he wishes to be perceived as a respectable writer (outside of hawking pussy and slaughter to
adolescents), he should at least try to get something significant published outside of comic books. Meanwhile, as a
passionate pulpster, he ought to be delighted that Hollywood pays him for his fun and rich material -- as movies are a
good medium for him.
As for my own comic-book credibility, my very first non-Disney comic was Iron Man, and later I totally thrilled to The
Dark Knight Returns (i.e.: the movie they should've made). In my undergrad years, a very hyper friend gave me a copy
of Watchmen. I enjoyed its weird imagery, but did not feel compelled to read it (much as with Moore's other books, it
starts off captivating, and becomes, for me, a chore). I gave that copy away somewhere along the line, and still haven't
properly read the thing. That same friend used to jump up and down and shout that certain artists would "make you
wanna FUCK a comic book!" -- and...no, thanks. Ew. Doubleplus-Ew. Although I have accumulated a couple of boxes
of the things since, because of guys like that, I still don't know how to "get into" comics (much less copulate with them).
Speaking of which, though (and here endeth the segue), as life tries to illuminate us, I had a not-unreasonable (nor
unsummoned) attraction toward a comic-book artist for a few years -- and it was terrible, and she was terrible (as a
person; handy with a brush, though), and I wish I had that chapter of my corporeal existence back. Such is life when
fantasy overwhelms reality.
Segue back: Speaking of corporeal existence, the other major standout in Watchmen is Billy Crudup, who plays a scientist
caught in a sort of blue version of the Hulk machine -- who becomes Dr. Manhattan -- a fascinating quantum being. This
could have been handled in thousands of embarrassing and ridiculous ways. Snyder and crew, however, imbue the
character, his relationships (likes to stand around orchestrating floating exploded diagrams of machinery while he should
be making love to his old lady -- well, sort of), and his struggle with his lost aspects of humanity -- all with a huge
amount of soul. Mostly a ripped, nude CG apparition throughout (including a field-trip to Mars to construct what appears
to be a huge, particularly confusing puzzle from Myst), Crudup brings depth and even tenderness to a guy who -- via
some Hollow Man-type CG effects -- becomes essentially a god. Intriguing? You bet. Oh -- and fanboys (and, especially,
fangirls), please note: With Dr. Manhattan's electric-blue schlong on proud (and usually surprisingly tasteful) display, the
Batsuit-nipples controversy of yore has been well and truly laid to rest.
The many remaining subplots are better revealed to you via multiple viewings, but basically this is a screwed-up soap-
opera family of superheroes, appropriately about one-third as funny as the brilliant low-budget The Specials, which takes
the concept in a whole different direction -- although the costumes aren't much different. That's the thing here: These
heroes are people, and when Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson, another alum of Little Children) gets it on with Silk Spectre II
(Malin Akerman -- good but seems a bit lost, like a genuinely shallow girl) in his hot bronze Owlship, to the tune of
Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," high above Vancouv--oops! New York, where they've just completed the only conventional
scene in the movie by saving the residents of a burning tenement, one senses that -- well, yeah, sure, this is sort of an
echo of Revenge of the Nerds (his romantic competition, after all, is a deity) -- but, y'know, it would be nice to be that
guy. Up there. Doing that. Yeah.
It behooves me to tell you also -- and this is where I think Snyder has some growing and learning to do -- that some
scenes here are absurdly, repulsively sadistic. These shots are mercifully brief, and most have something to do with
Rorschach, but literally for every nice pelvic thrust there's a meat-cleaver flailing into a skull (six of each, I think; ask the
ratings board). Snyder and crew do sex well -- there's even a great giggle with Dr. Manhattan...plus Dr. Manhattan -- but
this director's penchant for the extremely graphic depiction of violence is disturbing. I really didn't need to see that guy's
glasses split in two when the bullet hits him between the eyes. That sort of thing. Tone down your aggressive instincts,
Zack -- they make you look childish...or Cronenbergian (which has been done to death).
My only other complaints -- and they are huge and petty, respectively -- are the ideological issues here, and some of the
casting. In the first category, it bugged me a bit to see a totally white crew of superheroes responsible for the deaths of,
say, a black man fried to death in burning grease, or a pregnant Asian woman ruthlessly shot dead. I'm not missing the
point -- I get that some of the Watchmen are nasty (and they're all technically Baby Boomers, 90% of whom, from my
experience, are ghastly creeps with big fake smiles -- appropriate, Messrs. Gibbons and Moore, that Smiley logo!) -- it's
just that it's very unpleasant, even in an alternative 1985 wherein Nixon is still in power and nuclear war between global
superpowers looms uncomfortably near, to watch such hideous acts transpiring (a whole lot less still would've gotten the
point across). Meanwhile, this story's great ultimatum (I'll say no more) is extremely mega -- and yet, narratively, it's
sort of glossed over in the way that hardly anybody questions the massive dubiousness of 9/11 anymore. I found this
movie's ending to be quite brilliant, and don't give a toss if it matches the book exactly (it most certainly does in spirit) --
but WHOAH. This sort of thing should not be given such a light treatment. Again, Zack has some growing to do (though
it's not entirely his fault, for the young director has, thus far, chosen rigidly structured stories by other people to turn
into movies -- a reliable source indicates that the graphic novel itself, not a screenplay, was used as the shooting script
for much of the filming).
And as for casting, I was delighted that Watchmen is not a big goofy star vehicle, and everyone in it is good, some being
great. Matthew Goode, however, as Ozymandias, is the weak link. He's passable, but simply too effete to bring his role
to the level it needs to reach. Not a crippling flaw, but could have been better.
All in all, though, we're lucky to have this movie. Terry Gilliam, for a long while the industry's sole working fantasist,
was slated to make Watchmen, but for whatever reasons, didn't. I think he's a genius, and The Fisher King is one of the
greatest, and most relatably human, movies ever made (features New York as New York, btw) -- but Gilliam could not
have made this Watchmen. Likewise, schmaltzy old man Spielberg. Likewise, irritating master of pointless overkill Mike
Bay (Oh, how that would have sucked!) Kubrick would have wasted the entire budget on the opening title sequence alone
-- and taken ten years to shoot it. Indeed, a movie like this required a fresh vision -- someone like Ridley Scott when he
was young and exciting and had a reason to exist -- and Snyder steps up to the challenge with literally flying colours.
Relative to its era of release (there's a lot of impressive male-oriented fantasy and adventure out there now), Watchmen
handily challenges Star Wars, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Lawrence of Arabia and Citizen Kane, in terms of pure
revolutionary entertainment. Yes, really; it's that good. Plus it's a hell of a lot sexier than all of them put together. Bravo!
WATCHMEN
Entertainment Value: 13/13
Style: 13/13
Philosophical Insight: 10/13
20 February, 2009
© 2009 Gregory Weinkauf
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