Movie review: Watchmen

by John P. Meyer

Watchmen is a fantastically entertaining movie, and Zack Snyder and his filmmaking team deserve all the credit in the world for bringing one of the most revered graphic novels ever to glorious big-screen life. But there's no getting around the fact that folks coming into this movie cold (i.e., without having previously read the book) are likely to spend the first hour of the show scratching their figurative heads and wondering what the bloody hell is going on.

Specifically: who are all these nutcases in capes and leotards (and extreme hooker wear), and why do they seem so brimming over with angst?

Another word of caution: this is no family-friendly, kid-directed X-Men brand of superhero outing: it contains certifiable, pull-no-punches R-rated material, replete with graphic compound fractures, bullet-to-the-brainpan gore and (occasionally disturbing) sexual themes. One indication of the producers' Rorschach-like refusal to compromise is the fact that Dr. Manhattan spends most of his screen time walking around in the nude - and we're talking full frontal, folks, so prepare to ogle or cringe in accordance with your sensibilities.

And, finally, it should be mentioned that the movie's runtime is well over 2 1/2 hours, so plan accordingly in regard to beverage intake, as there is little opportunity for leaving the theater if you intend to stay on top of story line developments. (Or amazing, jaw-dropping action sequences.)

As the movie opens, we find ourselves immersed in simpler times: it's the mid 1980's, Nixon has just started his umpteenth term in office and the nuclear annihilation clock rests at five minutes 'til midnight (and counting). Over the opening credits we are treated to a number of beautifully-rendered setpiece tableaux to give us a sense of the revisionist superhero history propounded by the authors. At its core, this would have us believe that the caped crusaders created by Siegel, Shuster and their creative kin actually exist in the real world. We get a glimpse their exploits in the later stages of WWII, following which they end up shaping the course of events for the next several decades - until an act of Congress bans them from pursuing their vigilante justice agenda.

Early on we discover that one of the watchwords of Watchmen will be brutality, as Edward Blake (a.k.a. "The Comedian", portrayed by Jeffrey Dean Morgan) is attacked by an unknown antagonist in his high-rise apartment and ejected bodily from the premises, to splatter himself all over the concrete on the street below. But not before every stick of furniture in the place is reduced to kindling.

Blake's career history is a problematic one, in the sense that he appears to have been equal parts villain and hero. Oh, sure, he cut a fiery swath through the Viet Cong during that little Southeast Asian mixup, but neglected to dial the intensity back when dealing with civilian rioters in the streets of New York. The Comedian just plain got a kick out of mixing it up, toe-to-toe - as long as he had the edge in firepower. (And, judging by the contents of his hideout gun closet, he left nothing to chance on that score.)

More troublesome still, Blake caused a great deal of formative-stages ill will amongst the loose collaboration of "masks" who banded together as The Watchmen, as a result of his deep cynicism and unfettered id. Worst of all: he was a rapist.

So when Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley as a gritty, growling, deceptively small-statured, unremittingly fierce upholder of justice) takes up the case of tracking down The Comedian's killer, he does it not out of any particular fondness for his one-time associate, but simply because his personal ethic demands that justice be served. (Besides, for all his faults, Comedian was one of the gang.)

From this point on, Rorschach acts as the story's chief motivator. It's through his efforts that retired "masks" are convinced to take up their dormant personas in order to hunt down Blake's killer. At first, none of his old cohorts are willing to emerge from their anonymity to assist him. Ozymandius (Matthew Goode), for instance, is busy being Adrian Veidt, world's richest man and captain of international industry. Ozy comes off as a mild mannered and mincing character, but don't let that first impression fool you.

Eventually more receptive is Dan Dreiberg (Patrick Wilson), whose Nite Owl incarnation was wont to partner up with Rorschach in the good old unfettered KAPOW! days. Dan takes some convincing, and the most convincing parts of his convincing come courtesy of another former team member, Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman, doing immense justice to the aforementioned extreme hooker wear). Silk (a.k.a. Laurie Jupiter) has been hanging out in a euphemistic sense with Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup) - right up until that god-like entity, having been zapped with gamma rays and rendered pure energy, has started acting... well... distant. As in, off-planet.

Seems Dan without his costume is like Sampson shorn, or Kid Shelleen sans sobriety: in a word, impotent. Further, Laurie evinces an enthusiastic interest in the trappings of his Nite Owl getup. So they don costumes (role playing, anyone?) and head out to rescue some kids from a tenement fire. Which lights their respective fires, leading to an amusing metaphorical jetting of napalm from the Nite Owl flyer (dubbed Archimedes) during a bout of airborne coitus. Great tension-reliever.

But then we're dragged back into this grim extinction-of-humanity story line, in which mankind's future teeters in peril while the Russians play at brinkmanship with an Afghanistan incursion. Nixon (Robert Wisden) and Kissinger (Frank Novak) retire to the Dr. Strangelove war room to mull over what would amount to allowable losses if they decide to launch a preemptive attack on the Soviet Union. (Result: the East Coast is expendable.)

The players do a truly remarkable job of bringing depth to their flawed and complex characters, which have always constituted one of the strengths of the Watchmen graphic novel (or comic book series, if you prefer). Standouts are Jackie Earle Haley as Walter Kovacs/Rorschach, whose fierceness surprises (and delights) at every turn; and Crudup as Jon Osterman/Dr. Manhattan, whose mild, unmodulated vocal delivery speaks deeply of the loneliness of demi-godhood. Not to mention those empty shining eyes.

There's one area in which the filmmakers have clearly added value to the book version of the story, and that's in the realm of music. Tyler Bates' original score is fine, but what really punches up the proceedings are period songs that have been carefully chosen and overlain onto the action, and for this it seems Zack Snyder himself is largely responsible (ref. this interview). When the tide of public sentiment turns against costumed heroes, we get Dylan's Times They Are A-Changin’. As a monumentally-upscaled Dr. Manhattan emerges atop an incline and begins calmly zapping Viet Cong - with The Comedian wielding a flame thrower in support - we get Flight of the Valkyries. Most remarkably, as the Dr. Manhattan origin story plays itself out across the screen, we hear from Philip Glass' eerie score to Koyaanisqatsi. (Life out of balance, indeed.)

Leonard Cohen gruffs out two tunes during the proceedings: First We Take Manhattan over the end credits, and Hallelujah during a memorable "praise be!" moment aboard Archimedes.

I've heard some reservations expressed about this movie from various quarters, but you won't be hearing any from me. This is a great cinematic entertainment, and a remarkably faithful translation of the source material. Experience it. Enjoy it. Just don't expect to fully understand it - unless you possess the wisdom of Ozymandius.

• Staff
• Verified User
• Anonymous