Let’s all face it: the salient review on Hollywood Elsewhere that said “Watchmen” was “campy silliness and 2nd-rate comic book melodrama” was totally on the money. Add soulless, redundant regurgitation and you’re good to go (more context and backstory on our truncated pre-review here which posits why this movie can only fail after “The Dark Knight”).
20 years in the making, the “unfilmable” graphic novel about an alternate 1980s universe where Richard Nixon is president and the Vietnam war still rages on has finally arrived and it’s up there with the greats, “Star Wars: Attack of The Clone,” “Batman Forever,” “Superman III,” “Matrix II and III,” and the other misconceived and sometimes laughable misfires in the cannon of sci-fi and super hero comics.
Just because a man finally figures out how to lick his balls doesn’t mean he should; which kind of conveys the self-satisfied and goofy smirk with which Zack Snyder’s direction seems to be driven by. It’s as if every moment is a stylistic, “can you believe I pulled this off?,” and, “look ma, no hands!,” plus guileless, unclever winks to the audience, “did you catch that?” — TELEGRAPH!
Sadly, the adaptation of Alan Moore’s estimable “Watchmen” — itself a dense, multi-layered and metatexutal termpaper — is a shallow, superficial and fundamentally flawed misreading of the material. About as subtle as a monster truck pile-up, Snyder’s version of the subversive Moore murder mystery cum caustic morality tale is tonally-challenged and he imbues it with the flexing enthusiasm of an overeager and callow teenage technician with a flair and knack for style.
More transcription or robotic clerical work than it is transposition or even basic adaptation, the note for note cinema alteration is narratively dull-headed, full of painfully expository, dialogue, plot and backstory. Apparently tone, feel and mood were an afterthought unless it was a brief moment to brood; counterfeit moments of introspection meant to convey some inner challenged weightiness.
“Watchmen” is certainly the slavishly faithful adaptation fans wanted, but so by the letter is the material, its moods, ambiguities, contradictories and complexities are conveyed with about as much soul and emotion as Dr. Manhattan’s cue-card like delivery. Its attempt to be unwaveringly patriotic to the ur-text becomes glib jingoism and such veracious fidelity is essentially the dictionary definition of uninspired.
So painfully literal, its wooden and hermetically sealed. No we’re not talking those ridiculous and oh-so-loyal costumes, we mean that leaden and robotic dialogue. Is it so hard to understand that what works on the page may not work when read aloud? This is why the table reading was invented and the joke is it wasn’t made just for comedies (We’re supposed to not laugh at: “Whatever happened to the American dream?!?”)
[ed. Here’s a tip for you filmmakers on their way to make comic book adaptations: just because a character thinks aloud doesn’t mean they should do the same onscreen. They’re two different mediums and blatant exposition works to drive narrative in comics, in film it’s an obvious 101 no-no that is cringe-worthy]
Snyder’s on-the-nose reading is so incalculably juvenile and unsophisticated, it actually insults ones intelligence a few times. Loaded with fanboy Easter eggs in the corners of every shot we’re somehow meant to believe that a dense and packed frame with “clues” is somehow supposed to be a stand-in or shortcut for depth? But it’s evident that zealous nerds are already foolishly mistaking visual piety and knowing winky, reflexiveness for some kind of profundity.
So much of it feels wildly off the original spirit of the graphic novel. It’s one thing to extend the action to appeal to your constituency, and it’s another to fetishize it, capturing it in almost-sexual slow motion, savoring every drop of blood and revealing your hand as only really capable in the arena of stylized violence as this is the only element that Snyder does well. If “Watchmen” is the thoughtful, thinking man’s comic book — which it is — it appears that Snyder’s pedestrian interpretation is disconnected from its working brain. The premium placed on the violence is far too high and there’s a crass element to it that goes overboard and never seems in service of the story (please read the New York Times review which eloquently gets into this in depth). Plus the speed-ramping and slo-motion is a terrible crutch. Even a marital dispute in flashback is somehow conveyed in slo-mo? Oh wait, only.. the crucial… moments… you’re… meant.. to… take oh-so-seriously.
The graphic novel is textured, thoughtful and carefully observed, but forget nuance and tenor, there is no subtext here, only text which is taken in every dull, facsimiled moment at complete face value. When Snyder — a swell and congenial fellow — talks deconstruction and destroying the superhero movie he’s out of his element, but partly right, “Watchmen” does upend the traditional superhero arc and savagely twists it on its side, but make no mistake this was all Moore’s doing in ’86 and to suggest he should enjoy any credit for those spoils is just another one of his wildly injudicious thoughts.
There is exactly one powerful scene in this naive transposition and this is in the final showdown between the vainglorious would-be martyr villain and the heroes that band together once more to fight their common enemy, but its strength again lies in the powerful and semi-shocking, let sleeping dogs lie conceit which “Watchmen” concludes on. The bitter pill audiences are forced to swallow was powerful to begin with and Snyder thankfully doesn’t botch it, but the rest is filled with eye-rolling camp served with heavy slathering doses of guffaw-inducing Velveeta and Cornball.
Visually, “Watchmen,” could be called stunning, but didn’t “300,” and “Sin City” already prove that visual replication is pretty simple? Plus, Moore’s story was always first and foremost about its densely weaved narrative and story. He’d probably weep if someone told him his film felt like the “Matrix” (and if you can’t somehow discern that this tone if wantonly removed from Moore’s original, we weep for you too).
What resonated so loudly, almost above all in the original comic are the extended and distressed cold war cultural anxieties that suffuse the material and while these fears are stated and addressed here, they never manifest on a true emotional level. There is no verisimilitude. One would think in a post 9/11 world these contemporary fears would feel more relevant, but in Snyder’s campy, plastic world, it’s just backdrop to get the story mechanics going forward.
“Who Watches the Watchmen?” — questioning the moralities and ethics of the once-assumed unimpeachable super hero is the central thesis of Alan Moore’s tome. The murder mystery is simply the device to suck you in and drive the narrative forward. But compared to “The Dark Knight” which masterfully navigated the idea of flawed heroes and the blurred distinction between right and wrong, this feels like amateur hour.
Of course a huge part of the populace is going to think most scenes in this film are “kick-ass” — that meaningless, vapid language of the inarticulate — easily-sold mouthbreathers that need little more than a showy action sequence to get them erect. What “Watchmen” will also prove is just how fucking lazy the standards of teenage boys and their arrested development man-child counterparts are.
The main dealbreaker is Snyder himself — we read the script in advance and it was actually more flat than what the filmmaker delivered — “tasteful” just isn’t in his vocabulary. What we’re positive he believes are the subtle “Blade Runner” references are actually groan-worthy and beaten over your head (a barrage of constant crying rain and wailing Vangelis-like synths, dude we fucking get it!). Let’s not even go there with the music; are we supposed to crack up when a casual dinner date btwn Nite Owl II (Patrick Willson) and Silk Spectre (a lifeless Malin Akerman) is soundtracked to “99 Luft Balloons” for no apparent reason? It’s just another WTF!? moment. Eighties elements like this only further illustrate just how aggressively imprisoned Snyder is by the time period and it only succeeds in bringing more cheese to every aspect (wardrobe, costumes, etc.). Sigh…
Who would have thought that My Chemical Romance’s sophomoric execution of Bob Dylan’s magnum opus would be the perfect gateway analogy to explain Zack Snyder’s clumsy misappropriation of Alan Moore’s heavy tradebook, “Watchmen”? The same artless and primitive translation sadly applies here too. [C-]