I shouldn't be writing this. Or, to be more specific, after seeing Watchmen three weeks ago, I decided I wasn't going to write a review of the film. Having bought my ticket in a frenzy of haste and anticipation, I watched the Watchmen with my heart in my hands, nervously checking in minute-by-minute to see if the film was a complete disaster yet – not the ideal mental state for criticism. One of the perks of writing a film review blog as opposed to, say, a film review newspaper column is the freedom to censor oneself. I paid for my ticket, and I reserve the right to keep my opinions a secret.
It wasn't that I didn't like the movie. Quite the opposite, in fact; I was afraid that I liked it more that I should. If that sounds completely ridiculous – who can say how much one should like a movie? – well, point taken. I decided to scrap that theory and return to the theater, this time with full knowledge of what to expect, and the mental facility to analyze what was being presented.
The verdict is in: Yes, Marissa. This movie is pretty friggin awesome.
Watchmen is absolutely an epic. It is complex and dark, vertiginous and long, and demands that the viewer bring some kind of interest and investment in the storyline with them to the theater. At least a passing interest in comic books, superheroes, or the Apocalypse is a pre-requisite for entrance, or should be.
The major victory of Watchmen the Movie is its dutiful exultation of Watchmen the Book. With the regrettable exception of Adrian Veidt's thin stature and weird accent, the filmmakers have painted a live-action version of the graphic novel's famous frames up on the screen. A pivotal chapter from the book, in which major character Dr. Manhattan relives the story of his frightening transformation into demi-god, is held intact for the film, and the resulting montage may be the most riveting few minutes of cinema we've seen in years. On the flip side, some book dialogue that probably should have been cut from the script (Laurie, arriving on Mars: "Whoa. I'm on Mars.") remains, but one can't fault the overall attention to detail. Little from the primary storylines has been omitted, and the result is a fascinating homage to the classic book.
All of this, in truth, is a mixed blessing for the viewer who has not read the book, as many of the characters and events might come off as confusing or overly grandiose. Someone arriving at the theater expecting a fun romp through the city on the wings of masked avengers might be more than disappointed. Children could be scarred for life. But that total upheaval of the superhero mythology is exactly what makes Alan Moore's novel such a revelation. While the cinephile side of me wishes the film were a bit more transparent, my love for culture and literature wins out here: I am very, very glad that this movie begs the viewer to compare it to the book. What better way to get the world to read a graphic novel from the late Seventies?
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