Of this much, one can be certain - The Watchmen, as it exists in graphic novel form, is one of the most sophisticated pieces of comic work ever conceived. Elegant, nuanced, with a prolific voice and a genuine affection for graphic storytelling, it’s a beautiful representation of what comics can achieve. Let’s temporarily shelve the fact that The Watchmen is wrapped in the super-hero genre and how that is perceived by the American public. Truth be told, that’s just window dressing.
Written by Alan Moore in twelve chapters, the book is an examination of intricate structures, pirhouetting between Thomas Pynchon-esque frameworks and pre-established conventions from Moore’s previous Swamp Thing run (published by DC comics). The writing is beautiful and brutal, deft, ruthless.
One of the most fascinating characters in the story is Dr. Manhattan, a god-like being capable of bending matter to his will. He experiences time in a lateral fashion, as opposed to our linear one. All times - past, future, and present - are linked in his existance. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that ‘time’ is not something he experiences at all but a state of being, of existing beyond it. For Manhattan, time becomes conceptual.
For the Watchmen movie, time is a very real villian.
The film tries desperately to cling to Moore’s original content, mirroring the formulas he used to maintain the story, both thematically and technically. Unfortunately, in doing so, it has no soul, no drama.
No time.
To defend Zach Snyder, the film’s very competent director, there simply isn’t enough time in three hours. There isn’t enough time to explore Silk Spectre’s near pathological denial of her father, or the culmination of conflicting emotions when faced unavoidably with his identity. There isn’t enough time to explore Rorschach’s gracefully ugly world view and the gradual effect it has on the therapist that interviews him, the professional life he’s crafted around himself. There is no time to explore the nuanced relationship between Night Owl and Rorschach, the homosexual undertones in their relationship. No time.
Film is not the vehicle for this story. A film continues to roll forward for three passive hours of viewing. There is no time to drink in it’s dignified architecture, no panel border to pause and reflect on the tale being told, the characters it envelopes.
The Watchmen movie is an excellent effort - handsome and artistic. But as often before it, the book that spawned it resonates, the film does not.
