So, Daniel Dean of the Comic Book Closet put out a call for reviews of Watchmen. This isn’t the sort of thing I normally do; while it’s obvious that my opinion will now and forever be the only one that matters, I find it tiresome explaining that to people. However, I noticed that in his call Daniel failed to make any kind of specifications geared towards the tone, quality, focus, or seriousness of these reviews, and my interest was instantaneously piqued. It takes some serious balls to make that kind of pointed omission in a cattle call; specifically, serious balls that dangle tantalizingly around snap-kicking height.

I Googled "male crotch balls" without thinking of the consequences, and I just don't have the heart to inflict what I saw on the rest of you, so here are some Husky puppies instead.

With that out of the way, let’s get down to business! For the purposes of this review, I’m going to assume a few things:

- That you have read the graphic novel on which the film is based

- That you don’t care about spoilers, and

- That you are going to go somewhere else after reading this to get a serious, well-reasoned viewpoint, because you sure as fuck aren’t going to get that here.

One more warning before we really start chowing down on the meat of this thing – talking about the movie itself isn’t as important to me as telling the gripping tale of my movie-going experience, because I am an immense narcissist. That being said, if you’re just reading this because you need one more faceless person’s opinion so you can argue with your friends (“Well, Malcolm Christiansen said…” “Who?”) I’ll give you the following blurb as a gesture of good faith:

“You’ll enjoy it more if you haven’t read the graphic novel. It’s perfectly solid film, it’s just not as good or powerful as the book, which should come as a surprise to nobody.”

(Feel free to toss that on DVDs, book jackets, whatever you got.)

SPOILER ALERT: This image appears in the film.

Part 1: The Setup

In order to properly profile my Watchmen experience, I’ll need to talk a little about the Comox Valley, which is my hometown and where I’m living while I wait for school to start anew. The Valley is actually a trio of smallish cities (Comox, Courtenay, and Cumberland,) with a total population of about 60,000. There are three remarkable things about the Comox Valley:

1. Its flourishing population of retirees. Thanks to them, the average age is about 65 and the fastest growing sector of our economy is chain drugstores.

2. Its nearly incandescent whiteness. In my high school’s grad class there were two black kids, three natives, and four Asians out of about 200. I can’t really blame black and Asian people for not rushing the Valley, mostly owing to point number three:

3. Its oppressive boringness. There is seriously nothing to fucking do in this town, and it drives me crazy every time I come back. All the businesses close at nine o’clock sharp (if not before,) and crime is literally nonexistent. I can remember a couple of years ago when the big news in the papers was about a rash of lawn ornament thefts. This would be adorably quaint if I didn’t have to fucking live here for several months.

One of the Valley's rare young people makes a desperate suicide attempt in one of the countryside's many scenic rivers.

All of this is a very roundabout way of explaining why there were only about twenty people waiting in line when I rolled up to the town’s only movie theatre.

Part 2: The Pre-Game

But I’m getting ahead of myself, as unlikely as that seems. Being the insufferable narcissist that I am (I think I mentioned that earlier,) I tend to have a slightly skewed set of priorities when attending geeky shit. I like to work out beforehand, put on some of my finer duds, that sort of thing. There’s something about knowing everyone else in attendance isn’t going to give half a shit about how they’re dressed that brings out my inner priss, and this occasion was no different.

For tonight, I settle on a pair of basic black wingtips, some tight jeans (for the ladies,) a similarly constricting sweater, and a good scarf. No reason to go crazy for the little people, after all.

I was going to snap a few vanity shots before leaving, but my camera ran out of batteries. You'll just have to get the idea from this photo of Aaron Eckhart. Yeah, that's about right.

Arriving at the theatre, I receive some good and bad news. The good news is that I am definitely the best-dressed motherfucker waiting patiently in line. The bad news is that the only people there to observe my fabulousness are other dudes, which is somewhat disheartening. I guess it was kind of stupid to hope that I was going to get laid at the Watchmen premiere, but a guy has to dream.

Sitting down, I am newly amazed by how unrepentantly commercial the previews have gotten. There’s the usual gamut of car ads and desperate urgings towards fifteen-dollar snack combos, but things don’t really come to head for me until I’m subjected to not one, but two back-to-back music videos of carbon-copy “grrl-rockers” singing about being fresh and unique and not letting society change them while they prance about on a hundred-thousand-dollar soundstage wearing about a half-pound of makeup and a carefully focus-grouped “bad girl” outfit that Avril Lavigne would discard on the basis of it being “too fake.”

"Hey y'all, just kickin' it out here on the street with my imaginary friends that the studio hired."

Is this actually a thing now? Am I going to have to watch shitty music videos every time I watch a movie from now on? For fuck’s sake, I stopped watching music videos three fucking years ago, and forcing that shit down my throat while I’m trapped in a movie theatre is no fucking way to get me back into it. Needless to say, I vomit copiously and then go looking for a teenager to strangle, of which there are no shortage. In minutes, I have the row to myself.

(The previews weren’t all obnoxious horseshit, I’m happy to say. The trailer for Terminator Salvation: The Future Begins sent furious currents of electricity coursing through my entire body, briefly setting my testicles ablaze.)

You heard it here first, folks; Terminator Salvation: The Future Begins is worth a pair of singed nuts.

Part 3: This Is Where I Start Talking About Watchmen

It ought to be abundantly apparent to anyone who’s made it this far into my meanderings that concepts such as “focus” and “order” are, at best, being stingily applied to this review in order to free up room for self-indulgence. I see no reason to divert from this review philosophy, and as such the portion of this review in which I actually talk about the film will be delivered in point form as things occur to me.

What? Did you actually expect me to be taking notes or something?

- As in the comic, the movies makes no attempt to explain why the images on Rorschach’s mask are always changing. Unfortunately, that’s about the only thing that the movie doesn’t beat us over the head with. Major plot points are repeated at least three times each. Dr. Manhattan actually says to Silk Spectre: “The Comedian was your father!” I’m guessing that this was an abbreviated version of his line in the first draft of the script, which probably looked something like “The Comedian was your father, which is alarming and confusing because he attempted to rape your mother once but then she later had consensual sex with him, which lead to your conception!”

- I thought that Ozymandias’s costume was kind of weird. The costume designers obviously took enormous pains to make every character’s costume not only true to the comic, but also visually exciting, with lots of bright, eye-catching colors. Except for Ozymandias, whose costume is basically a big lump of molded mauve plastic with abs everywhere:

Ozymandias isn't very "bright" in the movie. Har!

My theory is that the costume designers took one look at Mathew Goode (who looks prepubescent throughout the entire film,) and said “Fuck it. What’s the point?”

- I’m pretty sure that the guy playing Nixon learned to do so by watching the Futurama version. There were a couple of times that I could have sworn he was about to break into a throaty “BRBRBRBRBRBRBRRRRR.”

- Zack Snyder’s patented brand of Slow-Fast Action Physics make a resurgence here. Motherfuckers go flying all over the place. Yeah, it’s kind of silly.

- Speaking of things that are all over the place, Dr. Manhattan’s big azure package probably had more screentime than Ozymandias. There’s one scene where his dick is onscreen in no fewer than four places.

Yup, that's the scene.

Don’t get me wrong, the big blue dongs are canon. I just kind of wish that Snyder had treated them with a little more reverence, rather than just using them to fill up dead air.

- I found Malin Akerman really annoying as Silk Spectre. Of course, I found Silk Spectre really annoying in the comic. Good job, Malin!

- My favorite performances unquestionably came from Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach and Jeffery Dean Morgan as The Comedian. It probably says something about what kind of a movie this is that the two most nuanced characters are both deranged murderers.

- Conversely, I felt like the weakest performance came from Mathew Goode as Ozymandias. As I mentioned earlier, he’s incredibly, laughably scrawny, and has all the natural grace, charm, and charisma of an Excel spreadsheet. Every time he spoke I half expected someone to push him over and take his lunch money.

- Whoever set up the soundtrack really needs a few solid thumps upside the noggin. There’s really no good way to articulate exactly why this is other than going to see the movie yourself, unfortunately.

I thought the puppy picture up there needed some kittens to even it out. Kittens!

In spite of all my disorganized nitpicking, I encourage everyone to go see this film. If it has a flaw, it’s that it really wasn’t long enough to encapsulate everything that Moore packed into his amazing graphic novel. The acting is absolutely flawless, and Snyder (in spite of his penchant for creating drawn-out, boring fight scenes,) has put together an incredibly faithful adaptation.

Really though, the only question you have to ask yourself is “Have I been waiting for a Watchmen movie to be made ever since I read the book?” If the answer is yes, then you should go see it, because you owe it to yourself to see what it looks like.

(“It” being Billy Cruddup’s dong, of course.)