Imagine a reverent researcher accidentally spilling coffee onto an original copy of The Declaration of Independence. Sure, the document is now imperfect, but does the stain affect its meaning or what it stands for?
Well, let’s just say director Zack Snyder (“300”) is a metaphorical butterfingers.
In translating Alan Moore’s prestigious “Watchmen” onto the screen, Snyder’s respect for the graphic novel results in a film that lovingly retains the bleak themes of the original.
But whether it was too much enthusiasm or a lapse into “300” mentality, Snyder makes some clumsy visual and aural missteps that leave this tribute forever an ugly stepsister to Moore’s 1986 masterpiece.
At a dense two hours and 43 minutes running time, this decidedly anti-superhero superhero movie will most likely lose newcomers to the finer details of “Watchmen’s” mythology. Fans, however, will appreciate the painstakingly recreated winks in their direction.
In a large nutshell, “Watchmen” paints an alternative 1985 in which the existence of masked vigilantes and one true superhuman changes everything for the worse. The United States wins Vietnam thanks to the efforts of Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), a demi-god with a withdrawn disposition, and The Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan), a cynical sociopath.
The victory garners Nixon unlimited terms and pushes the world to the brink of nuclear war. Masked vigilantes are eventually outlawed and the film traces the dysfunctional lives of six ex-heroes who once banded together under the name Watchmen.
Now, these aren’t your Clark Kents and Diana Princes. The characters of “Watchmen” exhibit some of the worst human flaws. We have the schlubby, meek Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson); the Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman), a vixen with mommy issues; the intelligent and vain Ozymandias (Matthew Goode) who cashes in on his identity and the uncompromising Rorschach (Jackie Earle Harley), a certified psychopath. When it appears that someone is targeting them one by one, these has-beens don their masks again to prevent a larger sinister plot.
The acting talent runs the gamut from dazzling to dull. Wilson’s Nite Owl immediately endears, and Haley’s Rorschach emerges as the anti-hero of the hour with his growling whisper and boiling rage. At the bottom of the barrel, we have a flat Silk Spectre. Snyder’s alterations to her character may be to blame. Her older age and smoking habits made her character interesting in the comic. By removing both, Snyder renders Akerman into little more than a walking fantasy in yellow and black latex.
Opening strong with a trans-generational montage of masked vigilantes to Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin'," Synder does not disappoint with thought-out frames and rich colors. Dr. Manhattan’s transformation, for one, is breathtaking. But the glaringly R-rated tendencies and sometimes laughable music choices, leave much to be improved. For example, how necessary is it to have rampant full-frontal blue male nudity? And Leonard Cohen’s “Hallejuah” for a sex scene, really?
Grade: B+
Verdict: Some baffling slip-ups, but for trying to achieve the impossible, Snyder came out wielding cinematographic nun-chucks
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