So WATCHMEN has now arrived (to the biggest opening of 2009, no less) and everywhere you turn people are eager to give their expert opinions. Surely you’ve heard it all: for better or worse, it’s incredibly strict in adapting the source material; Jackie Earle Haley is great; the soundtrack is amazing in some spots, poorly used in others; half the cast is inspired, half is not; some think Snyder is a visual genius, others think he’s a fanboy hack; yes, there’s still lots of gigantic blue penis.
So instead of giving my review of WATCHMEN, I thought I’d offer my take on the inherent differences between watching a film about post-modern superheroes and reading a book about post-modern superheroes…
No matter how faithfully Zack Snyder adapted WATCHMEN, the film was never going to be the same as the original, because it’s impossible for a film to feel like a book – it’s a fundamentally different experience. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t capable of being just as entertaining or enjoyable – it was just going to be so in a different way.
Reading a book (just like writing a book) is one of the most solitary forms of entertainment you can get. It’s just you and the author’s work. You go at your own pace, you make your own interpretations, and you only care about your own experience. The power of a book is that you get to take the material all for yourself and do with it what you will. It’s a private, personal experience.
Film, on the other hand, has always been intended for crowds. Countless theorists have spent lifetimes writing about the societal implications of the theatre. It’s about a group of diverse people cramming into one room and sitting together in the dark and laughing or crying at the same moment. A film is made by a team and it’s watched by a team. As a result, certain other factors come into play when trying to experience a movie.
So allow me to share my experience of watching WATCHMEN in two very different settings…
Two weeks before the film opened, I was invited to attend an industry screening for the studio’s sales department. Naturally, I was losing my mind with excitement. They showed the film at a nice uptown cineplex with clean floors and comfy chairs and a gigantic screen. The theatre was less than half full and populated mostly by rather stuffy business types who kept checking their watches and talking about quarterly numbers as they waited for the movie to start. I sat by myself in an empty row and privately freaked out in anticipation. When the movie finally started, the crowd of businesspeople was not enthused. Not a laugh throughout the theatre (save from me), no astonished gasps (save, of course, from me), not even a round of applause for any of Rorschach’s scene-stealing lines (except, once more, for me…) Instead there were a few scoffs here and there, some impatient groaning at the Leonard Cohen sex scene, and relieved sighs and creaking chairs as people began to leave before the credits even started rolling. These people clearly had no desire to see this film.
So when I left the theatre, I thought, meh. The movie was good, not great, some cool effects, a decent handling of the material, but nothing that changed my life. I went home and clung to my graphic novel and reminded myself of all the things that made me love WATCHMEN in the first place.
One week later, I found myself attending another pre-screening, this one held for fans – both of the graphic novel, and of comic book films in general. This time around they screened the movie in a historic Toronto theatre with less-than-comfortable chairs and the classic-sized screen. The theatre was packed (literally not an empty seat in the house) with people bouncing off the walls in excitement, all of them wearing blood-stained smiley face buttons that had been handed out at the door (and a select few eagerly discussing their plans for the Dr. Manhattan condoms they had been given).
People started cheering as soon as the lights came down. Appreciative laughs began as the opening credits started rolling – some enjoying the multiple references packed within, others enjoying the innovative retooling of the flashback/montage sequence. We roared with applause when Rorschach dropped his classic lines. We squirmed and shrieked at the vat of boiling fat. And when the film ended, we burst into a round of applause that lasted a good minute into Desolation Row.
So when I left the theatre this time I thought, well that’s just the greatest movie ever made. A bunch of us from the screening ended up at a bar afterwards, and we spent a good two hours discussing superhero rape, airships, flamethrowers, Malin Akerman, and the newfound benefits of Leonard Cohen. Even those amongst us who didn’t really like the film still found nice things to say and still seemed to have enjoyed themselves.
So what does this all say?
Well I could go off on a film student rant about Walter Benjamin and Louis Althusser and the Marxist tendencies of the plastic arts, but I’ll try and sum it up in one sentence: WATCHMEN the book is about what superheroes are to you personally, and WATCHMEN the film is about what superheroes are to us collectively… if that makes any sense whatsoever… I guess what I’m trying to say is that the film was all about people who shared a common love for a specific brand of sci-fi coming together to celebrate it, and like most parties, your level of fun depended on who showed up and what mood they were in. Some people were born to love WATCHMEN, and others were born to hate it, and depending on who you listen to, you’ll have a different experience seeing this movie.
It also says that there was enough great stuff in WATCHMEN to convince you that it was an excellent movie and there was enough bad stuff to convince you that it was terrible.
So, if you haven’t seen it yet, get yourself psyched up, find a group of like-minded friends, and go enjoy this movie for what it is, because it’s going to be a long time before something like this comes around again.
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