1 post from 2009
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* * * * * out of * * * * *
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
Alan Moore is probably the most celebrated and definitely the most critically acclaimed graphic novelist of our times, and with good reason. His stories, dark and intricate, sardonic and exquisite, can easily hold their own against any fiction that takes itself more seriously due to its lack of graphic media. They are so entertaining and have such widespread appeal that three of his titles have already been made into films: From Hell (grossly underrated and utterly enjoyable, the best Jack the Ripper mythos ever contrived), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (a godawful travesty, all traces of wit and vitality wrung out of the original story, leaving behind a dumbed-down, unpalatable mess), and V for Vendetta (well-crafted and badass, redeemed the Wachowski Brothers after those totally unsatisfactory latter two installments of the Matrix trilogy).
But alas, Mr. Moore has enjoyed no aspect of these movie projects, has neither seen them nor reaped any royalties. How could that be? one might ask. Has the poor man been contractually duped?
Nay. Condemnation. Disavowal. These are Mr. Moore’s stances. He will have nothing to do with the films made of his work. He has given his royalty rights to the illustrator every time, and he will not even deign to view them. But why such self-depriving madness? Perhaps he is simply a purist, completely devoted to his beloved graphic novel medium. Perhaps he is a pompous ivory tower snob, disdainful of any peon’s attempt to adapt his masterpieces. I cannot claim to know. All I know is, while one can almost see his point of view when considering the previous films, I feel truly sorry for him when it comes to Watchmen. If he is unwavering in his convictions, he’ll never know what he’s missing.
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
For Watchmen is, in my humble opinion, a triumph in almost every way, and one cannot imagine my relief that this is the case. Alan Moore’s Watchmen, fantastically illustrated by Dave Gibbons (lucky recipient of Moore’s portion of the royalties and option rights for the film, this time), is the author’s magnum opus. It is widely considered the greatest graphic novel of all time. Time magazine named it among the 100 greatest English language novels since 1923. All this acclaim is certainly deserved. The first time I read it, it blew my nineteen-year-old mind in a way few books have, before or since. I was giddy yet terrified when they announced it would become a movie. For more than a year, I awaited it with bated breath.
It. Was. Awesome.
Set in an alternate 1985 in which costumed heroes are outlawed, one man’s atomic powers make up most of America’s Cold War defense, and Tricky Dick Nixon is serving his fifth term in the White House, Watchmen follows a disbanded team of retired, semiretired and illegally active masked crime-fighters. When one of their number, the Comedian, is murdered, they begin to suspect that someone is taking out costumed heroes, perhaps getting them out of the way in order to prevent them from interfering with more sinister plans. Events unfold and interweave with not a thread left dangling, finally drawing all characters and plot lines together in a Gordian knot that is solved with such an exhilaratingly frightening slice that one is left both stirred and transfixed.
Zac Snyder, adaptor and director, has won my undying respect. His last effort, 300, was the movie that coined the praise “awesomely ridiculous and ridiculously awesome”. It made me a little nervous to learn that he would be taking on the Watchmen project, fearing that he might be a one-trick pony and would give it the same over-the-top, testosterone overdose treatment. When I finally saw it, I realized his gift as a comic book director. He has such respect for the purity of the original work, and an amazing ability to capture the atmosphere of these stories, from essence to ambiance. His love for the graphic novel as a medium is suffused into his films, much to their benefit.
Of all the adaptations of Moore’s work thus far, none have displayed such a brilliant grasp of the author’s point of view. Although 2 hours and 42 minutes long, it never drags, and they did a fabulous job conveying that much material without overloading or shortchanging someone who hasn’t read the novel. It suffered neither omission no dilution of any crucial aspect of the story, even when changes (prominent but few) were made; in fact, I think that the changes they made, dare I say it, actually almost improved upon the original. It was not rushed unnecessarily, which so often makes character developments so unbelievable; the pacing was impeccable.
The myriad of characters deserves so excellent a portrayal as this, for they, more so than the events around them, are the central focus of the story. Each hero has become one for different reasons, and each has their own idea of justice and how best it should be dealt. It is the first truly character-driven comic book movie I’ve seen, and they all have an affecting and provocative humanity rarely seen in the genre. Every actor was amazingly cast, most a dead ringer for the illustrations, and it was refreshing to see a cast containing almost no super-recognizable names and faces.
Visually and stylistically, for the most part it was beyond reproach.. We’ve gotten far enough away from 1985 that a movie set therein is now practically a period piece, which means it can be stylish when given the treatment of retrospective. (Imagine that: 1985--- and it’s aesthetically pleasing, somehow! Genius!) Costumes were superb, and even where they made big changes from the original design, they retained the original feel. Together with the sets, the costumes mostly keep the silhouettes of the eighties but pared them down, giving them a sleek modernism: the palate is mostly subdued, all the better to let bold primaries pop, and distracting tacky patterns have been weeded out. The visual effects were very good, nearly seamless, and even where they were less than perfect, it was not enough to break the spell. I guess Snyder had more material to cover and less time to kill with Watchmen than he did with 300, since the slow-fast-slow motion is kept to an acceptable minimum.
The graphic novel already read like the storyboard for a movie, and it appears that they used this to their advantage, because the editing and cinematography are brilliantly evocative of the panels. And although I’ve heard some people deriding the soundtrack, calling it trite, obvious, and unoriginal, in my opinion, the choices were perfect. Sometimes nostalgic (liking Simon & Garfunkel is not an intellectual crime), sometimes adorably ironic (see if you can catch which Tears for Fears song is playing in Adrian Viedt’s lobby), and sometimes thrilling (who can knock Mozart’s Requiem?), many of them are songs directly quoted in or incorporated into the original novel itself, and these choices are just another way of paying homage. Watchmen is Alan Moore’s simultaneous criticism of and cynical love letter to American culture and society, and he chose his musical references accordingly.
There may be some people who would complain about all the extra gratuitous violence and sex (the love scene is truly, graphically, ridiculously over the top, but he had to trump Leonidas fucking his wife good-bye somehow, right?), but I don’t associate with those kind of people and I don’t know anyone who does. If you like T&A, blood blood blood, explosions aplenty, complex characters, marvelously cohesive plots and thrills galore, then this movie is definitely for you. If you are not interested of partaking of all these delights on the big screen, you’d best stay at home, sip some tea, and read some classic literature while trying to pretend you aren’t the least bit curious to see how good this movie is.
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
Alan Moore is probably the most celebrated and definitely the most critically acclaimed graphic novelist of our times, and with good reason. His stories, dark and intricate, sardonic and exquisite, can easily hold their own against any fiction that takes itself more seriously due to its lack of graphic media. They are so entertaining and have such widespread appeal that three of his titles have already been made into films: From Hell (grossly underrated and utterly enjoyable, the best Jack the Ripper mythos ever contrived), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (a godawful travesty, all traces of wit and vitality wrung out of the original story, leaving behind a dumbed-down, unpalatable mess), and V for Vendetta (well-crafted and badass, redeemed the Wachowski Brothers after those totally unsatisfactory latter two installments of the Matrix trilogy).
But alas, Mr. Moore has enjoyed no aspect of these movie projects, has neither seen them nor reaped any royalties. How could that be? one might ask. Has the poor man been contractually duped?
Nay. Condemnation. Disavowal. These are Mr. Moore’s stances. He will have nothing to do with the films made of his work. He has given his royalty rights to the illustrator every time, and he will not even deign to view them. But why such self-depriving madness? Perhaps he is simply a purist, completely devoted to his beloved graphic novel medium. Perhaps he is a pompous ivory tower snob, disdainful of any peon’s attempt to adapt his masterpieces. I cannot claim to know. All I know is, while one can almost see his point of view when considering the previous films, I feel truly sorry for him when it comes to Watchmen. If he is unwavering in his convictions, he’ll never know what he’s missing.
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
For Watchmen is, in my humble opinion, a triumph in almost every way, and one cannot imagine my relief that this is the case. Alan Moore’s Watchmen, fantastically illustrated by Dave Gibbons (lucky recipient of Moore’s portion of the royalties and option rights for the film, this time), is the author’s magnum opus. It is widely considered the greatest graphic novel of all time. Time magazine named it among the 100 greatest English language novels since 1923. All this acclaim is certainly deserved. The first time I read it, it blew my nineteen-year-old mind in a way few books have, before or since. I was giddy yet terrified when they announced it would become a movie. For more than a year, I awaited it with bated breath.
It. Was. Awesome.
Set in an alternate 1985 in which costumed heroes are outlawed, one man’s atomic powers make up most of America’s Cold War defense, and Tricky Dick Nixon is serving his fifth term in the White House, Watchmen follows a disbanded team of retired, semiretired and illegally active masked crime-fighters. When one of their number, the Comedian, is murdered, they begin to suspect that someone is taking out costumed heroes, perhaps getting them out of the way in order to prevent them from interfering with more sinister plans. Events unfold and interweave with not a thread left dangling, finally drawing all characters and plot lines together in a Gordian knot that is solved with such an exhilaratingly frightening slice that one is left both stirred and transfixed.
Zac Snyder, adaptor and director, has won my undying respect. His last effort, 300, was the movie that coined the praise “awesomely ridiculous and ridiculously awesome”. It made me a little nervous to learn that he would be taking on the Watchmen project, fearing that he might be a one-trick pony and would give it the same over-the-top, testosterone overdose treatment. When I finally saw it, I realized his gift as a comic book director. He has such respect for the purity of the original work, and an amazing ability to capture the atmosphere of these stories, from essence to ambiance. His love for the graphic novel as a medium is suffused into his films, much to their benefit.
Of all the adaptations of Moore’s work thus far, none have displayed such a brilliant grasp of the author’s point of view. Although 2 hours and 42 minutes long, it never drags, and they did a fabulous job conveying that much material without overloading or shortchanging someone who hasn’t read the novel. It suffered neither omission no dilution of any crucial aspect of the story, even when changes (prominent but few) were made; in fact, I think that the changes they made, dare I say it, actually almost improved upon the original. It was not rushed unnecessarily, which so often makes character developments so unbelievable; the pacing was impeccable.
The myriad of characters deserves so excellent a portrayal as this, for they, more so than the events around them, are the central focus of the story. Each hero has become one for different reasons, and each has their own idea of justice and how best it should be dealt. It is the first truly character-driven comic book movie I’ve seen, and they all have an affecting and provocative humanity rarely seen in the genre. Every actor was amazingly cast, most a dead ringer for the illustrations, and it was refreshing to see a cast containing almost no super-recognizable names and faces.
Visually and stylistically, for the most part it was beyond reproach.. We’ve gotten far enough away from 1985 that a movie set therein is now practically a period piece, which means it can be stylish when given the treatment of retrospective. (Imagine that: 1985--- and it’s aesthetically pleasing, somehow! Genius!) Costumes were superb, and even where they made big changes from the original design, they retained the original feel. Together with the sets, the costumes mostly keep the silhouettes of the eighties but pared them down, giving them a sleek modernism: the palate is mostly subdued, all the better to let bold primaries pop, and distracting tacky patterns have been weeded out. The visual effects were very good, nearly seamless, and even where they were less than perfect, it was not enough to break the spell. I guess Snyder had more material to cover and less time to kill with Watchmen than he did with 300, since the slow-fast-slow motion is kept to an acceptable minimum.
The graphic novel already read like the storyboard for a movie, and it appears that they used this to their advantage, because the editing and cinematography are brilliantly evocative of the panels. And although I’ve heard some people deriding the soundtrack, calling it trite, obvious, and unoriginal, in my opinion, the choices were perfect. Sometimes nostalgic (liking Simon & Garfunkel is not an intellectual crime), sometimes adorably ironic (see if you can catch which Tears for Fears song is playing in Adrian Viedt’s lobby), and sometimes thrilling (who can knock Mozart’s Requiem?), many of them are songs directly quoted in or incorporated into the original novel itself, and these choices are just another way of paying homage. Watchmen is Alan Moore’s simultaneous criticism of and cynical love letter to American culture and society, and he chose his musical references accordingly.
There may be some people who would complain about all the extra gratuitous violence and sex (the love scene is truly, graphically, ridiculously over the top, but he had to trump Leonidas fucking his wife good-bye somehow, right?), but I don’t associate with those kind of people and I don’t know anyone who does. If you like T&A, blood blood blood, explosions aplenty, complex characters, marvelously cohesive plots and thrills galore, then this movie is definitely for you. If you are not interested of partaking of all these delights on the big screen, you’d best stay at home, sip some tea, and read some classic literature while trying to pretend you aren’t the least bit curious to see how good this movie is.
Poor, poor Alan Moore.
