Why the Watchmen film is shit.

The general consensus on Watchmen is that those who read the graphic novel will love it and those who didn’t will hate it. This theory conveniently explains the mixed response it has received from critics and audiences alike. Well I will prove to be the exception to the rule. I read the book, I loved the book, and the film is dreadful.

There is a reason why the first director approached to make this film is Terry Gilliam. Others offered the job include the excellent Darren Aronofsky and Paul Greengrass. These are three gentlemen who have a strong visual style but crucially understand the mechanics of themes and storytelling. Eventually the studio settled on Zack Snyder, laughably referred to in the trailer as “the visionary director of 300.” That’s not to say 300 isn’t a fun film but it’s altogether meaningless and it knows it. Could this man best known for a style-over-substance snuff picture possibly have the capacity to bring Alan Moore’s pessimistic vision of complex superheroes to the screen?

Let’s start with the acting. Besides the sole stand-out of Patrick Wilson as Nite Owl, the cast is made up of actors who are at best wooden and at worst a stockpile of logs. Jackie Earl Haley is watchable as Rorshach but the talk of an Oscar nomination is deeply perplexing since all he had to do was scowl. Plus I preferred the one scene where he wasn’t utilizing the Christian Bale Batman voice. I also have to excuse Billy Crudup as Dr. Manhattan since the character isn’t supposed to emote. Everyone else, however, would be better suited as firewood.

A friend of mine allegedly referred to this film as a perfect adaptation. Perfect. In other words, it looks like the illustrations by Dave Gibbons. By that logic, I could pick up a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, frame and film the text, add music to it, and presto: I’ve made a perfect adaptation of J.D. Salinger’s book simply because all the words are in it. Just because it gets the plot and the visuals mostly right, doesn’t mean it captures the essence of what Watchmen is really about. Ask yourself if you really cared about any of the characters as portrayed in the film. Of course you didn’t care, stop lying! The reason you don’t care and I don’t care is because Snyder doesn’t care. What does he care about instead?

He cares about how bad-ass Rorschach is. He cares about how awesome gratuitous violence is. He cares about how much we all want to bang Silk Spectre. The film ends with Bob Dylan’s “Desolation Row” on the soundtrack as interpreted by My Chemical Romance, which makes you think Dr. Manhattan has just teleported you into the heart of an emo mosh pit. Instead of the bittersweet taste you are supposed to have in your mouth due to the Machiavellian actions of the heroes, you feel like cheering. But what is there to cheer about?

Ultimately the film doesn’t know what it wants to be. On the one hand, the book suggests that it should mean something, but on the other hand, depth is not as fun as breaking fingers in slow-motion, and because slow-motion looks a bit artsy, the emptiness of Snyder’s vision is masked with the utmost portentousness. The soundtrack perfectly sums up this notion, making use of Simon & Garfunkel and the Mozart Requiem for no other reason except it sounds cool. It’s the Tarantino School of Soundtracks but at least Tarantino films never pretend to be important. All this would be forgivable were it not for one scene that plays Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” over a sex scene that was lifted straight out of a late night softcore romp on Cinemax. That scene, with its excessive thrusting and its noir lighting, is the essence of Zack Snyder’s Watchmen.

By the time Terry Gilliam’s chances to direct the film fell through in the late 1980s, he came to the conclusion that the only faithful way to adapt the book was to make a five-hour miniseries. I suspect he was onto something since the 2 ½ hour Watchmen is all sizzle and no steak, so maybe there was no way to make it work. Stanley Kubrick famously had no regard for the books he was adapting, especially Stephen King’s The Shining, but he was able to use them as a starting point for his own cinematic vision. He made The Shining work. Maybe because he didn’t have to worry about winging fanboys in 1980. Now I’m imagining what Stanley Kubrick’s Watchmen would look like. And now I’m happy.