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Watchmen
by Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons , John Higgins , Len Wein
by Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons , John Higgins , Len Wein
Keely's review
bookshelves: comics, science-fiction, reviewed, capes
Apr 21, 09
bookshelves: comics, science-fiction, reviewed, capes
Read in November, 2005
Since the movie came out, I've found myself having to explain why Watchmen is important and interesting. Despite being the most revered comic book of all time, it never really entered the mainstream until the film. Now, people are rushing to read it in droves, but approaching Watchmen without an understanding of its history and influences means missing most of what makes it truly special.
The entire work is an exploration of the history and purpose of the superhero genre: how readers connect to it, and what it means philosophically. Moore stretches from fond satire to outright subversion to minute allusion, encasing the once-simple genre in layers of meaning. Even as he refines and compresses the genre, he also constantly pushes its boundaries. Watchmen is unapologetic, unflinching, and most miraculous of all, freed from the shame which binds so many comics.
Moore never stoops to making an entirely sympathetic character. There is no real hero, and none of the characters represents Moore's own opinions. Superhero comics are almost always built around wholly sympathetic, admirable characters. They represent what people wish they were, and they do the things normal people wish they could do.
It is immediately gratifying escapism, which many people attach themselves to, especially the meek who lead tedious, unfulfilled lives. Many people also do the same thing with celebrities, idolizing them and patterning their own lives on the choices those famous people make. But in this modern age of reality TV and gossip media, we know that celebrities are not ideal people.
Indeed, their wealth and prominence often drives them mad. While everyone else views the world from the bottom up, they view it from the top down, and this skewed perspective wreaks havoc with their morality and sense of self. Moore's superheroes represent something even beyond this celebrity. Not only are they on the top of the heap, but they are physically different from other human beings. Their superiority is not just in their heads and pocketbooks, but in their genetics.
They are not meant to be sympathetic, they are meant to be human. They are as flawed and conflicted as any of us, and while we may sometimes agree with them, as often, we find them distant and unstable.
Many people have fingered Rorschach as the 'hero' of this tale, but that is as flawed as pinning Satan as the hero of 'Paradise Lost'. Following the classic fantasy of power, Rorschach inflicts his morality on the world around him. But, since he is not an ideal, but a flawed human, we recognize that his one-man fascist revolution is unjustified.
We all feel that we see the world clearly, and everyone around us is somehow confused and mistaken. Often, we cannot understand how others can possibly think they way they do. Sometimes, we try to communicate, but there is often an impassable barrier between two minds: no matter how much we talk or how pure our intentions, one will never be able to convince the other.
We all feel the temptation to act out--if only those disagreeable people were gone, the world would be a better place. While this justification may be enough for most comic writers, Moore realizes that the other guy thinks everything would be better if we were gone. Rorschach lashes out because his ideas are too 'out there' and he is too socially insecure to convince anyone that he is right. He is unwilling to question himself, and so becomes a force of his own violent affirmation.
Most who sympathize with him are like him: short-sighted and desperate, unable to communicate with or understand their fellow man. Many are unwilling even to try. Rorschach becomes a satire of the super hero code, which says that as long as you call someone evil, you are justified in beating him to death. This same code is also commonly adopted as foreign policy by leaders in war, which Moore constantly reminds us of with references to real world politics.
The rest of the characters take on other aspects of violent morality, with varying levels of self-righteousness. Like the British government of the 1980's, which inspired Moore, or the American government of the beginning of this century, we can see that equating physical power with moral power is both flawed and dangerous. Subjugating others 'for their own good' is only a justification for leaders who feel entitled to take what they can by force.
The only character with the power to really change the world doesn't do so. His point of view is so drastically different from the common man that he sees that resolving such petty squabbles by force won't actually solve anything. It won't put people on the same page, and will only create more conflict and inequality. Dr. Manhattan sees man only as a tiny, nearly insignificant part of the vast complexity of the cosmos. Though he retains some of his humanity, his perspective is so remote that he sees little justification for interference, any more than you or I would crush the ants of one colony to promote the other.
The ending presents another example of one man trying to enforce his moral solutions upon the entire world. Not only does this subvert the role of the super hero throughout comic book history, but reflects upon the political themes touched on throughout the book. Man is already under the subjugation of men--they may not be superhuman, but still hold the lives of countless billions in their hands. It is no coincidence that Moore shows us president Nixon, a compulsive liar and paranoid delusional who ran the most powerful country in the world as he saw fit.
Moore's strength as a writer--even more than creating flawed, human characters--is telling many different stories, which are really the same story told in different ways, all layered over each other. Each story then comments on the others, presenting many views. His plots are deceptively complex, but since they all share themes, they flow one into the next with an effortlessness that marks Moore as a truly sophisticated writer.
Many readers probably read right across the top of this story, flowing smoothly from one moment to the next, and never even recognizing the bustling philosophical exploration that moves the whole thing along. The story-within-a-story 'The Black Freighter' winds itself through the whole of Watchmen, and for Moore, serves several purposes. Firstly, it is another subversion of comic book tropes: Moore is tapping into the history of the genre, when books about pirates, cowboys, spacemen, monsters, and teen love filled the racks next to the superhuman heroes before that variety was obliterated by the Comics Code (yet another authoritarian act of destruction by people who thought they were morally superior).
But in the world of Watchmen, there are real superheroes, and they are difficult, flawed, politically motivated, and petty. So, superhero comics are unpopular in the Watchmen world, because there, superheroes are fraught with political and moral complexity. These are not the requisite parts of an escapist romp. We don't have comic books about our politicians, after all. We may have political satire, but that's hardly escapist fun.
So, instead they read about pirates. Beyond referencing the history of comics, 'The Black Freighter' works intertextually with Watchmen. The themes and events of one follow the other, and the transitions between them create a continuous exploration of ideas. Moore never breaks off his story, because even superficially unrelated scenes flow from one to the other, in a continuous, multilayered, self-referential narrative.
I continually stand in awe of Moore's ability to connect such disparate threads. Many comic authors since have tried to do the same, but from Morrison to Ellis to Ennis, they have shown that striking that right balance is one of the hardest things an author can do. Most of Moore's followers end up with an unpalatable mish-mash instead of a carefully prepared and seasoned dish.
Unlike most comic authors, Moore scripted the entire layout for the artist: every panel, background object, and action. Using this absolute control, Moore stretched the comic book medium for all it was worth, filling every panel with references, allusions, and details which pointed to the fullness and complexity of his world. Moore even creates meaning with structure, so that the size, shape, and configuration of panels tell much of the story for him.
One of the volumes is even mirrored, so that the first page is almost identical to the last, the second page to the second last, and so on. That most readers don't even notice this is even more remarkable. That means that Moore used an extremely stylized technique so well that it didn't interfere with the story at all.
But therein lies the difficulty: if a reader isn't looking for it, they will probably have no idea what makes this books so original and so remarkable. This especially true if they don't know the tropes Moore is subverting, or the allusive history he calls upon to contextualize his ideas.
While many readers enjoy the book purely on its artistic merit, the strength of the writing, and the well-paced plot, others disregard the work when they are unable to recognize what makes it revolutionary. One might as well try to read Paradise Lost with no knowledge of the Bible, or watch Looney Toons without a familiarity with 1940's pop culture.
It is not a perfect work, but there is no such thing. Moore's lead heroine is unremarkable, which Moore himself has lamented. He did not feel entirely comfortable writing women at that point in his career, and the character was forced on him by the higher ups. Luckily, she's not bad enough to ruin the work, and only stands out because she lacks the depth of his other characters.
His politics sometimes run to the anarchic, but often this is just a satire of violence and hubris. Moore gives no easy answers in his grand reimagining. His interlocking stories present many thoughts, and many points of view. In the end, it is up to the reader to decide for himself who was right or wrong--as if anyone truly could be.
Moore never insults the intelligence of his readers, and so creates a work with more depth than anyone is likely to plumb even after numerous readings. Likewise, he does not want you to 'hold on for the ride', but expects that you will engage and question and try to come to terms with his work, yourself. No one is necessarily the hero or villain, and many people find themselves cowed and unsure of such an ambiguous world, just as we do with the real world.
Watchmen is not instructional, nor is it simply a romp. This book, like all great books, is a journey that you and the author share. The work is meant to connect us to the real world, and not to let us escape from it. This is Moore's greatest subversion of the superhero genre, and does even more than Milton to "justify the ways of God to man", for many men delude themselves to godhood, yet even these gods cannot escape their fundamental humanity.
The entire work is an exploration of the history and purpose of the superhero genre: how readers connect to it, and what it means philosophically. Moore stretches from fond satire to outright subversion to minute allusion, encasing the once-simple genre in layers of meaning. Even as he refines and compresses the genre, he also constantly pushes its boundaries. Watchmen is unapologetic, unflinching, and most miraculous of all, freed from the shame which binds so many comics.
Moore never stoops to making an entirely sympathetic character. There is no real hero, and none of the characters represents Moore's own opinions. Superhero comics are almost always built around wholly sympathetic, admirable characters. They represent what people wish they were, and they do the things normal people wish they could do.
It is immediately gratifying escapism, which many people attach themselves to, especially the meek who lead tedious, unfulfilled lives. Many people also do the same thing with celebrities, idolizing them and patterning their own lives on the choices those famous people make. But in this modern age of reality TV and gossip media, we know that celebrities are not ideal people.
Indeed, their wealth and prominence often drives them mad. While everyone else views the world from the bottom up, they view it from the top down, and this skewed perspective wreaks havoc with their morality and sense of self. Moore's superheroes represent something even beyond this celebrity. Not only are they on the top of the heap, but they are physically different from other human beings. Their superiority is not just in their heads and pocketbooks, but in their genetics.
They are not meant to be sympathetic, they are meant to be human. They are as flawed and conflicted as any of us, and while we may sometimes agree with them, as often, we find them distant and unstable.
Many people have fingered Rorschach as the 'hero' of this tale, but that is as flawed as pinning Satan as the hero of 'Paradise Lost'. Following the classic fantasy of power, Rorschach inflicts his morality on the world around him. But, since he is not an ideal, but a flawed human, we recognize that his one-man fascist revolution is unjustified.
We all feel that we see the world clearly, and everyone around us is somehow confused and mistaken. Often, we cannot understand how others can possibly think they way they do. Sometimes, we try to communicate, but there is often an impassable barrier between two minds: no matter how much we talk or how pure our intentions, one will never be able to convince the other.
We all feel the temptation to act out--if only those disagreeable people were gone, the world would be a better place. While this justification may be enough for most comic writers, Moore realizes that the other guy thinks everything would be better if we were gone. Rorschach lashes out because his ideas are too 'out there' and he is too socially insecure to convince anyone that he is right. He is unwilling to question himself, and so becomes a force of his own violent affirmation.
Most who sympathize with him are like him: short-sighted and desperate, unable to communicate with or understand their fellow man. Many are unwilling even to try. Rorschach becomes a satire of the super hero code, which says that as long as you call someone evil, you are justified in beating him to death. This same code is also commonly adopted as foreign policy by leaders in war, which Moore constantly reminds us of with references to real world politics.
The rest of the characters take on other aspects of violent morality, with varying levels of self-righteousness. Like the British government of the 1980's, which inspired Moore, or the American government of the beginning of this century, we can see that equating physical power with moral power is both flawed and dangerous. Subjugating others 'for their own good' is only a justification for leaders who feel entitled to take what they can by force.
The only character with the power to really change the world doesn't do so. His point of view is so drastically different from the common man that he sees that resolving such petty squabbles by force won't actually solve anything. It won't put people on the same page, and will only create more conflict and inequality. Dr. Manhattan sees man only as a tiny, nearly insignificant part of the vast complexity of the cosmos. Though he retains some of his humanity, his perspective is so remote that he sees little justification for interference, any more than you or I would crush the ants of one colony to promote the other.
The ending presents another example of one man trying to enforce his moral solutions upon the entire world. Not only does this subvert the role of the super hero throughout comic book history, but reflects upon the political themes touched on throughout the book. Man is already under the subjugation of men--they may not be superhuman, but still hold the lives of countless billions in their hands. It is no coincidence that Moore shows us president Nixon, a compulsive liar and paranoid delusional who ran the most powerful country in the world as he saw fit.
Moore's strength as a writer--even more than creating flawed, human characters--is telling many different stories, which are really the same story told in different ways, all layered over each other. Each story then comments on the others, presenting many views. His plots are deceptively complex, but since they all share themes, they flow one into the next with an effortlessness that marks Moore as a truly sophisticated writer.
Many readers probably read right across the top of this story, flowing smoothly from one moment to the next, and never even recognizing the bustling philosophical exploration that moves the whole thing along. The story-within-a-story 'The Black Freighter' winds itself through the whole of Watchmen, and for Moore, serves several purposes. Firstly, it is another subversion of comic book tropes: Moore is tapping into the history of the genre, when books about pirates, cowboys, spacemen, monsters, and teen love filled the racks next to the superhuman heroes before that variety was obliterated by the Comics Code (yet another authoritarian act of destruction by people who thought they were morally superior).
But in the world of Watchmen, there are real superheroes, and they are difficult, flawed, politically motivated, and petty. So, superhero comics are unpopular in the Watchmen world, because there, superheroes are fraught with political and moral complexity. These are not the requisite parts of an escapist romp. We don't have comic books about our politicians, after all. We may have political satire, but that's hardly escapist fun.
So, instead they read about pirates. Beyond referencing the history of comics, 'The Black Freighter' works intertextually with Watchmen. The themes and events of one follow the other, and the transitions between them create a continuous exploration of ideas. Moore never breaks off his story, because even superficially unrelated scenes flow from one to the other, in a continuous, multilayered, self-referential narrative.
I continually stand in awe of Moore's ability to connect such disparate threads. Many comic authors since have tried to do the same, but from Morrison to Ellis to Ennis, they have shown that striking that right balance is one of the hardest things an author can do. Most of Moore's followers end up with an unpalatable mish-mash instead of a carefully prepared and seasoned dish.
Unlike most comic authors, Moore scripted the entire layout for the artist: every panel, background object, and action. Using this absolute control, Moore stretched the comic book medium for all it was worth, filling every panel with references, allusions, and details which pointed to the fullness and complexity of his world. Moore even creates meaning with structure, so that the size, shape, and configuration of panels tell much of the story for him.
One of the volumes is even mirrored, so that the first page is almost identical to the last, the second page to the second last, and so on. That most readers don't even notice this is even more remarkable. That means that Moore used an extremely stylized technique so well that it didn't interfere with the story at all.
But therein lies the difficulty: if a reader isn't looking for it, they will probably have no idea what makes this books so original and so remarkable. This especially true if they don't know the tropes Moore is subverting, or the allusive history he calls upon to contextualize his ideas.
While many readers enjoy the book purely on its artistic merit, the strength of the writing, and the well-paced plot, others disregard the work when they are unable to recognize what makes it revolutionary. One might as well try to read Paradise Lost with no knowledge of the Bible, or watch Looney Toons without a familiarity with 1940's pop culture.
It is not a perfect work, but there is no such thing. Moore's lead heroine is unremarkable, which Moore himself has lamented. He did not feel entirely comfortable writing women at that point in his career, and the character was forced on him by the higher ups. Luckily, she's not bad enough to ruin the work, and only stands out because she lacks the depth of his other characters.
His politics sometimes run to the anarchic, but often this is just a satire of violence and hubris. Moore gives no easy answers in his grand reimagining. His interlocking stories present many thoughts, and many points of view. In the end, it is up to the reader to decide for himself who was right or wrong--as if anyone truly could be.
Moore never insults the intelligence of his readers, and so creates a work with more depth than anyone is likely to plumb even after numerous readings. Likewise, he does not want you to 'hold on for the ride', but expects that you will engage and question and try to come to terms with his work, yourself. No one is necessarily the hero or villain, and many people find themselves cowed and unsure of such an ambiguous world, just as we do with the real world.
Watchmen is not instructional, nor is it simply a romp. This book, like all great books, is a journey that you and the author share. The work is meant to connect us to the real world, and not to let us escape from it. This is Moore's greatest subversion of the superhero genre, and does even more than Milton to "justify the ways of God to man", for many men delude themselves to godhood, yet even these gods cannot escape their fundamental humanity.
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"I appreciate the repetative images that gibbons uses, but at times felt a little clobbered over the head by them. I even appreciate the fact that the overall layout was creative and groundbraking for its time. but again, I found the flow to be stuttered and only driven by the text as opposed to a blend of image and text. Overall, I think he could have done much better"Actually, Alan Moore is unusual amongst comic writers in that, when he scripts a comic, he meticulously describes the placement and content of every single panel. Every piece of graffiti, every magazine cover is only there due to Moore's script. He even specified that parts of words be covered or cut off by the frame to represent the incompleteness of certain ideas (for example, the phrase 'Who Watches the Watchmen' never appears in its entirety in the series).
Likewise, the positioning of characters, use of shots, and repetition (and symmetry) of frame are all the result of Moore's script. For instance, in Chapter V, page one is the same layout as page 28, page 2 the same as 27, and so on. There are a fair number of people who have sat down with the book, page-by-page, and worked out some of the layered meanings, allusions, and symbols; and Moore put in a lot of them.
So if you want to blame someone, it's all on Moore, here. Well, maybe not all:
". . . the female lead wasn't just written poorly but drawn poorly too . . ."
Moore's actually said in interviews that the main female character was not in his original scripts, but that his bosses wanted a central woman and a romance in the story, so he complied.
But yeah, I probably should have mentioned the art. Then again, this review is narrow, tackling only one small part of the book. I don't really have room to hit all the high points in the GR format.
i completely agree, but i have to say that there are superhero comics in the watchmen universe. they are, however, just a fad and go out of print.
Karen wrote: "from a strict story perspective I have to actually agree with everything you have said, and could probably add many more points on why Moore excells in this particular arena. He is, and will always..."I came across the Watchmen as a limited series comic book before it became this huge iconic American novel according to Time. Gibbons work did not impress me when I was a kid. Years later, it still does register or add to the story. Now that I know Moore completely designed the entire book, it makes me look at the book differently.
Keely, are you going to check out DC's new series Before the Watchmen?
No, I don't have much interest in that. Watchmen is a complete story, I don't think it needs to be added to. Though if I hear good things about it from other readers, I'm not opposed to reading it.Funny to note that Len Wein will be the writer on some of them, since he's the original creator of Swamp Thing, who Alan Moore took over and used to completely revolutionize comics. Now Wein will be trying to reinvent Moore's characters--I don't see that going very well.
I read this before philosophy, politics,introspection or anything outside my own little existence and comfort interested me. I enjoyed it as a graphic novel and nothing more. Because of that outlook, I found it a little flat and yet still enjoyable. There were aspects missing, much like you stated. No specific hero that was lovable without flaws that went beyond little personality quirks. Having read this review, as well as the fact that it's been almost 10 years, I'm ready to pick it back up and read it again with new perspective that comes with time and age, and of course maturity. I have never read a book/comic with anything more that the escapist mentality, despite reading two to three books a week. As I get older, though, I find myself wanting more for my time and energy. I want challenges that make me think and feel outside what I know I be comfortable. And hopefully something i won't read in a day or two. Something I have to take a break from to absorb everything the author has to tell. Thank you for this review, as well as so many others. You inspire me to revisit some of my favorites and look at them with new eyes. I just hope it doesn't ruin some of the more "fluff" filled ones that I loved so much. I'll probably disagree with many of your statements and opinions, but I can appreciate your point of view and compare them to my own; maybe even change them.
Yeah, Watchmen is not a book designed for most people to be able to 'lose themselves' in. It tends to require some thought. Certainly, as I mention in my review, there are those who mistakenly idolize Rorschach, but that path isn't really open to nonviolent people.It's interesting for me when I hear about people who want to escape into a book, or a movie, because they tend to think of the activity as being passive, and not having an effect on them--but whenever we let down our guard and get lost in a story, we're letting the assumptions and prejudices of that story into our heads, and I'm always left wondering: what does the unguarded mind internalize?
How long is it until a person only reads books that agree with their prejudices, and rejects anything else? I know plenty of people who read the same stories over and over again--always looking for the same settings, characters, and philosophies. The whole notion of genres and subgenres can turn into a way for people to try to feel justified by surrounding themselves with familiar things.
I know part of the reason I started becoming more critical of books is because, in studying literature, I started realizing how much books are capable of changing you, and I worried that some of the books I read were making me a worse person, or at least a less informed person.
But another reason I started looking at books critically is because I wanted to know why I liked books, or why I disliked them, in the hope that I'd be able to find more and more awesome books to read, and it totally did.
It's true that there is some 'fluff' that has been ruined for me, but it's never been because I stopped enjoying books. In every case, it was because I found a book so awesome, so original, and so much fun, that that old stuff just didn't cut it any more. I wouldn't want to go back, because that would mean losing all the amazing things I have now in order to regain something that wasn't that great--and in many cases, was kind of stupid and insulting.
But then, there are also a lot of books I thought were great when I was younger which, it turns out, are totally still great now. A lot of people seem to assume that if I don't like their favorite book, it's because I am bitter and don't know how to have fun, when the truth is that I have so much fun with the books I read that it makes those old books downright dull.
But I want to thank you for the comment, and I think it's very admirable for you to want to explore some new things and to try to look at the world in new ways. I'm interested to see where it leads you. I know it's been an interesting journey for me, I'm looking forward to your comments and reviews.
>>How long is it until a person only reads books that agree with their prejudices, and rejects anything else? I know plenty of people who read the same stories over and over again--always looking for the same settings, characters, and philosophies. The whole notion of genres and subgenres can turn into a way for people to try to feel justified by surrounding themselves with familiar things.That's how I feel Keely. I feel you don't need to agree with a book to read it and be moved by it/experience/learn something new. I'm a very un-patriotic person but I still read and loved Yukio Mishima's work called Patriotism. I'm really interested by the whole Nazi movement but that doesn't mean I agree with them.
I think broadening our ideas and trying to understand how things we feel are/were terrible happen, instead of shunning them and always seeking non-confronting things. It seems like staying clear of non-confronting themes is pretty common because we all want to think we are good people and some don't like that being questioned about themselves.
It's true: just because a book doesn't agree with you philosophically doesn't mean it isn't interesting or well-written. A lesson that is sometimes harder to learn is just because a book agrees with you doesn't mean it is good. I think now the books I am most disappointed in are not those that disagree with me, but those that agree with me, but are badly written or poorly-constructed.But yeah, non-confrontation is a pretty popular theme for humans--it's part of how we get along, socially. You can't agree with everyone, and there are some people who, for various reason, cannot be reasoned with. It does seem problematic if a person has to be non-confrontational with themselves, though. That's quite the neurosis.
Thanks for the comment.
"It is immediately gratifying escapism, which many people attach themselves to, especially the meek who lead tedious, unfulfilled lives."
While I agree with almost everything else you said on Watchmen, and completely agree that Alan Moore is a master of the craft, I can't say that I'm a fan of the line of thinking in regards to the quoted line. Fantasy, science fiction, super heroes, anime, video games, and other similar forms of entertainment that are often viewed as "low" are frequently hit with that kind of criticism. That the fantastic nature of the stories must deeply reflect the lack of excitement in the lives of those who consume the works. That the violent activities that take place in these stories occupy the secret desires of all prepubescent boys who read said material. It's the same type of criticism that Conan and the entire sword-and-sorcery genre often gets stuck with; as Stephen King puts it, it's for the meak middle-aged man whose afraid of being jumped by street punks. Personally, I couldn't disagree more. Not everything can be solved with Freudian psychology.
You make a very excellent point on "escapism". Although there are times, in my experience, that it helps to be able to lower your criticism and enjoy a story for what it is, I always believe that at least part of your mind should be analyzing what it is exposed to. Maybe you enjoyed that really, really awful action movie, but at least part of you should realize that it was shallow entertainment. In fact, I have argued at length before about how I believe "escapism" is largely nothing more than a buzzword. I believe, above all else, when the average person picks up a book or watches a film, they do not seek to "lose themselves" in it and become the characters; they want to be told a compelling a story. I do not believe these two things are synonymous. The sole purpose of stories, I believe, is to use the pursuits of the lives of others, fictional as they may be, to enrich your own.
In other words, the more optimistic side of me believes that the people buying Batman comics are not doing so to live out creepy fantasies of being a burly crime fighter in tights. They simply find that the stories resonate with them. You could easily argue that that is the same thing, that the stories would not resonate if they did not see something in the character that they may wish to emulate themselves, but I would argue that this is largely irrelevant. I would certainly argue that fans of the crime genre in no way wish they were Scarface.
That all said, it does tie in to why I have such great respect for Watchmen. It's said that all great art criticizes other art; while this is true, I think it's always best when the criticism does not overwhelm the work itself. Moore did a fantastic thing with Watchmen, in the way that he entirely deconstructed the superhero genre, but kept it as fun as any Silver Age comic. Watchmen is often described as a "superhero critique" story, but I believe that moniker does not do it justice, accurate as it may be. With Watchmen, you can tell Moore really loves and respects his medium, and of course, the people who read them.
This tangent may simply come off as a fanboy defending his comic collection; if it means anything at all, I can't really call myself a comic book fan. I mean, I've read the classics- Alan Moore, some of Frank Miller's stuff, some old Silver age issues, and so on- but I do see that somewhat derisive line of thought applied to other areas of entertainment as well. I know that you only wanted to highlight a section fo the fanbase, a section that it may very well be true for, but I do feel it's a rather unfortunate stereotype. Hey, look at Jack Thompson; the guy was under the impression that video games are such an interactive experience that they can actually coerce and train children to reenact what they do in the games.
In the end, every medium can be brought down to the very worst of its fanbase. Luckily, these are not the people that works like Watchmen are made for. I'm sure there are comic fans that have creepy male fantasties involving Batman, in the same way as old Doyle fans may have imagined themselves as Sherlock Holmes; I don't think enjoying these stories has to inevitably constitute a dull or aimless life.
" I believe, above all else, when the average person picks up a book or watches a film, they do not seek to "lose themselves" in it"Curious, because I have had a lot of people on this site, particularly readers of fantasy, sci fi, and comic books use exactly that phrase when describing it--that they 'lost themselves' in the book and that was their intention in reading it. They didn't want to be bogged down with details and they didn't notice inaccuracies or plot conflicts because they were just trying to enjoy themselves.
"The sole purpose of stories, I believe, is to use the pursuits of the lives of others, fictional as they may be, to enrich your own."
I think stories can and should be enriching, but that doesn't mean all of them are, or that people want to be enriched. There are a lot of people who read the same books over and over--the same genre, with the same character types and ideas. Whether it's a romance novel or a monomythic fantasy brick, it's difficult to imagine that these people are in any way enriching themselves.
There are a lot of people who, if you asked them what a book taught them, or how it changed them, couldn't give you and answer. Many people leave a book the same as they began it. I would consider such a book to be a waste of my time, but I do not seek escape.
My ex's mom used to do the same thing with business self-help books: she would get into a funk in her life, then read one of these books and suddenly feel that she could have a successful business next year. Then she'd forget about it and go back to her life until she started feeling upset again. The books never changed her, they just perpetuated the same thoughts and behaviors over and over.
And if a person is only seeking out books that agree with them, books that are familiar, that have themes that interest them, then they aren't going to be enriched, because they are just reinforcing what's already there. How could they be enriched by having the same experience over and over?
" I would certainly argue that fans of the crime genre in no way wish they were Scarface."
Curious that you bring that up, because I actually know quite a few guys who do wish they were Scarface. They have the poster, they dress the part, and they quote the film. Certainly, they wouldn't actually enjoy all the danger and pressure of being a crime boss, but that doesn't stop their fantasy.
It's like people who obsess about the zombie apocalypse: it's mostly an exercise in self-importance. People like to imagine a world where there aren't all those people around to bother them, where conflicts are solved by force, and where they can be important and clever. Of course, they'd be miserable, and probably die painfully, but that doesn't make the fantasy less appealing.
I know plenty of people for whom TV, books, and that sort of things are like drugs--it's a pick-me-up for when they feel down, and they never really analyze or internalize what they're receiving.
Now, I'm not going to suggest that comics, sci fi, fantasy, romance, or any genre is build for escapism; they can be just as experimental and thought-provoking as anything else. But as Sturgeon's Law states, the average example is going to be lackluster.
Which makes sense: take all the writers in the world and only a small number of them are going to have the skill to make something complex and meaningful. The rest have to rely on cliches and melodrama, and for a lot of readers, that's all they want.
It's not just the readers who want the same thing over and over, it's often what the writers produce. Think about all the long fantasy series with no end, with no build, where everything is just shifted back and forth until things peter out.
Or think of main line comics, where the same stories are told over and over, where anything unusual that happens is retconned away and we keep returning to the same characters in the same situations. That isn't enrichment, it's stagnation.
"people buying Batman comics are not doing so to live out creepy fantasies of being a burly crime fighter in tights."
I don't think it's that literal for most people. It's more that they feel frustrated and powerless and enjoy watching someone else be competent and powerful. It's a way to cope. I know a lot of guys who come home from work filled with a nameless rage and who just want to go shoot a bunch of Nazis online.
This doesn't mean they are violent people or that they imagine that they are soldiers, or that they want to be soldiers, but it also isn't enriching. They don't step away from the game at the end with any more understanding of themselves or of life than they went into it. It's a repetitive endorphin release, and I would definitely categorize that as a kind of escape from the reality of life.
"you can tell Moore really loves and respects his medium, and of course, the people who read them."
Definitely. He's there doing what he does because of that love. Despite all the awful stuff he's had to go through, it's what he wants to do, and I'm glad I get to experience it.
"I know that you only wanted to highlight a section fo the fanbase, a section that it may very well be true for, but I do feel it's a rather unfortunate stereotype."
It is unfortunate, but it keeps playing out again and again, and the big publishers feed into it--then again, they are now run by those same obsessive fanboys. I don't want to say comics are any different than movies or TV or gallery art--all media have the capability to be mindless escapism. They can all be a simple drug for a person who doesn't want to think at the end of the day. Comic fans shouldn't be typified as any more prone to this than anyone else. In fact I specifically mention that television can do the same thing in the next line after the one you quoted.
"I don't think enjoying these stories has to inevitably constitute a dull or aimless life."
Certainly not, and I never implied that it was inevitable--I merely stated that there was a particular appeal in simple, repetitive stories for people who feel unremarkable and powerless. The fact that Roschach, himself has become a popular 'heroic' figure in the fandom shows their tendency to feel a cathartic release at characters who have an intense ego and who solve problems through violence--even if those characters are unhinged, insane, and unpleasant.
Excellent review. I'm finding fresh insights on my reread and you've articulated some of these better than I managed to cobble together.
Wow. I truly couldn't have said it better. While I admit not having much depth in analyzing the graphic novel, I did pick up the theme of how incredibly human these superheroes were. Truth be told, I got that idea from watching the movie first. I was immediately blown away. To see "superheroes" be just as human and vulnerable as we are was something entirely new to me. Years later, I found out it was adapted from Alan Moore's work. Read it and loved it. I don't think there'll ever be something as good as this. The combination of literature, imagery, and reflection of our society was outstanding.I am thankful that you have made me understand why Laurie lacked the depth of other characters. I refuse to believe that Alan Moore is a misogynist, as others have pointed out.
"Read it and loved it. I don't think there'll ever be something as good as this."Actually, I think Milligan's Enigma is another comic that tackles the same subject in a fashion that is just as complex and multilayered, though he takes a more subtle, personal approach. But I think there are a few authors out there who are capable of reaching Moore's level, and there's still a lot about the medium we have yet to explore.
Glad you liked the review, thanks for the comment.
I am surprised, no better statement:absolutely shocked, that you don't mention Dave Gibbons or John Higgins. Although i could understand if you left Higgins out (he did just colour after all, insert sarcasm font).
If this graphic novel was a text based story (ie not an image based story) I probably would have given it a 5. But as a grahic novel I found the art and overall gestalt a little lacking. It wasn't just that it was ugly, I can appreciate the harkening back to the golden era style. but it was done soooooo poorly. I appreciate the repetative images that gibbons uses, but at times felt a little clobbered over the head by them. I even appreciate the fact that the overall layout was creative and groundbraking for its time. but again, I found the flow to be stuttered and only driven by the text as opposed to a blend of image and text. Overall, I think he could have done much better (well maybe he couldn't Gibbons is NOT one of my favorite artists in the genre AT ALL).
I have to say that the female lead wasn't just written poorly but drawn poorly too (this is unforgivable). There were so many panels that seemed to be missing something. I was left with a feeling almost akin to a tip of the tongue syndrome where everything was almost perfect. But alas it was not. As a result I was very, very, deeply disappointed. It's a damn shame when something so amazing doesn't live up to its full potential.