Written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Dave Gibbons, Watchmen was published by DC Comics in 12 issues in 1986 and 1987. Although I know nothing of comics, I read it in 2005, and I liked it a great deal. Its deconstruction of the superhero genre is brilliantly handled, dismantling and interrogating virtually every generic trope so as to question the purpose of such stories even as it exists as an example of one. At the same time, its depiction of Cold War paranoia and condemnation of right-wing idolatry are front and centre without ever seeming forced. Created by Damon Lindelof (co-creator of the TV game-changer that was Lost (2004) and the seminal existential masterwork that was The Leftovers (2014)), the most significant thing about this adaptation is that it isn't an adaptation; it's an original story set 33 years after the events of the comic. And is it any good? It's not as good as The Leftovers (what is?), but it is an exceptional piece of work. The acting is immense, the writing is challenging, the aesthetic is stunning, and the show was a worthy winner of no less than 11 Emmys. All in all, Watchmen is that rarest of beasts - a show which lives up to the hype.
Familiarity with the plot of the original isn't a requirement so as to appreciate the sequel, as you're given all the world-building back-info you need, but it can certainly help you get the most out of Lindelof's intricate narrative and thematic tapestry, especially in the earlier episodes. The world of Watchmen is a slightly different version of our world, in which the 1930s saw the rise of "costumed adventurers"; ordinary people who took to the streets to fight crime. Over the years, however, the public come to lose faith in adventurers and in 1977, the Keene Act outlaws all costumed adventurers except those sanctioned by the government. The comic is set in 1985 and tells the story of escalating nuclear tensions between the US and the Soviets, and how Adrian Veidt (the costumed adventurer Ozymandias) enacts a plan to trick the superpowers into allying against a greater extra-dimensional threat (which doesn't actually exist).
And so we arrive at the TV show.
Tulsa, OK, 2018. Veidt's 1985 plan worked perfectly, and the US and Soviets formed an alliance to guard against the possibility of another 'invasion'. Meanwhile, white supremacist groups have been on the rise, and after an incident in Tulsa where almost the entire police department was wiped out in a coordinated attack by a KKK off-shoot known as the Seventh Kavalry, a law is passed that allows police to wear masks and remain anonymous. Meanwhile, President Robert Redford is currently in his seventh term, and has introduced a massive system of reparations for African-Americans whose ancestors experienced racial injustice. In essence, the story follows the fallout from a murder, which is soon discovered to be much more complex than originally thought, and could have far-reaching implications not only for Tulsa, but the entire planet.
As with the original comic, the TV show is thematically rich. Lindelof has stated that he wanted to tackle whatever socio-political issue that was to 2019 as the Cold War was to 1985, and to him, it "felt like it was undeniably race and policing". Politically then, the show does much the same thing as the comic did - it deploys a real-world socio-political problem in a not quite 1:1 fictional milieu. In Reagan's America, the focus was on apocalyptic Cold War paranoia, whereas in Trump's Divided States, the most pressing existential threat is the rise of right-wing extremism, with those who once remained in the shadows newly emboldened by a racist president to confidently espouse their hatred for all to see.
Speaking of the importance of reparations to the show's theme, Lindelof explains, "I happen to think that reparations are a really good idea, whether they're reparations for slavery or reparations for something like the Tulsa Massacre. I also have to accept that were reparations actually enacted, there would be a virulent pushback from a large sector of our society." This is a key point; in a country as ideologically divided as the post-2016 United States, achieving any kind of political or cultural harmony is next to impossible, and the show reminds us of how attempts at reconciliation can often serve to force people even farther apart.
The theme of white and black and racial tension comes up time and again throughout the series. For example, the main family are a black couple with two adopted white children; a very rare sight on TV or in cinema. In "An Almost Religious Awe (2019)", a member of Seventh Kavalry asserts that "white men in masks are heroes. Black men in masks are scary," whilst in "See How They Fly (2019)", another member of the group proclaims, "it is extremely difficult to be a white man in America right now" (ie. the real-world argument that those who are really oppressed are white, Christian, heterosexual males). In the same episode, speaking of President Redford, it is stated, "first he took our guns. And then, he made us say sorry. Over and over again. Sorry. Sorry for the alleged sins of those who died decades before we were born. Sorry for the colour of our skin."
Of course, within this, another major theme is how racial tensions are manifested in law enforcement. As the first episode begins, we are watching Trust in the Law, a 1921 Oscar Micheaux film about Deputy Bass Reeves, aka The Black Marshal, the first African-American federal marshal west of the Mississippi (Bass Reeves was a real marshal and Micheaux was a real director, although Trust in the Law is not a real film). Here, the bad guy wears white (and is white) and the good guy wears black (and is black), thus inverting the typical assumptions. After a brutal and harrowing depiction of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre (when white supremacists killed up to 300 African-Americans in Greenwood District), the first scene set in 2018 depicts a menacing cop pulling over a truck and exchanging a few words with the nervous driver. However, again, the colours are inverted - the cop is black and the driver is white. These two scenes form a beautiful bit of visual story-telling, establishing immediately the centrality of racial tensions, conveying that such things are often more complex than they appear, and that the show plans to upend and invert common tropes.
As thematically rich as it is, however, one cannot help also admiring its aesthetic. For example, look at how the show-within-the-show is presented. Within the Watchmen milieu, America Hero Story is a hugely popular TV show about the Minutemen, a group of costumed adventurers formed in 1939. We see several extracts from the show, but none are more eye-catching than the scene depicting Hooded Justice (the first costumed adventurer) foil his first crime. This scene is staged as an elaborate over-the-top action sequence with a quite ridiculous amount of unjustified slow-motion (mixed in with fast transitions). Sound familiar? If you've seen Zack Snyder's adaptation of Watchmen, you'll immediately get the joke. For me, the main reason the 2009 film failed was that these characters are not supposed to be noble action heroes. Quite the contrary. Yet in Snyder's film, characters who are supposed to represent the unworkability of heroes in the real world and illustrate how human foibles will always destroy idealism are shown in elaborately choreographed and frenetically edited slow-motion brawls. The style is literally contradicting the theme - it's amateur hour 101 and smacks of someone who responds to the coolness of the comic's visual design, but understands none of the underlying context. And this is what makes the American Hero Story scenes so funny.
Elsewhere, the cinematography and editing are particularly noteworthy, and I'd be remiss here not to mention episodes six and eight. "This Extraordinary Being (2019)" is shot primarily in black and white, and takes place in the 30s and 40s, with the cinematography by Gregory Middleton nothing short of exemplary. Employing the odd bit of colour here and there within the black and white photography to focus our attention on particular objects, there is also an extraordinary 6-minute single shot which goes in and out of several buildings, features a plethora of extras, some VFX, and a lot of SFX. Stunning stuff. As for "A God Walks into Abar (2019)" (as good an episode of TV as you could ever imagine), if you're interested in learning about editing, watch this episode. Cut by Henk Van Eeghen, the episode essentially tries to give a visual representation of how Doctor Manhattan experiences time - with every moment in his existence happening all at once, so he can 'remember' things that haven't happened yet, or experience multiple memories from the past all at the same time and as if they are happening now. It's a spellbinding exercise in stylistic control, with flawless time jumps that fold organically into one another to form a single cohesive template.
Watchmen is an exceptionally good show. There will be fans of the comic who'll dislike it on principle. There will also be those who accuse it of pandering to a liberal PC agenda, and there'll be those who simply don't like the idea of a Watchman TV show with a black woman at its centre. Make no mistake, however, this show has been put together by people who know, appreciate, love, and understand the comic. Thematically complex, aesthetically breathtaking, brilliantly acted, Watchmen is an exceptional piece of television.
Familiarity with the plot of the original isn't a requirement so as to appreciate the sequel, as you're given all the world-building back-info you need, but it can certainly help you get the most out of Lindelof's intricate narrative and thematic tapestry, especially in the earlier episodes. The world of Watchmen is a slightly different version of our world, in which the 1930s saw the rise of "costumed adventurers"; ordinary people who took to the streets to fight crime. Over the years, however, the public come to lose faith in adventurers and in 1977, the Keene Act outlaws all costumed adventurers except those sanctioned by the government. The comic is set in 1985 and tells the story of escalating nuclear tensions between the US and the Soviets, and how Adrian Veidt (the costumed adventurer Ozymandias) enacts a plan to trick the superpowers into allying against a greater extra-dimensional threat (which doesn't actually exist).
And so we arrive at the TV show.
Tulsa, OK, 2018. Veidt's 1985 plan worked perfectly, and the US and Soviets formed an alliance to guard against the possibility of another 'invasion'. Meanwhile, white supremacist groups have been on the rise, and after an incident in Tulsa where almost the entire police department was wiped out in a coordinated attack by a KKK off-shoot known as the Seventh Kavalry, a law is passed that allows police to wear masks and remain anonymous. Meanwhile, President Robert Redford is currently in his seventh term, and has introduced a massive system of reparations for African-Americans whose ancestors experienced racial injustice. In essence, the story follows the fallout from a murder, which is soon discovered to be much more complex than originally thought, and could have far-reaching implications not only for Tulsa, but the entire planet.
As with the original comic, the TV show is thematically rich. Lindelof has stated that he wanted to tackle whatever socio-political issue that was to 2019 as the Cold War was to 1985, and to him, it "felt like it was undeniably race and policing". Politically then, the show does much the same thing as the comic did - it deploys a real-world socio-political problem in a not quite 1:1 fictional milieu. In Reagan's America, the focus was on apocalyptic Cold War paranoia, whereas in Trump's Divided States, the most pressing existential threat is the rise of right-wing extremism, with those who once remained in the shadows newly emboldened by a racist president to confidently espouse their hatred for all to see.
Speaking of the importance of reparations to the show's theme, Lindelof explains, "I happen to think that reparations are a really good idea, whether they're reparations for slavery or reparations for something like the Tulsa Massacre. I also have to accept that were reparations actually enacted, there would be a virulent pushback from a large sector of our society." This is a key point; in a country as ideologically divided as the post-2016 United States, achieving any kind of political or cultural harmony is next to impossible, and the show reminds us of how attempts at reconciliation can often serve to force people even farther apart.
The theme of white and black and racial tension comes up time and again throughout the series. For example, the main family are a black couple with two adopted white children; a very rare sight on TV or in cinema. In "An Almost Religious Awe (2019)", a member of Seventh Kavalry asserts that "white men in masks are heroes. Black men in masks are scary," whilst in "See How They Fly (2019)", another member of the group proclaims, "it is extremely difficult to be a white man in America right now" (ie. the real-world argument that those who are really oppressed are white, Christian, heterosexual males). In the same episode, speaking of President Redford, it is stated, "first he took our guns. And then, he made us say sorry. Over and over again. Sorry. Sorry for the alleged sins of those who died decades before we were born. Sorry for the colour of our skin."
Of course, within this, another major theme is how racial tensions are manifested in law enforcement. As the first episode begins, we are watching Trust in the Law, a 1921 Oscar Micheaux film about Deputy Bass Reeves, aka The Black Marshal, the first African-American federal marshal west of the Mississippi (Bass Reeves was a real marshal and Micheaux was a real director, although Trust in the Law is not a real film). Here, the bad guy wears white (and is white) and the good guy wears black (and is black), thus inverting the typical assumptions. After a brutal and harrowing depiction of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre (when white supremacists killed up to 300 African-Americans in Greenwood District), the first scene set in 2018 depicts a menacing cop pulling over a truck and exchanging a few words with the nervous driver. However, again, the colours are inverted - the cop is black and the driver is white. These two scenes form a beautiful bit of visual story-telling, establishing immediately the centrality of racial tensions, conveying that such things are often more complex than they appear, and that the show plans to upend and invert common tropes.
As thematically rich as it is, however, one cannot help also admiring its aesthetic. For example, look at how the show-within-the-show is presented. Within the Watchmen milieu, America Hero Story is a hugely popular TV show about the Minutemen, a group of costumed adventurers formed in 1939. We see several extracts from the show, but none are more eye-catching than the scene depicting Hooded Justice (the first costumed adventurer) foil his first crime. This scene is staged as an elaborate over-the-top action sequence with a quite ridiculous amount of unjustified slow-motion (mixed in with fast transitions). Sound familiar? If you've seen Zack Snyder's adaptation of Watchmen, you'll immediately get the joke. For me, the main reason the 2009 film failed was that these characters are not supposed to be noble action heroes. Quite the contrary. Yet in Snyder's film, characters who are supposed to represent the unworkability of heroes in the real world and illustrate how human foibles will always destroy idealism are shown in elaborately choreographed and frenetically edited slow-motion brawls. The style is literally contradicting the theme - it's amateur hour 101 and smacks of someone who responds to the coolness of the comic's visual design, but understands none of the underlying context. And this is what makes the American Hero Story scenes so funny.
Elsewhere, the cinematography and editing are particularly noteworthy, and I'd be remiss here not to mention episodes six and eight. "This Extraordinary Being (2019)" is shot primarily in black and white, and takes place in the 30s and 40s, with the cinematography by Gregory Middleton nothing short of exemplary. Employing the odd bit of colour here and there within the black and white photography to focus our attention on particular objects, there is also an extraordinary 6-minute single shot which goes in and out of several buildings, features a plethora of extras, some VFX, and a lot of SFX. Stunning stuff. As for "A God Walks into Abar (2019)" (as good an episode of TV as you could ever imagine), if you're interested in learning about editing, watch this episode. Cut by Henk Van Eeghen, the episode essentially tries to give a visual representation of how Doctor Manhattan experiences time - with every moment in his existence happening all at once, so he can 'remember' things that haven't happened yet, or experience multiple memories from the past all at the same time and as if they are happening now. It's a spellbinding exercise in stylistic control, with flawless time jumps that fold organically into one another to form a single cohesive template.
Watchmen is an exceptionally good show. There will be fans of the comic who'll dislike it on principle. There will also be those who accuse it of pandering to a liberal PC agenda, and there'll be those who simply don't like the idea of a Watchman TV show with a black woman at its centre. Make no mistake, however, this show has been put together by people who know, appreciate, love, and understand the comic. Thematically complex, aesthetically breathtaking, brilliantly acted, Watchmen is an exceptional piece of television.