Watchmen? Wastemen, More Like

Watchmen? Wastemen more like... So, Luke rang me yesterday. I was like, word up Luke! Seen any good steam trains lately? And he as like, never mind that Dr The Don, I have an assignment for you. Fancy going to see Watchmen tonight at the Imax and reviewing it for The Quietus? And I was like, dude! No way! OMFGdotcom forwardslash FUCK YEAH! And he was like, stop talking like a twelve year old. And I was like, NEVER!

Then I crashed my bicycle into a white van but I didn't care because I was SO EXCITED!

Then I went home and my new PC got delivered. Then I went to the Natural History Museum to see the Darwin Exhibition courtesy of my good friend BJ who works there. The I went to see The Watchmen with my hot girlfriend, who was suffering some terrible agonies. Then we came home, and I wrote this.

From The Quietus:

Watchmen Reviewed: Has Zack Snyder Killed The Comic Book Adaptation?

Adam Narkiewicz, February 27th, 2009 04:10

It's one of the most talked about graphic novel adaptations in cinema history. But will creator Alan Moore's misgivings about filming Watchmen be realised?

You probably know that Watchmen is a movie based on this totally awesome comic book that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons did in the 80s that pretty much single-handedly dragged the superhero genre (and the public's perception of it) kicking and screaming into the Modern World. This led to comics being sold in book shops and all sorts of neat stuff like that (it was also responsible for acres of really shitty comic books about ridiculously emo superheroes with creepy sexual hangups, but so what? Hunter S Thompson was responsible for more shit "journalism" than you could shake a sack of coke at - cough - but I was still hyped about that Fear And Loathing movie.)

The work's author, world-famous magician and Northampton resident Dr Alan "RZA Rings" Moore has notoriously refused to have his name on the credits, and has been telling anyone that asked for as long they've been asking that the comic is unfilmable, and that any attempt would fail harder than the Titanic did at Being A Reliable Method Of Water Transportation.

But no-one listens to comic book writers, especially when comic book movies have been making almost as much money as drugs and guns and bestial ninja pr0n lately. "Fuck Alan Moore," my overtly-manly geek-off Welsh buddy Gwilym spat at me, when discussing the subject recently. "Unfilmable my arse. That hairy fuck hasn't got a clue. They've got the technology to do anything in films now." Gwilym loved 300, incidentally - Watchmen director Zack Snyder's last comic book adaption, an intensely racist and magnificently dumb affair, that manged to be both homophobic AND homoerotic all at once.

“I would rather not know [about the movie],” said Moore, last year. “[Zack Snyder] may very well be [a very nice guy], but the thing is that he’s also the person who made 300. I’ve not seen any recent comic book films, but I didn’t particularly like the book 300. I had a lot of problems with it, and everything I heard or saw about the film tended to increase [those problems] rather than reduce them."

Yeah, but so what? Watchmen is based on Watchmen, and Watchmen is the best comic book ever! Or one of the best comics ever, anyway. Zack Snyder says he loved Watchmen more than his mother and his God combined, and has made an "unprecedentedly faithful adaption"... How could it go wrong?


You have no fucking idea.

Zack Snyder's Watchmen is the most incredible feat of "faithful adaption" fail this side of The Bible (ask Jesus if you don't know what I mean). It's like somebody traced a picture of a lovely shiny tasty apple, then scrawled maggots all over it, then wiped their arse with it, then decided to feed it to a passing toddler and draw a picture of a banana dipped in pestilence instead.

You kind of realise it's going to be shit from the first moment. The Bob Dylan song used to illustrate the effect superheroes had in this alternate reality between the 50s and the 80s is about as subtle as a Spiderman outfit at a funeral, and then they go and set their stall out for all to see by adding a load of unnecessary post-Matrix superviolence to The Comedian's death scene - those cartoonish, slow-mo blood-spatter sequences that gave all those 12 year old boys who loved 300 all those cute little erections. That shit runs rampant through this movie like acid diarrhea. A part of you does go, "ooh, that looks just like the comic!" when he gets chucked out of the window. It really does, and that happens a lot during the film - most of the key moments are indeed, perfectly executed, filmed versions of panels from the comic book. But that's it. That's the only thing that is any good about the movie. And that's where any connection between the comic and the film ends.

A comic book is - shock fucking horror - more than a storyboard. There's stuff that goes on in a comic book, in the panels, in the drawings, in the speech bubbles, and in the gutters (the space between the panels, ign'ant non-comic reading scum). To successfully adapt Watchmen, a filmmaker would have to be able to recognise this. He would have to be able to read, and understand a comic book. Something eight-year-olds the world over have learned to do just fine, but something that, on this evidence, Zack Snyder has not.

Zack Snyder's Watchmen is a travesty. Dialogue and plot points are butchered, moments of true emotion are rendered lifeless, dull, and at some points quite mirthful, by a combination of bad acting, bad editing, bad direction and outrageously populist, woefully inappropriate music choices (Leonard Cohen's 'Hallelujah' is dropped on a sex scene, seemingly for comedic effect) Stunningly bad lines are added willy nilly (there's even a tacked on "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" at the end, which made me laugh out lout), and that's not even getting to the wholesale abuse of the characters and the story. The most important stuff is gone, and what's left is exaggerated beyond reasonable comprehension (right down to giving Dr Manhattan Donkey Dick) and dragged out for what feels like seventeen years, until all memory of what was great, moving, beautiful and true about the comic is gone, and all you're left with is a gang of whiney arsehole lead characters you don't give a fuck about (Jackie Earle Haley put in an admirable effort as Rorscharch, to his credit), a convoluted, nonsensical mess of a story, and an outrageously shitty 911-evoking new ending (!!!!!!!!!!!) that ruins the whole point of the book. Were it a horse, it would be dragged out back and shot. And made into that knock-off Pritt Stick that doesn't work. And sniffed by NME readers at Pete Doherty lookalike parties.

Incredibly, Snyder has taken one of the greatest comic books ever published, and made the the single worst comic book movie ever to see daylight. Batman And Robin was Apocalypse Now compared to this. Watchmen: The Movie! is a goonish, damp, moronic, downright rude travesty. Alan Moore's worst fears could not prepare us for what Snyder has done to his most beloved work. Watchmen may have single handedly killed the comic-book movie genre. And you know what? Good. Maybe Snyder and his ilk can try coming up with their own ideas, and curling off huge diseased shit-heaps all over them, and maybe comic book scribes can stop trying to write movies, and get back to doing what they do best, and what only comics can.

Ey La Martin Carr @ The Social

I made a rare trip into town last night to see Ey La Martin Carr. People that know me will testify that I stay stuck indoors like hinges (geddit?!), but Ey La hardly ever plays and I am a big fan of his new songs (apart from one of them, which sounds like Th' Bee-Tulllllz).

Anyway, it was OK. I got hassled by police and their dogs at Highbury tune station, not that I had anything on me. Most times I really, really hate police. Sorry if you're a police. Maybe you're a nice police. All the police I ever come across look at me like I am scum. They give me and my peoples no respect, and seem to actively enjoy bullying people and flexing their power, which we gave them. Man, they put me in a rotten mood most times, swear down.

I don't hang onto rotten moods though. Plus I had my book on me (I'm back into the third act of Illuminatus!, word up Karl, I owe you a email I know!), and I am enjoying that shit deeply. Rah though, if it didn't go and fuck it down on my head in an entirely biblical fashion as soon as I got out of the tunnels. Fuck this Summer almost as hard as last summer. What baffled me was where the hell everyone got their brellas from. It was sunny when I left the house, in a vest and tracksuit, then I surface at Oxford Circus amidst a fuckin' monsoon, and everyone's all brolleyed up. I guess people that, like, leave the house daily are in tune with this sort of shit. Not me.

Anyway. I linked with hotpants and we got down the Social in time to catch Martin Carr La Superstar and Sweary Preggers Mary's set.Which was grayte, especially the song Mary sings on her own about how shit it is of Martin to bring her "all this rain" (church!) and Running, which is my favourite song at the moment. Check a stream of it out right now, you lucky monkey, I'm sure Martin won't mind. Although he is kind of old, and old people don't always get this inernet malarky, do they? Shit, who am I kidding? I'm fuckin' old. Somebody drag me out back and shoot me.

Stream: Martin Carr - Running

Another nice thing about the night was seeing the homie Huw Stephens. Word to Huw Stephens! Weirdly, the headline act, who were called Cats In Paris and were pretty dope, especially when they were focusing on the violin, and whose bassist was gloriously stoned, anyway, their singer looks just like Huw Stephens, but not as handsome obviously, so there you fuckin' go.

Lorry was out too. Usually its nice to see Lorry, but this time he was the bearer of bad news. This American TV show that was supposed to be using two of my songs and thus paying my rent and my sibling-debts got cancelled. SO LAME! I am going to have to get a job cleaning chimneys now or something.

Still. We had a nice pint afterwards. Mary and Hotpants talked about the Batman film, and me and Martin talked about the Batman comic. Martin knows his Batman. Martin knows Batmite, for fuck's sake! Do you know Batmite? Saying that, Martin hadn't read any of Grant Morrison's recent run (check the blobblog for a look at the next ish), which is deliriously awesome, so he loses points there.

Oh, WEAK. I just burnt my fuckin' muffins.


So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.


After a nice little rest, I am back in London with a pink pack of eyeballs on my case. That shit looked nice on IE, but fucked up Mozilla. I don't know what it was doing to Macs. So he will live to the right. Read a bunch of Hilaire Belloc's The History Of England Vol XI, From The First Invasion By The Romans To The Ascension Of King George The Fifth on the train. I now realise that we are living in an oligarchy. Well, a strange, new fangled sort of oligarchy masked as a democracy. With a bit of a monarchy. But it is an oligarchy, nonetheless.

This book was published in 1915, and, interestingly, predicted that Russia would do what America has. The author is also in favour of true aristocracy, and I can see his point.