Read This.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes
Before I discovered Sandman and Bone, before I had ever heard of The Long Halloween, The Dark Knight Returns or The Dark Phoenix Saga a friend of mine sat me down on his couch, handed me his copy of Watchmen and demanded I read it. I devoured the book in an afternoon and the result was a self-proclaimed literary snob, Shakespeare-enthusiast and grammar-nazi transformed. Watchmen took all my preconceptions about comics and punched them right in the neck and I never looked back.
But, RTWT, I saw the movie and—
Imma stop you right there. Sigh. The movie. Let’s just say that, unlike High Fidelity or the short laundry list of other successful book-to-film adaptations that I will eventually share with you, the Watchmen movie… disappointed. There were some choices I agreed with as far as what works on screen versus what you’re willing to accept in a comic and I fully understand the need to adapt the work. I did enjoy the shots that were frame-for-frame recreations of panels, though the ones they chose to do baffled me a little (The diner window? Really?). My point is, in this case, the book is immeasurably better. So if you saw the movie and formed opinions of the source material based on said movie? Do yourself a favor and read this book.
Now, back to business:
Watchmen takes a gritty look at a disintegrating dystopian society. Set in 1980s America, the book plays off Cold War fears and propaganda mixed with the complexities of less-than-heroic superheroes. Watchmen was one of a few different comics that, during the mid-80s, began to seriously explore the idea of anti-heroes, pushing comics and classic comic book heroes into very dark places. A departure from the expected selfless, do-gooder patriot (or the slightly darker wisecracking misanthrope as the usual counterbalance) the emergence of the anti-hero changed the tack of the comic book world.
Now, folks will argue that there were anti-heroes in comics that predate this push, and they’re not wrong. Well, not entirely. The difference between the guys they’re talking about and the Alan Moore/Frank Miller era anti-heroes is, well, enormous. Was Batman an anti-hero pre-Miller? Kinda. But the thing that sets Miller’s run apart is how dark he took it. During this time period, beloved superheroes—or characters who, on the surface seemed to fit the mold (cough*The Comedian*cough)—were knocked from their pedestals, stripped of their 100% Good facade and we were shown their flaws, and I’m not talking Achilles Heel flaws either. The dystopian worlds these characters inhabited revolted against them, and so did we. After all, we got to see all their worst possible behavior.
So what was the result of all this darkness? For me, the pay off was discovering a serious examination of culture and human nature in the least likely place. I’d also venture to say comic writing, in general, benefited from this exploration of the seediest underbellies. I mean, what good is good if there’s no bad against which to compare it? This turn for comics brought an entire genre into focus, aged it up and cranked the contrast high; exposing the full spectrum of superhero behavior, it begged the question
