Watchmen bleakly tests the morals of disbanded superheroes whilst slowly counting down every heavy-handed minute of its overlong three hour doomsday clock.

Rating: 5/10 (4 May 2020)

Rorschach's journal, May 4th. The year is '85, height of the Cold War. The ominous Soviet Union eagerly wages war against the United States. Nuclear warheads at the ready, to decimate this crime-ridden dark world. Tonight, a Comedian died in New York. Dead, tossed out of his fiftieth floor penthouse. His blood spread across the dank pavement. A yellow smiling badge is all that remains, with a drop of his hysterical blood. Coincidence that a member of the Watchmen had just been assassinated? A home robbery they say. Typical. The world doesn't care for another deceased superhero. That time has gone. The Keene Act made sure of that. "Vigilantism". That can't stop me. We are meant to exact justice! Anyway, all that matters now, is who is next on the list.
Snyder's hyper-stylised faithful adaptation of Gibbons and Moore's comic book series, is a dystopian superhero extravaganza reaching for its atmospheric aesthetic. An alternate timeline based on real events, notably the Cold War, ensures the "costumed vigilantes" are grounded in overtly bleak realism. Detailing the generational handover of self-sufficient justice, the retired "Minutemen" passing the heroic baton to the '"Watchmen", in a world where violence conquers all. Snyder, along with frequent collaborator Fong's trademark cinematography, seamlessly depicts a gratuitous world where all hope is diminished. New York civilians nervously watching a "Doomsday" clock, symbolising the commencement of thermonuclear World War III. Superheroes unable to assist the public.
A blockbuster that touches upon differing tones for each member of the Watchmen. Rorschach, a masked sociopathic vigilant helmed with a black-and-white shifting mask, played exquisitely by Haley, inhibits the excellence of neo-noir tendencies with its shadowed lighting and self-important narration. Nite Owl and Silk Spectre, crime fighters surrounded in advanced technology, embed a blossoming romance amidst the jaded superhero shenanigans. Doctor Manhattan, essentially an omnipotent being, provides the melodramatic love triangle and various fantastical elements for visual grandeur, particularly when on Mars. Then there's Ozymandias, the "world's smartest man", whom provides duality to the story and additional moral implications. Essentially, the plot device. Individually these aesthetics work surprisingly well, especially Rorschach's, but unfortunately are obliterated by a brutally heavy-handed narrative.
To put it simply, the story is an abominable mess. A three-hour montage of character backstories, melodramatic reflections on society and weak acting. Let's start with the plot itself. It's an investigative murder mystery involving superheroes. One of their own, The Comedian, is brutally slaughtered. Rorschach, the only character who maintains the narrative focus, operates alone to further investigate a proposed conspiracy against the Watchmen. This all occurs within the first twenty minutes. The proceeding two hours then disregards this central, and impeccably crucial plot, to divulge in a love triangle between three other heroes that all exude the personalities of a swarm of irritating flies. Silk Spectre is moping around wanting to be genuinely loved, despite an imminent war approaching. Nite Owl wants her, and Doctor Manhattan is solemnly walking around naked on Mars constructing a glass clock thing (yeah, me neither...) because humanity offers him nothing. He doesn't see the value in human life anymore. Why? Well, humans are savage. Violence conquers all. Earth is doomed because of us. Walk through a dilapidated alleyway? Bam! Ambushed by thugs. Attempting to save innocent civilians? Bam! You're not the police. Stealing, murder and all things crime. Because, and say it with me ladies and gentlemen, humans are evil.
The screenplay doesn't beat around the bush, so to speak. It wants you to know how despicable this world has become and why these superheroes are so jaded. Yet it disregards the subtlety of its source material and instead beats this obvious thematic presence over your head with a nailed stick. Dreadful heavy-handed storytelling. Casual murders take place, such as Mason's, yet are instantly overlooked to implement a tediously inconsequential third act that then attempts to realign the central investigation. The individual behind the conspiracy is revealed, who then admits to everything through expositional flashbacks and has the audacity to remark "I'm not a comic book villain". The painful irony is extraordinary. However these climactic revelations hold zero narrative power, as the preceding two hours failed to capitalise on its murder mystery. Therefore any shocking character reveals or moral ultimatums are relinquished of impact. Akerman, Crudup and Goode were, unfortunately, weak in their designated roles. Chosen for their character resemblance rather than their dramatic prowess. And, lastly, Simon and Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence" plays over a funeral procession. Just in case you forgot how bleak this alternate world was.
That's the type of uninspired choices implemented within Watchmen. Stylistically, it's an impressive splendour of vivid visualisation. Snyder has accumulated a signature style that undoubtedly enhances any and all atmospheric environments, including potential thermonuclear New York. Alas, it's overwhelmingly disjointed. Excruciatingly hollow. Heavy-handedly violent. Overlong. And monotonously acted. This superhero film is glazed with an audacious coat of blood, that attempts to conceal the multitude of narrative clots deep within.