Watchmen
by Alan Moore (writer), Dave Gibbons (artist) and John Higgins (colourist)
DC Comics, 1987
“Who watches the watchmen?” asked the Roman poet and satirist Juvenal. Famously, the ruling philosopher kings of Plato’s ideal republic were themselves seemingly beyond scrutiny: who could be trusted to keep an eye on those who were already in charge? Plato’s answer was that they would perform this duty themselves, but this has always been a somewhat unconvincing response. The main problem is that whilst the behaviour of those in power needs to be kept in check somehow, those in power actually already possess the means to avoid scrutiny or punishment. Ruling powers can suppress dissent by branding it ‘unpatriotic’ or ‘anti-democtratic’; they can control and influence the media, manipulating public opinion through propaganda and ‘spin’; they can utilise the secret powers of the state to monitor and ‘marginalise’ problem individuals and groups. Worryingly, once in power, the means to abuse it are all to close at hand.
The conundrum is a staple topic of discussion in political philosophy, and continues to lose none of its relevance. In 1987, the very year that Watchmen was first published in book form,1 the Tower Commission published its report into the Iran-Contra affair, where elements within the US government sold arms to Iran in return for hostages, and subsequently channelled part of the proceeds to secretly and illegally fund the Nicaraguan Contras. The Contras were an anti-governmental revolutionary organisation, and the funding was intended to help them in their bid to overthrow the democratically elected government of Nicaragua (a move which had already been blocked by Congress, and so could not be achieved through legitimate channels).2 However, specific historical examples only really serve to remind us that the threat of such abuses is constant, and Watchmen itself should not be seen as a specific commentary on any particular incident.
Firstly, before going on to talk about the book’s content, I should perhaps say a few words about its format. It is, in case you were unaware, a comic book – or, as such things have been more recently rebranded, a graphic novel. However, whatever you call it, the result is the same: the story is mainly presented pictorially through sequential frames or panels, relying on word balloons and illustrative details to convey its narrative and themes. This may sound like I’m trying to describe something familiar to an extra terrestrial – is there anyone who isn’t aware how a comic book works? However, the point is worth labouring. Comic books are a primarily visual means of communication, and it is this which has led to their undeservedly low standing in terms of culture and artistic sophistication. However, as anyone who has ever taken the time to study some of the more elaborate, ambitious and serious works in this medium will know, it is a format which can be as subtle, profound, and artistically satisfying as anything in film, novel, or theatre.
Obviously, the comic book format has its limitations, as has any medium, and it is the way in which the creators deal with – and utilise – these limitations that marks out the most creative minds. For instance, as is obvious to anyone who has ever looked at a comic, there is limited room for dialogue, and filling the page with text (in what is primarily a pictorial medium) is a sure-fire recipe for reader boredom; however, where the pages contain little text the reader is also tempted to read too quickly, so a balance must be struck, and various tricks employed in a bid to slow down the reading process. Watchmen is very interesting in this regard, as it employs quite a standard pattern – a 3 x 3 grid of panels – and is relatively free of some of the more experimental developments in more recent comic works, where ever more elaborate and unconventional layouts are increasingly common. However, the creators work furiously within the confines of this fairly strict format to manage and manipulate the reader’s experience. For instance, a key factor in comic book creation is pacing the narrative, and using certain elements to speed up and slow down reader attention. This might not seem obvious at first, but to hit a page of nine panels with no dialogue will increase your reading pace, whereas dialogue will slow it down; also, merging panels on the grid will emphasise certain dramatic or important images, and cause the reader to stop and take in the greater impact and detail. Obviously, the general reader of comics will probably not notice this if done skilfully – just as the average film watcher will not notice the apt use of mood music to enhance involvement in a scene – and one of the reasons that Watchmen has long been hailed as a classic of the genre is its mastery of the various aspects of comic book production.
Page 1 of Watchmen: We open with Rosarch's journal, and a gradually withdrawing shot from above as we ascend to the view from Eddie Blake's appartment. Notice the longer bottom panel, which marks the shift from the narration of Rosarch's journal, and emphasises the words of the new character of the investaging police detective: 'Hmm. That's quite a drop.'! This interplay of narrative, dialogue, and pictures (sometimes conflicting, sometimes echoing each other) is a tool which Moore and Gibbons employ to great effect throughout the book. ('Watchmen' art and text (c) copyright DC Comics, 1987).
The main subject of Watchmen is, I suppose, the idea of the ‘superhero’. There are a number of modern film treatments which look with some degree of sophistication at what the idea represents, and what might motivate someone to don tights, a cape, and wear their underwear on the outside, but Watchmen was among the first to do this seriously and with such psychological realism. In this sense, it may be considered a critique of the figure of the hero, in whatever form it may come, and an investigation of the (often dubious or flawed) motives that drive such apparently altruistic individuals. In a sense, too, this also of course describes the politician or man in a more ordinary position of authority: what is the true motive of the person who wants to ‘make the world a better place’?
Watchmen is set in 1985, in a world which is historically slightly different from our own: whilst it was, like our own, a time over which the shadow of global nuclear war perpetually hangs, it is also a world where Nixon was not impeached after the Watergate scandal (because it was never uncovered), where the US won the Vietnam War, and where – most importantly – superheroes are real. These ‘masked crimefighters’ come in various forms, ranging from the psychotic vigilante Rorschach, barely distinguishable in terms of method from the ‘low life’ that he visits his own version of instant justice upon, to the almost literal superman, Dr Manhattan, transformed into an unearthly being by an accident in a nuclear laboratory. Individual motives also differ: Silk Spectre, an ex-model and wannabe actress is primarily attracted by the publicity opportunities for advancing her career; Hooded Justice, a wrestler and circus strongman, is secretly attracted by the opportunities for brutality and violence, which in turn are linked to his clandestine sexual proclivities. In short, none of the characters is unblemished, and together they embody the range of extremely human flaws that frequently seem to underlie the apparently noble drive to ‘make a difference’.
Within this setting and cast of characters, the main plot centres upon the murder of former masked hero Eddie Blake, A.K.A. the Comedian. Blake, found splattered on a New York City pavement after a fall from the smashed window of his hi-rise apartment, becomes the figure that links all of the characters together, and as the mystery of his death begins to be unravelled – mainly through the investigations of Rorschach – a terrifying conspiracy begins to be revealed, leading to a dramatic climax. However, whilst the plot itself is ingenious and well put-together, it is the style of the telling which really sets Watchmen apart. Each character is portrayed in realistic psychological detail – their relationships, their dialogue and private thoughts, their facial expressions, posture and manner of dress – and it is easy to see how Alan Moore’s writing has been too tempting for Hollywood to resist, as much of it seems tailor-made for film adaptation (and, of course, the comic book format is a ready-made storybooard of the type film makers use to plan out their scenes).3 He is, as is apparent from a close reading, a very well-read fellow, and apart from the strength of the main plot and its characters, the book abounds with literary, philosophical and historical references that seem to multiply with each reading. These range from casual allusions in names and places (a retirement home is called “Nepenthe Gardens”, after the opiate of forgetfulness referred to in Homer’s Odyssey), to the whole patchwork of themes and motifs that underlie and reinforce the main story. Furthermore, in between each chapter there are more text-based sections, such as excerpts from supposed autobiography, psychological reports, news articles, even adverts – all of which testify to the depth of realism that the creators have endeavoured to achieve. Finally, it should be said that Moore’s script is more than complemented by Dave Gibbons’ art, which – apart from the great technical ability displayed in the portrayal of characterisation and setting – frequently uses clever visual puns and echoes to create links between different situations and characters (see, for instance, chapter 5, ‘Fearful Symmetry’, where this is particularly evident, though it is a technique used throughout the book).
The overall result is a complex and sophisticated commentary on the desire for power, which – as with any great work of creativity – repays rereading and close study. Philosophically, the themes raised are many, to the extent that Watchmen has deservedly merited its own book in the Philosophy and Popular Culture series (which I will review elsewhere). In summary, therefore, Watchmen is a classic work in the comics genre that proves – if any proof is still needed – that comic books (graphic novels) are more than just amusing stories for kids (or grown men who still live with their mothers…).
Anyway, must go now: I'm following a discussion on who would win in a fight between the Hulk and the Thing, I need to prepare for klingon class, and Mom says I'm old enough to wash my Spidey outfit myself now.
It had originally first appeared as a serial comic of 12 issues, beginning the year before. In fact, ‘Quis custodet ipsos custodes’ – the Latin version of Juvenal’s phrase – was quoted as the epigraph to the Tower Commission report, and (along with a reference to the report) forms the epigraph to Watchmen itself. Films so far include The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, From Hell, V for Vendetta, and – most recently – Watchmen itself.Share this Page
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