Funny/sad…

From the New Yorker’s double review of the Watchmen film/book: (spoilers under the cut)

Snyder, following Moore, is so insanely aroused by the look of vengeance, and by the stylized application of physical power, that the film ends up twice as fascistic as the forces it wishes to lampoon. The result is perfectly calibrated for its target group: nobody over twenty-five could take any joy from the savagery that is fleshed out onscreen, just as nobody under eighteen should be allowed to witness it. You want to see Rorschach swing a meat cleaver repeatedly into the skull of a pedophile, and two dogs wrestle over the leg bone of his young victim? Go ahead. You want to see the attempted rape of a superwoman, her bright latex costume cast aside and her head banged against the baize of a pool table? The assault is there in Moore’s book, one panel of which homes in on the blood that leaps from her punched mouth, but the pool table is Snyder’s own embroidery.

One can wonder if Lane has actually read anything Alan Moore has written in his entire career.

However this does not spell good things for the film. Not at all.

(via this amazing post)

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2 Comments on “Funny/sad…”

  1. doctorbrown says:

    What I find hilarious about this typically snobbish review from The New Yorker is that Watchmen (the book, not the film) does achieve a sort of subtle political satire in its intricately woven character study, especially of the comic book world. It is a study of comics and what they can do, and I don’t think anyone who loves the book would laud it for its plot, which is pretty much ripped off of an Outer Limits episode, “The Architects of Fear.” It is also poking fun at exactly the square jawed, paranoid heroes that the article’s writer lambastes, which leads me to believe he didn’t read the book, or even the wikipedia article on it very well.
    Plus, I know it’s lame to defend something by saying that “well, you just don’t get it,” or to condescend to someone who isn’t in the fraternity of comic book geeks, but I bet Alan Moore’s “masonically loyal” following is larger than the New Yorker’s. I mean seriously, does anybody read that magazine? It’s like dada art, people just like it because they don’t actually understand it, and that makes them feel like it must be written for smart people. Wankers.


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