So, the Watchmen movie. More faithful than a labrador. Longer than a train ride from London to Paris. Louder than bombs. And about as pointless a piece of culture as I can remember.
Not to say it isn’t good. It’s brilliant. If the comic didn’t exist, it would be a miraculous undertaking. But the point is, the comic does exist. It costs less than 10 quid on Amazon, which is 50 per cent less than it cost me to go to see the film with my son. So what, exactly, is the point of a hyper-faithful moving picture copy of the comic? As Alan Moore has said something or other, “why does the world need another bloody film?” I can understand someone filming War and Peace or Rigoletto or even Hamlet, on the basis that those things are hard to consume in their original form. But a comic?
Use your imagination. Read the comic. Fill the gaps in between the panels with your own brain. It’s better for you, and in the long run I’d rather wish I hadn’t been shown Dr Manhattan’s Martian fortress. It’s a bit like having She Sells Sanctuary read out to you note by note.