Wesley Fenlon | Not with a bang but a whimper.

Despite the inevitable dissent among Watchmen fans, moviegoers, and critics, one thing is fairly certain: Zack Snyder did not butcher, destroy, or otherwise mangle the source material in his effort to convert the most respected graphic novel of all time into something acceptably Hollywood. Camera shots, lines of dialogue, and important plot elements were plucked wholesale from Alan Moore’s creation. The harsh, bleak atmosphere of a Commie-fearing America remained completely intact; the vast majority of the novel was represented faithfully on screen, and a mammoth extended edition will integrate even more material that couldn’t make the theatrical cut.

Of course, complaints remain, opinions will forever be mixed, and Watchmen certainly provides its share of disappointing elements for all its successes. Read on to find out what worked and what didn’t in the cinematic world of Watchmen.

What Watchmen Does Right

Rorschach – Outside of the film noir, voice-over narration rarely really works, and far too often it feels like a contrived or lazy way to quickly convey important plot information. Watchmen is a wonderful exception.

Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley) delivers his dry, gravelly account of New York’s descent into sin impeccably, dropping unnecessary articles to produce that trademark jarring, blunt assessment of the world. Haley’s portrayal of Rorschach brings the full brunt of the character’s cynicism and brutality to bear in a way I didn’t think would be possible for the film, reaffirming Rorschach’s place in the ranks of the all-time greatest characters in comic book history. And man, that mask — the constantly-shifting inkblot is simply mesmerizing in a way the comic couldn’t hope to match.

Nite Owl – In the graphic novel, Dan Dreiberg hardly seems like a once-upon-a-time superhero — he’s overweight, middle-aged, and more than a little awkward. On screen, he fares a little better — as portrayed by Patrick Wilson he’s younger, more vibrant, and not quite so heavy. The change to his character actually reflects a noticeable shift towards youth and vitality in Snyder’s Watchmen, and I’ll admit that something about his character is lost in the change.

In the end, though, dropping the paunch and a few weary middle-age years works for the character. Enough of the washed-up average joe remains in Wilson’s performance, and he delivers both a solid Dreiberg, bespectacled and tweeded out, and a kickass Nite Owl in a sleek, deadly costume, which makes for far more entertaining cinema than Moore’s out of shape hero.

Dr. Manhattan – I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but there’s just something about Billy Crudup’s soft-spoken delivery that enhances the appeal of any powerful character he portrays. Maybe it’s that dichotomy between Dr. Manhattan’s infinite, deadly abilities and his delicate, oh-so human voice. But Crudup’s performance alone doesn’t bring Dr. Manhattan to life — it’s the incredible special effects that truly transform him. That consistent blue glow that bathes the other actors in an eerie light and those milky-white eyes make Crudup’s character a dead-on match for Moore’s creation.

The Comedian – Edward Blake’s death in the first moments of Watchmen kicks off the story, sending Rorschach on an investigation that eventually leads to the unearthing of Ozymandias’ plot. Despite being dead for the entirety of the story, The Comedian regularly shows up in flashbacks, and it gradually becomes apparent that he is the lynchpin to the complex situation. As the film clues us in on the events Blake took part in over the decades that make up Watchmen’s backstory, it also peels away layers of his character, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan absolutely becomes The Comedian — smirking, malicious, bloodthirsty and cynical. He represents the spirit of Watchmen to the core, a depressing depiction of humanity who sees the worst in people — and in himself — and basks in the debauchery until it consumes him.

Tone – Alan Moore’s Watchmen remains consistently serious over its 12 chapters, telling an intricate tale with realistic characters and a plot more structured and deliberately, delicately paced than nearly any other comic book ever written. Even Rorschach’s joke about Pagliacci the clown reflects the graphic novel’s bitter sentimentality, turning comic relief into a means of showing how utterly hopeless life truly is. And while Snyder’s adaptation retains the adult plot and impending doom of nuclear Holocaust, the tone is noticeably different.

Ironically, the film version of Watchmen feels more like a comic book than its paper-and-ink counterpart, a change that undoubtedly irks the majority of Moore purists, to say nothing of the author himself. Pop music, a caricatured Nixon and raucous action scenes all populate the movie. And for the most part, they make it a considerably more enjoyable experience. By taking itself just a little less seriously than the original work, Watchmen manages to turn incredibly difficult source material into something entertaining and watchable, while leaving the adult narrative more or less intact.

Music – Watchmen’s soundtrack is as awesome as it is unexpected. The marginally less serious, comic book feel of the film allows for music that connects key scenes with a relevant piece of pop culture or simply fits the vibe of the moment. Bob Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel are the last things that come to mind alongside a comic like Watchmen, but they add emotion and energy to scenes in a way that printed material, quite obviously, cannot. A more traditional, solely orchestral score would’ve been playing it safe, but the pop songs show a unique awareness of the historic periods the film moves through. And that part when Archie bursts through the Antarctic ice and carves a groove into the snow in time with the wailing guitar of All Along the Watchtower? Oh yeah.

Slow motion – Given that Snyder’s previous film, 300, was built upon a foundation of gratuitous slow-motion, I expected to see a repeat performance in Watchmen. The trailers painted a grim picture, but Snyder toned it down for the full feature, and by and large the slow motion remains in its appropriate place, improving the action scenes instead of slowing them to a ridiculous crawl. Each fight scene feels appropriately kickass, balancing Snyder’s trademark style with a welcome healthy dose of moderation.

What Watchmen Does Wrong

Ozymandias – He’s the smartest man in the world. The fastest man in the world. His grand, evil scheme is really a genius plot to save humanity. Unfortunately, Snyder’s Watchmen cuts Adrian Veidt’s screen time down to his essential scenes and crams his backstory into a portion of the film that robs it of its effectiveness. Matthew Goode simply can’t carry the character, and his portrayal of Ozymandias invokes none of the elegance, eloquence, or human appeal it should. And the dramatic revelation of his guilt hardly delivers the gut-punch of surprise it should — how could it, when Goode comes across as cold and arrogant and his black costume practically screams menace?

Silk Spectre II – Like Nite Owl, Silk Spectre II sheds a few years for the film adaptation of Watchmen, and Malin Akerman looks mighty fine in that black-and-yellow latex. Too bad that’s just about all she does. While there’s still enough left to Dan Dreiberg after his Hollywood makeover to retain an appealing character, Laurie Jupiter is stripped of all the little flaws that make her interesting. She no longer smokes; she’s no longer depressed or temperamental; she looks just as young and vibrant in the film’s present as she does in its flashbacks. And without those flaws, Laurie becomes the shallowest member of the main cast. I’m not sure if the majority of the blame lies with the script or Malin Akerman’s performance, but the end result is a flat, weak character.

Rorschach and the psychiatrist – We’ve already established that Rorschach exudes awesome in almost lethal doses, and the film adaptation brings him to life perfectly. That said, I was disappointed to see his time with Dr. Malcolm Long cut short; in the original story, Malcolm plays an important role in Chapter VI, and Rorschach’s blunt cynicism gradually breaks down the psychiatrist’s cheery optimism. We see the world through Malcolm’s eyes, and his own transformation at the figurative hands of Walter Kovacs’ psyche exposes us to the full brunt of Moore’s bleak depiction of human existence. It’s Rorschach’s finest moment, and would likely be the first scene I’d choose to have added to an extended adaptation.

Minor inconsistencies – When dealing with such a complex story and the time constraints of a film conversion, some things aren’t going to work out quite perfectly. A few remnants of the story remained intact when they really shouldn’t have, resulting in weaker scenes lacking the thought-out precision of Moore’s work. In the graphic novel, The Comedian discovers Veidt’s master plan accidentally while investigating the island housing the faux-alien giant squid. But in the film, there’s no such justification for his unearthing of Ozymandias’ intentions. Veidt’s giant lynx, Bubastis, was meant to be a holdover of his genetic experimentations in that same project, but that plot thread is entirely absent from the film, leaving the animal’s existence unexplained.

Rorschach’s confrontation with Moloch also suffers from the conversion, as much of their interaction is cut from the film. In the comic, Rorschach tells the retired villain to drop a note requesting a second meeting, should he remember any useful information. With that sequence of events missing, Rorschach’s convenient arrival at Moloch’s apartment, just in time for Veidt’s trap, makes little sense. And the office of the New Frontiersman newspaper only shows up in the film’s final moments, which makes Rorschach’s decision to give them his journal some 20 minutes earlier especially vague.

Nudity – The nudity in Watchmen is a tricky subject. On the one hand, the film deserves considerable respect for not flinching from male nudity and staying absolutely true to Dr. Manhattan’s comic book depiction. On the other hand, the significance of his nudity as a symbolic detachment from everyday society isn’t referenced, and I’m not sure anyone really wanted or needed to see quite that much blue wang. Even the sex scenes between Laurie and Dan appear goofy and poorly handled.

While artist David Gibbons drew plenty of scenes with nude characters, the inherent difference in detail between a comic book and a live-action movie shifts the focus considerably. When there are naked people on screen, it’s hard, if not impossible, to pay attention to something else, and the film simply couldn’t convey the same degree of subtlety as Gibbons’ art. That not-quite-so-subtle tone worked for nearly everything in Snyder’s Watchmen, but not so for the nudity.

From the moment John Williams’ iconic score strikes its first ominous chord, no one would ever think of water in the same way again. The spectacular success of “Jaws” extends beyond the silver screen in a way few films can boast to match — not only did it launch the concept of the summer blockbuster, it penetrated the public conscience so completely that beach attendance in the summer of 1975 took a noticeable hit.

John Williams’ inventive use of minimalism, which was an integral part of the movie’s success, gave birth to a new style of suspense music that quickly became synonymous with impending doom. The same concept of minimalism pervades the entire production, making the shark’s appearance on-screen all the more terrifying when it finally happens.

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Akira.

It’s one of those names that sticks with you.  Strong, mysterious, foreboding.  What does it mean?   Who is Akira?

Perhaps the name’s indelible quality actually results from the film itself, because Akira is one of those films you’ll never forget — even if you’re not entirely sure who or what Akira is by the end of its two hours.

Akira set a high bar in 1988 as an audio-visual powerhouse, propelled by a massive budget topping $10 million.  The meticulously detailed animation has endured for 20 years and can stand to-to-toe with the best produced even today.  Every scene bustles with activity.  Every background captures the grimy, worn-down feel of a post-war cyberpunk Tokyo, a city wallowing in its own filth and corruption.  And the movement, often a sticking point for Japanese animation, attains a Disney-esque level of fluidity.  When huge crowds riot in the streets, entire swaths of the landscape explode into rubble and dust, and biker gangs hurtle through the city, it’s obvious that budget was worth every cent.

Even throwing down a cool $11 million couldn’t truly tap into the full scope of Katsuhiro Otomo’s saga; despite the overuse of the term “epic” in the post-Lord of the Rings era, Akira personifies the term.  Otomo’s original manga, a 2000+ page landmark of graphic fiction, tells a vast, complex tale impossible   to contain on film.  Thankfully, his illustrative prowess makes the transition.  Kaneda’s red biker jacket and sleek motorcycle are transcendent; they will, quite probably, be cool forever.  The bikes and their wicked neon light trails remain one of the film’s most enduring images, despite their relatively small amount of screen time.

And then there’s the antagonist Tetsuo, who begins life as a kid with self-confidence issues and a mean streak and ends things as a maniacal, super powered psychic.  His character makes the jump to celluloid, but his story arc can’t quite do the same.  Akira’s expansive, convoluted narrative simply can’t be accurately stuffed into a two hour film, and the end result is a bit of a mess — major characters are cut completely, disparate pieces of the story are cobbled together, and only a tiny fraction of the entire saga gets its due representation.  Even the film’s namesake, the poster child for creepy Japanese children, hardly gets any screen time!  Akira is the ultimate result of psychic-powered government experimentation; he actually becomes a major part of the graphic novel’s plot, which feels far more appropriate than his brief, phoenix-like resurrection from bottles of preserved organs in the film’s final minutes.

Considering Otomo’s involvement with the animated production — and the fact that his manga didn’t end until two years after the movie’s release — it’s more appropriate to view Akira as an alternate version of the story rather than an attempted translation from one medium to the other.  A far-too-brief, not-so-coherent plot replaces the manga’s endless series of action scenes and long arcs of character development.

Even so, the film is carried on the strength of its superb animation and bizarre, stunning soundtrack.  And it was the animated version of “Akira” that helped ignite an appetite for anime in the United States, which is likely why it’s still recognized in the realm of pop culture to this day.  But maybe it’s not all about the cool motorcycles, wowza explosions and entertaining psychic powers.  When you get down to it, Akira is a pretty dark film — it begins with Armageddon, and it’s hard to say whether the city born from Tokyo’s ashes, a wretched hive of scum and villainy, really deserves to be saved at all.  On the flip side, Kaneda’s youthful determination doggedly propels a strong thematic undertone that the human spirit is worth fighting for — all you have to do is believe in yourself.

With a two-part live-action version of Akira in the works and slated for 2011, we may get to see just what it is that makes the story so captivating.  Maybe those badass bikes really are all you need…or maybe it really was just the name all this time.

Much has been written since the death of EGM last month. For most, the pain has subsided. Attentions have been shifted elsewhere. After all, it’s the internet, a capricious landscape of sweeping contradictions and short memories — the same group that most vocally grieved for EGM helped bring about its end. But that was January. It’s February, and by and large we’ve moved on.

But I’m always a little late to the party. It’s taken me a while to pick up on, and actually listen to, some of the post-1UP layoffs podcasts, namely the mammoth final episode of 1UP Yours and Robert Ashley’s A Life Well Wasted.  And as I listened to these podcasts, I kept feeling, again and again, that something truly special had been lost.  The tone of each podcast couldn’t vary much more radically: 1UP Yours is comprised of a rowdy group who joke, tease, laugh, drink, and find a way to squeeze interesting conversation into the mix.  A Life Well Wasted is absolutely surreal, blending short conversations with haunting music into something more powerful than the sum of its parts.  Where the two meet, where they reveal they have far more in common than their structures imply, is at their emotional core.  Every conversation held, every laugh shared, every memory revealed shows that something genuinely extraordinary has been lost.

Has any publication ever fostered the sort of love EGM did?  Over the course of its 20 year lifespan, how many people grew up reading this magazine cover to cover, absorbing every word, regardless of the game it pertained to?  And how many of them thought, “This is what I want.  This is what I want to do with my life.”  And how many of them actually did it?  It is, perhaps, the highest praise a publication could ever receive — its own fans were the very ones who grew up to give it new life and propel it forward for a new generation of readers.  And that new generation felt the exact same thing.  I should know; I’m one of them.  I can see the very stories recounted in A Life Well Wasted echoed in my own life — the worst games ever made list, featured in issue #150, attained a mythical status among my group of friends, and the mere mention of Custer’s Revenge even today would likely call forth a smirk.  I could probably still name most of the games on that list, and actually having played E.T. made it that much cooler.  It also led me to experience the horror that is Nigh Trap in all its hilarious, campy glory.

The crew of 1UP Yours discussed the fact that many fans felt as if they got to know each podcaster over the course of the show, but that really knowing them wouldn’t be possible given the nature of something like a podcast.  True, it’s not a reflection of real life.  It’s impossible to really know someone through such a detached medium.  But by so thoroughly communicating their own friendship on the show, they managed to pull in listeners, building a sense of powerful community and friendship, inviting us into their conversation, even if we couldn’t be there.  The entire institution was easy to take for granted, but now that it’s gone, I feel like there’s a gap — on the internet, on the newsstand, and in the daily lives of those who felt a special connection with people they’d never met but hoped to one day work beside.

We’re worse off for the loss.

I’d heard good things about Stranger’s Wrath.  The Oddworld series was genuinely well-regarded for its take on classic struggles against oppression featuring wacky characters, and Stranger’s Wrath received similar acclaim for being a standout in the crowd of shooters.  I picked it up on the cheap, only to discover that, like far too many excellent games, it’s not playable on the Xbox 360.  To the dusty shelf it went, pushed aside but not forgotten.

As part of my Winter Break Game-a-thon, I commandeered the old beefy Xbox from one of my roommates for the express purpose of playing Stranger’s Wrath.  Hopes were high, enthusiasm was piqued, sugary confections were consumed.

I wasn’t ready for what was in store.

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As an independent filmmaker, John Sayles has a penchant for creating movies that are simultaneously entertaining and thought-provoking. Though directors are often considered the visionaries responsible for the quality of whatever movie they’re helming, a strong script is always essential. Sayles takes the best of both worlds — he writes all his own projects.

Sayles hasn’t directed every film he’s written — some of his early screenplays (such as the now-classic Piranha) earned him the money to finance his own projects, and since the early 1980s he has written and directed over fifteen movies. Despite his success as a genre screenwriter, Sayles’s real passion lies in crafting culturally conscious films that present some sort of social criticism, but it an examination of racism, class, or politics.

One such film is Lone Star, starring Chris Cooper and Matthew McConaughey, who wasn’t yet a bigtime Hollywood celebrity in 1996.  Lone Star examines a variety of serious social issues that are likely commonplace for anyone who lives in a Texas border town, such as the one in which the film is set; race relations play a big part in the film, but they’re not the only focus.

More universal concerns such as family relationships are just as emphasized.  Throughout much of the film, Chris Cooper is trying to learn more about his deceased father (McConaughey), and as he unearths more and more he’s forced to challenge the image he’s constructed in his own mind.

That’s one of the coolest things about Lone Star — it’s entirely possible to watch the film for the political and social overtones, but you don’t have to.  Wrapped up in the weighty cultural concerns is a clever murder mystery that continually alternates between Cooper’s present-day search and the past, in which his father was the town sheriff.

Thanks to the film’s numerous interwoven plotlines, there’s a lot to like in Lone Star.  Still, nothing really can compare to country-singin’ legend Kris Kristofferson’s performance as corrupt former sheriff Charlie Wade.  With a devilish gleam in his eyes, Kristofferson totally dominates every scene he’s in, and with just a few minutes of screen time he manages to be the most memorable and entertaining character in the movie.  He’s twisted and evil, but delectably so.

More Kris Kristofferson could have only made Lone Star better, but ultimately his perfectly sinister Charlie Wade would’ve only gotten in the way of the real focus of the film.  The last few moments of the movie offer up one hell of an ending as all the pieces come together to blow your mind with a Sixth Sense-caliber revelation that suddenly clarifies a number of mysterious moments throughout the story.

Shifting gears a bit, let’s think of Lone Star as a teaching tool.  What better way to engage students in important social issues than by presenting those problems in a tightly-wrapped mystery?  It’s the classic bait and switch: lull them into enjoying the film before they realize it’s worth thinking about.

In fact, a little Googling results in the unearthing of a guide to doing just that: using Lone Star in an academic light.  Officially titled “Teaching John Sayles’ Lone Star : A Guide for Teachers of Grades 10-12,” the guide is impressively detailed: it includes useful subjects of discussion and questions for incorporating Lone Star into a classroom setting.

This is how I originally discovered the film, myself: while taking a class on multicultural literature, my professor showed us a few minutes of the film to complement the discussion we were currently having.  And given the number of subjects Lone Star covers in its 135-minute running time, the film is unusually ambidextrous — if you’ve got something serious to discuss, it’s probably relevant in one way or another.

Continue past the cut to read my own analysis of how John Sayles examines a wide range of sociocultural issues in Lone Star.

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As the World Wide Web has grown and expanded, it has become an increasingly important source of news for people across the globe. In fact, according to a poll conducted by Zogby International, published in early 2008, “nearly half of respondents (48%) said their primary source of news and information is the Internet, an increase from 40% who said the same a year ago.” Many of the internet’s news outlets are expansions of well-known, trusted television sources — CNN, NBC, and the BBC, just to name a few. However, the web has spawned thousands of other news sources that acquire their information in a more indirect fashion.

As Judy Muller describes them in her article “Plagiarism goes by a different name on the web,” these websites are secondary news sources. They exist as an aggregate of news from a variety of sources, thereby profiting (or at least maintaining themselves and achieving steady traffic flow) by feeding off the work of others.

Because the internet is still “young” in terms of its development, establishing real-world rules concerning legality and copyright issues is difficult — and enforcing those rules is even tougher. In “Plagiarism goes by a different name on the web,” originally published in the magazine Nieman Reports in Winter 2006, Judy Muller examines the issue of plagiarism on the web and the way in which it affects individual journalists and the field of journalism as a whole.

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From my 1Up blog (10/9/2007):

…and probably read by no one. But that’s okay–this blog exists to allow me to prove to myself that I actually have something to say about an industry that I love, and that I know how to say it without seeming like just another guy who plays Halo a lot.

As a second year college student soon to be heavily immersed in all things journalism, I constantly wonder about the future. Moreso than where I’m going to be in ten years, I want to know where this industry is going to be in ten years.

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