The second issue of Watchmen is all about Eddie Blake’s funeral and Alan Moore really hits us hard over the head showing just how awful the Comedian was. No more vague references to attempted rape or possibly being a Nazi. Everything is on full display here, which only makes us wonder more why Rorschach reveres him so much.
The issue begins with an introduction to Laurie’s mother, Sally Juspeczyk. She’s an instantly unlikable character — lazy, sarcastic, bitter and … oddly horny. Lauri (mostly) hates her mother and blames her for pushing her to become a superhero. But she still feels obligated to spend time with her during the Comedian’s funeral.
Adrian, Dan and Dr. Manhattan attend the funeral, but the man who wants to be there most, Rorschach, is stuck outside, pathetically marching along with his “The End is Nigh” sign. It’s really hard to view someone as heroic when they’re too cowardly to show their face at the funeral of someone they really admire. Of course, at this point in the story, we still don’t realize this is Rorschach.
I guess Dan didn’t care about risking his secret identity here? Keen observers surely would have wondered what this mild-mannered bird columnist was doing standing next to Dr. Manhattan and the former Ozymandias.
Sally shocks Laurie by being sympathetic toward the Comedian. And then she excitedly shows her daughter a porno comic about herself. Like Hollis, Sally spends all her time reminiscing on the “good ol’ days,” but instead of fantasizing about beating up bad guys, she dreams of being a sex symbol again, despite the pain that life brought her.
We then get our first flashback, a memory of Sally’s, which takes us back to a fateful meeting of the Minutemen. Moore sought to remind us of the old Justice Society of America with this team, except everyone is ridiculously stupid. There’s a guy wearing short shorts, another with an enormous dollar bill on his chest, and an idiot with impractical and unwieldy moth wings. It’s hard to fight through the nostalgia of classic superhero teams to see this for the group of morons they were. I also think the pristine artwork and the beautifully reworked colors also work to the story’s disservice here. Despite Moore’s best efforts, the Minutemen actually look kind of cool here.
Even though Sally tries to downplay the attempted rape to her daughter, her thoughts linger on that horrific night. Perhaps this is why she was unable to tell Laurie that Eddie is her real father. Within her web of confusing and conflicting emotions, the pain of that night compels her to still keep some things buried.
The Comedian had a gift for reading people. When Hooded Justice stepped in to save Sally, Eddie struck a nerve by equating this beating to a sexual fetish. As we’ll see in all the flashbacks of this issue, everyone remembers a moment when the Comedian helped them realize an uncomfortable truth. It happened for Hooded Justice. And it happened for Sally, too. While she never deserved to be attacked like that, deep down she actually did want to sleep with the Comedian.
And before we get too sympathetic for Laurie, Moore is quick to remind us that she is currently employed as little more than a concubine for the United States government — tasked with merely being a sex symbol for the most powerful being in the universe.
Our next flashback comes from Adrian Veidt, showing us the ill-fated meeting of the Crimebusters. Once again, Moore wants us to see how ridiculous these people are. Dr. Manhattan in his bizarre swimming suit and middle-aged girlfriend hanging on his arm. The downright silly costumes of Nite Owl and Ozymandius. And, worst of all, the paunchy, past-his-prime Captain Metropolis advocating for 1940s-era Boy Scout values.
It’s difficult to convey tone of voice in the medium of comic books, but in this flashback, we see Rorschach is speaking with a normal speech bubble like everyone else, as opposed to his scraggly speech bubbles in the present day. And if you look closely, you’ll also notice that his clothes aren’t dirty and stained. These changes are subtle and easy to miss, which is why I think most Rorschach fans default to this image of him in their mind — that of a more “normal” hero, as opposed to the deranged psychotic Moore wanted us to see.
It truly is laughable (and slightly distressing) to see the societal “ills” Captain Metropolis sought to combat: promiscuity, anti-war demonstrations, Black unrest. When I first read this, I felt bad for Nelson Gardner, especially as he cried over his little display and called out in desperation, “Somebody has to save the world!” But I now see how big of an idiot he was. He wanted to save the world from things it didn’t need saving from. And only the Comedian was brash enough to call out Nelson for his idiocy. Ozymandius was initially supportive of the idea of the Crimebusters, perhaps envisioning himself as their leader who could coordinate them to effect some real change in the world. But Eddie burning the map seemed to open Adrian’s eyes and inspire him to explore a new tactic.
The next flashback belongs to Dr. Manhattan, taking us back to the victory in Vietnam. The Comedian was there, even though Dr. Manhattan essentially won the war by himself.
The Comedian shudders to think of what would have happened had America lost the Vietnam War, but one of Moore’s major points in this story is to show how things could have been so much worse if America did win.
Time for another “moral lapse” from a man serving his country. Coincidentally, both women that scarred his face chose the same cheek.
After monstrously murdering the woman pregnant with his own child, the Comedian pointed out an even more horrifying truth: Dr. Manhattan let him kill her. The most powerful being in the universe was losing his ability to care about people, and Dr. Manhattan seemed genuinely concerned to learn this about himself.
Dan Dreiberg reflects on a riot he and the Comedian stopped during a police strike, shortly before the U.S. government cracked down on superheroes.
Dan is horrified by the Comedian’s government-sanctioned brutality and quickly realizes that their actions aren’t actually helping anybody.
Here, Moore is explicitly stating what he hinted at earlier. The American dream is violence, carnage and corruption. An unsettling truth that the Comedian taught Nite Owl, who responded by slipping into obscurity, depression and impotence.
There were very few people at Eddie’s funeral, but only Rorschach seemed to notice or care about the appearance of the former villain Moloch, who laid an enormous wreath of roses on the grave. It’s tough to tell which makes Rorschach angrier — the fact that a villain dared show his face at a heroes’ funeral, or that the villain was the only one who brought flowers.
I have no idea how Rorschach beat Moloch to his home and snuck in his fridge like that. It’s an unfortunately cool moment that makes us forget how psychotic and pathetic Rorschach is.
Rorschach is brutally assaulting a sickly old man, but we the readers are prone to justify it as Rorschach’s interrogation technique actually proves quite useful here. He’s very quickly graduated from breaking the fingers of a man who mocked his stench to uncovering the first tangible clue of the main plot.
It’s difficult to tell exactly why the Comedian didn’t try to stop Adrian. Perhaps he knew he’d be killed in the effort. Perhaps he was too traumatized by the horrors he saw to work up the courage to attempt something useful. Whatever the case, he felt he had to tell someone, even if the truth was buried behind veiled references packaged in a drunken stupor. And despite Rorschach’s deep admiration for the Comedian, the two of them never seemed to have much of a relationship. It certainly seems like Rorschach carries a bit of envy for Moloch — a villain — having a better relationship with his idol.
The Comedian spent his whole life reading people extremely well and reveling in the use of excessive violence to bring about order. But for the first time, he was unable to see the bigger picture, or the “joke,” as he liked to call it. In hindsight, it is kind of strange that Adrian’s plot would spook the Comedian this bad. Perhaps this was Moore overhyping the horrific nature of the grand scheme. Or maybe he was just creating a character who realized only too late that he did have a line he could not cross — that his brand of brutality that served him so well in the ’60s and ’70s was suddenly obsolete in the ’80s.
Rorschach likes to claim that he sees the world in black-and-white; i.e., right is right and wrong is wrong. But as we saw last issue, he’s quick to make some selective and contradictory exemptions to that standard. And here’s a rather surprising exemption. In his desperation to bust Moloch for something — once a criminal always a criminal — he discovers some banned placebo drugs in his medicine cabinet. But Rorschach chooses to let Moloch off the hook for the drugs. Perhaps out of pity, mingled with a sense of admiration for one who shared such an intimate moment with the Comedian. Perhaps Rorschach was motivated by his belief that Moloch could be a valuable source for him in the future. Or maybe he merely understood that this placebo thing was a bit much even for him. Whatever the motivation, this small act goes a long way toward making us overlook Rorschach’s glaring flaws.
Rorschach finally makes it to the Comedian’s grave, delivering a monologue that contains lines that Batman or even Superman would say. I would dare even call some sections of it inspirational, making it easy to forget that this was the guy who on Page 1 of this story fantasized of refusing to save people he deemed “unclean.” It’s also worth noting that Rorschach doesn’t have a flashback with the Comedian. And I think it’s because all those flashbacks were learning moments for the characters. Sally learned that she did crave and enjoy sexual attention from others, no matter the cost. Adrian learned how futile the concept of superheroes is. Dr. Manhattan learned that it’s impossible for an all-powerful being to relate to ordinary humans. Dan learned how oppressive the American establishment could be. And Moloch learned what a lifetime of violence could do to a man’s mental and emotional well-being. But Rorschach never learned anything from the Comedian. He agreed with him and admired him from a distance — too far away to receive any epiphanies like the others.
Perhaps Rorschach was only able to admire the Comedian because he was always so distant from him. Had he been closer, he might — might — have been able to realize that Eddie Blake is a man unworthy of admiration. But much like his father, Rorschach built up a false image of a hero in his mind that he idolized and justified at every chance. Disgustingly, he even implies that the attempted rape was just something that the Comedian “had to do.”
Rorschach tells a joke about the clown Pagliacci being able to bring joy to others but not himself. I don’t think Rorschach himself quite understood — but Moore certainly did — that the Comedian was sort of a reverse Pagliacci. He didn’t spread joy. Not a single person has a fond memory of him. But he did spread understanding. He helped people see uncomfortable and disturbing truths about themselves or the world. Which makes it ironic that he ultimately died because he saw something he couldn’t understand. There was no comedian around to explain to him the bigger picture behind Adrian’s plan.
All the principle characters in this issue did mourn during Eddie’s funeral. But only Rorschach mourned the man himself. Sally mourned her lost beauty. Adrian mourned the possibility of united superheroes. Dr. Manhattan mourned his dwindling emotions. Dan mourned the corruption of the American dream. And Moloch mourned a life full of regrets. Rorschach, however, mistakenly thought the world had been robbed of some great hero worthy of adoration. It’s easy to sympathize with Rorschach at the end, especially coming off Moloch’s flashback and this beautiful artwork. But readers who are willing to put in a little work will see just how fundamentally wrong Rorschach is.
The issue ends with a few more excerpts from Hollis Mason’s tell-all book. Here we see just how arbitrary and goofy the origin of his Nite Owl persona was.
Hollis readily admits that the Minutemen were comprised of Nazis, racists and sexual deviants. He does justify them — to an extent — while simultaneously sensationalizing their faults for his book. And we understand that the younger Hollis was so enamored with the idea of being on a team of superheroes, that he was quick to turn a blind eye to pretty much anything.
No one is spared Hollis’ speculative gossip. Here he questions Hooded Justice’s sexuality, but in the rather sleazy way of distancing himself from the accusation. “Hey, I’m not saying he’s gay …”
And we finally get to Hollis’ take on the Comedian. It is technically accurate, but surprisingly terse. He does condemn the Comedian, but this book also condemns Hollis himself. He sat on this knowledge for decades before finally profiting off it with a splashy book. He blames others for the coverup that he willingly and knowingly participated in. Moore is trying to show us over and over again that there are no good guys in this story. We as readers naturally resist that notion. We’re used to cheering for good guys. We need to cheer for good guys. But this isn’t that kind of story.
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