I’m not sure why, but something has possessed me to resurrect a dead blog to talk about the most-talked-about comic book of all time. I tried to resist this urge. I really did. I asked myself what I could say that hadn’t already been said. But as I reread issue #1, I was reminded of Alan Moore’s discomfort at how so many people found the character Rorschach to be an inspiring hero. And that’s when I found my thesis. I still doubt I’ll be able to contribute anything original to the conversation, but I do think it’ll be fun to explore why there is such a large disconnect between Moore’s intentions and a significant chunk of his audience.
I will examine every page of every issue of Watchmen and its adaptations, prequels and sequels, etc., to find out:
1. What Moore wanted the readers to think about Rorschach.
2. Where Moore may have failed in his mission.
3. How well other creators recaptured Moore’s vision.
So let’s get into it. Watchmen #1 came out in 1986 (one year before I was born) and was created by Alan Moore (writer), Dave Gibbons (art and letters) and John Higgins (colors). I will be working from the digital copy of this series, which features artwork that was restored by a team of eight people and Higgins’ revitalized colors that he did in 2005. And that restoration team did an impeccable job. This comic looks absolutely gorgeous on my iPad.
The story opens with shot of the bloody smiley face button from the cover before zooming out to a man spraying the enormous pool of blood off the sidewalk, while another man heedlessly walks right through the blood with a sign reading “The End is Nigh.” Forgive me for spoiling an extremely famous 36-year-old comic, but the man with the sign is none other than Walter Kovacs, aka Rorschach.
It’ll be a few issues before we the readers learn the identity of this lunatic who can’t even be bothered to walk around the Comedian’s blood. But we do know this opening monologue is coming from Rorschach’s journal. And it’s not a pretty picture. Rorschach is fantasizing about being called upon to save the world, but choosing not to because he has deemed them unclean. He lumps together murderers, prostitutes, communists and liberals as the vermin of the world who have brought about their own deserved destruction. He doesn’t hate all politicians, though. Rorschach has high praise for former president Harry S. Truman and his dad, believing they lived by the standard that all Americans should follow.
We’ll also find out later Rorschach’s view of his dad — and subsequently his entire outlook on life — is based on a lie. But the words on this page alone should be enough to turn us away from Rorschach. Any man who refuses to save somebody because of their political affiliation is no hero worth admiration. Unfortunately, I think the mystery of this opening creates enough ambiguity that some readers will agree with Rorschach’s words. If they knew right away that Rorschach was the doomsayer walking through blood, then they’d understand that these words were an incoherent rant of an unstable man rather than a haunting call of warning from a hero.
Edward Blake’s murder is initially investigated by a pair of detectives, who unfortunately fall out of the story fairly quickly. I think Moore should have made them the main characters, taking the readers on a tour through this world as they pieced together this mystery. A couple of ordinary human beings who never were and never wanted to be superheroes could have provided a strong contrast, demonstrating just how deranged and insane all the “heroes” in this story truly are. But since Moore made Rorschach the point of view character, many readers will naturally assume that this means he is a good guy and worthy of emulation.
We eventually learn that the Comedian was killed by Adrian Veidt, which makes the brutal and messy method of this murder rather surprising. Adrian is a cold, calculating man, who patiently plays the long game. His nearly unlimited resources would have enabled him to kill Eddie in a much more efficient, if not less conspicuous manner. But it seems like a certain element of this murder, as suspected by the detectives, was that it was personal. True, Adrian wanted to kill Eddie to cover up his evil plan, but it also seems like he just really wanted to beat the Comedian to death with his bare hands.
Despite the fantastical nature of Blake’s death, the detectives decide to keep it quiet, hoping to not attract the attention of Rorschach, who is wanted for two counts of murder. It should go without saying that inspirational heroes should not be wanted for murder. Unfortunately, I do have to say that, because there are too many people who believe it’s not only acceptable, but cool to have a superhero who kills people. And in case anyone suspected those murder counts might be spurious charges, the story will later confirm that Rorschach has, indeed, killed at least two people while acting like a “hero.”
The detectives don’t realize that they’ve just done exactly what they were trying to avoid. Rorschach’s “disguise” is useful, as it allows him to essentially be invisible wherever he goes and occasionally learn something significant like this. Most people ignore the homeless and/or mentally ill people on the street, and Rorschach certainly appears to fall in that category in this getup. But it’s not really a disguise for him. He really does believe the end is nigh. And he really doesn’t have anything better to do with his time other than endlessly roam the streets, unconcerned with what he steps in or how dirty he gets. I don’t even think he’s actually checking his watch here — just pretending to, while he eavesdrops on the detectives.
This is the first view of Rorschach in his superhero outfit. It’s not much of a costume — just a hat, trench coat and some gloves. The one unique aspect is his mask, which we don’t fully see just yet. Even so, this is actually a really cool look — especially in the shadows like this. You can’t see how dirty and truly pathetic he is. It’s too easy to view him as a dynamic, exciting hero here, completely forgetting all the warning signs that Moore tried to give us. I know I certainly did on my first reading.
This is just an awesome image. It’s almost impossible to not be drawn in by this simple, yet practical hero, sporting a mesmerizing, one-of-a-kind mask. I think it might actually be too cool for the story Moore is telling. I guess that’s the risk of creating a satirical character — you inadvertently make something cool that you wanted to be lame. Or maybe that was always part of Moore’s plan. This story is full of unlikable characters. But none of them are simplistic, one-note characters. They are complex and layered, full of just enough redeeming qualities to keep us engaged.
Rorschach is acting a lot like Batman — the most popular superhero of all time. He used a grappling gun to scale the skyscraper, and now he’s using detective skills to investigate Blake’s apartment to confirm his suspicion that he is the Comedian. Everybody likes Batman, so it’s understandable that we’d also like heroes who do Batman things. And this is why I think it would have been better for the detectives to find the secret closet instead.
I really like how the Comedian’s costume looks like a sad, pathetic clown. It’s a grotesque mockery of Captain America. The mask may be mourning the death of the man who wore it, but it also conjures some sexual imagery, as well. The inclusion of the large weapons gives us our first clue that despite being the victim of a brutal murder, the Comedian was not an upstanding hero.
The first time I read this story, it was very difficult for me to understand why I couldn’t fully like any of the characters. But I now understand that was the point. Every one of them is flawed in some way. Even the most relatable and sympathetic characters do something that should make you cringe. On first glance, Hollis Mason is a sweet, old man, who specializes in fixing up obsolete cars and obsolete people, such as Dan Dreiberg. Of course, there’s not really any fixing going on here — just reliving the glory days, which we’ll find out weren’t quite that glorious. And Dan leaves Hollis’ feeling just as depressed and despondent as ever.
It’s pretty difficult to convey how disgusting a character is in a comic book. Gibbons can’t draw stink lines or buzzing flies around Rorschach. That’d be too cartoony. Instead, we have to primarily rely on the dialogue to let us know just how gross he is. Look at the sound effects of him eating cold beans straight from the can: “Chlop. Thlup. Shorp. Lep.” Not only is he breaking into Dan’s house and eating his food without permission, but he’s doing it in the sloppiest, laziest way possible. And he’s not doing this because he’s in a rush — he was sitting around waiting for Dan. Rorschach simply doesn’t care about hygiene, health or decency, for that matter.
These sugar cubes Rorschach is taking? Not for any grand purpose. He’s just going to munch on them raw throughout the rest of the story. That’s not normal. That’s not cool or quirky. But … it’s easy to overlook little moments like this when we’re caught up in the mystery and trying to figure out who all these people are. Plus, Rorschach is kind of funny.
Turns out, Rorschach was wrong. There was no conspiracy to kill all superheroes. And in hindsight, it is rather strange that he immediately jumped to that conclusion, especially since Blake’s murderer didn’t expose him to the world as the Comedian. You could say that Rorschach was simply being paranoid, or you could look at it as Rorschach forcing the issue to seem bigger than it really is. As we’ll see, the Comedian’s death hit him really hard. And maybe he felt that if he presented it to his old colleagues as a conspiracy, they’d be more motivated to help him avenge his idol.
Nite Owl was one of the hardest characters for me to wrap my head around when I first read this. I really wanted to like him, but I just couldn’t. His costume seems cool at first glance, but is actually pretty stupid when you get down to it. Same with his flying ship. An impressive piece of technology, for sure, but rather dumb-looking. But Dan’s biggest flaw is that he doesn’t do anything. All his gear gathers dust in his basement, while he reminisces on days gone by with his idol and occasionally submits a boring article about birds to a magazine.
Rorschach’s repugnant flaws keep building up, but since this story is so dense, it’s easy to miss a few. Instead of taking responsibility for poor hygiene, he retaliates against his landlady, accusing her of having children from five different men and cheating on welfare. On my first read-through, I had no reason to doubt Rorschach. But now, after realizing that so much of worldview is based on a lie, and how quick he is to lump together all the sins he despises onto people he disagrees with, I’m a bit more skeptical of his words. Note that I use the word “sins” in a very broad sense. Rorschach surprisingly is not religious. Usually his type of conservatism goes hand-in-hand with religion. But I suppose many religions died off in a world with Dr. Manhattan. But even without the religion to anchor his views, Rorschach’s beliefs are the same. He assumes his landlady cheats on welfare because — in his eyes — she is unworthy of receiving welfare due to her multiple sexual partners.
The bartender is terrified to see Rorschach and begs him not to kill anybody. This is a frightening glimpse of our “hero” — not a cool one. The bartender wouldn’t have said that if Rorschach didn’t have a reputation of being a murderer. It wouldn’t even be far-fetched to suggest he had killed in that very bar.
Rorschach doesn’t care for his personal hygiene, but he does seem rather sensitive about it. His entire act of interrogation in this bar was merely him breaking a couple of fingers of a man who joked about his body odor. As he leaves, Rorschach (in his diary) accuses the patrons of distributing child pornography. They might have been, but we don’t know for sure. Pedophilia is a common accusation conservatives like to make of others, usually because it’s the worst thing they can think of and they can’t come up with a legitimate complaint about their enemies. Since Rorschach is the type of man who lumps liberals together with murderers, it seems in line for him to make these kind of assumptions without any evidence.
Rorschach next visits Adrian Veidt, not realizing he’s speaking with Eddie Blake’s murderer. When Adrian casually says the Comedian was practically a Nazi, Rorschach becomes incredibly defensive, arguing that he can’t be a Nazi because he worked for the United States government. When Rorschach says he might as well be called a Nazi, too, Adrian seems to repress a laugh. This is Rorschach unwittingly “telling on himself.” He doesn’t fully understand what fascism is, nor how closely his views are related to it. But he does know that the word Nazi is a supreme insult that evokes anti-American connotations. His response is a fairly typical one among fascist-leaning conservatives who haven’t studied enough history.
It’s very easy to dislike Adrian right away. He is the embodiment of vanity, surrounded by action figures of himself in a massive, sparkling office. But the newspaper on his desk reveals his true concern. Despite the presence of Dr. Manhattan, the Soviet Union still hasn’t backed down and threats of nuclear war are higher than ever. And that threat influenced every decision Adrian makes in this story. In fact, if his methods weren’t so monstrous, he probably could have been considered the hero.
Once again, Rorschach is lumping together every negative quality he can think of to describe someone he doesn’t like. There is no reason to suspect Adrian of being gay, other than Rorschach’s reductive worldview that pampered liberals are also homosexuals. I know homophobia was a lot more common and socially acceptable back in 1985, but it was still wrong. And Moore is using it as one more defect in Rorschach’s character.
At last we meet the fabled Dr. Manhattan, introduced to us as an unfathomable naked giant blue man. Of course, I don’t think it’s right to even call him a man. He looks like a man, but he barely acts like one. He is much more accurately described as a god, albeit a dispassionate one. A god who sees no difference between an alive person and a dead one. His girlfriend, Laurie Juspeczyk, is appropriately shown as an afterthought. A minimal presence in the background, ostensibly brought in to keep Dr. Manhattan happy, but not given anything to actually do.
And here we see perhaps the biggest contradiction in Rorschach’s philosophy. Lauri is glad the Comedian is dead because he attempted to rape her mother. But Rorschach dismisses the allegations from Hollis Mason’s tell-all book and essentially says that even if the Comedian did attempt to rape someone, it doesn’t matter, because his service to the U.S. trumps everything else. Lauri is right to be enraged by this reference to “moral lapses,” especially coming from a man who spends so much time complaining about prostitutes and sexual immorality. A lot of people think Rorschach sees the world in black-and-white; i.e., right is right and wrong is wrong, no compromise. And Rorschach even believes that’s what he does, too. But he doesn’t. His cognitive dissonance has created a pretty glaring compromise in his outlook, much like so many conservatives today. Far too many people are so willing to readily surrender their values if it means putting another Republican in office.
Dr. Manhattan teleports Rorschach away, and it’s easy to feel sympathy for him as he walks away in the rain. Rorschach has struck out. None of his former colleagues are concerned by the Comedian’s death, let alone his baseless conspiracy theory. But I think Rorschach is more dejected that none of the others are grieving like he is.
Dr. Manhattan is easily the most frustrating character in this story, as he possesses the power to do practically anything, yet chooses to spend his time obsessing over the most insignificant matters. It’s no surprise that’s Rorschach’s visit had no effect on him, but it did have an effect on Laurie, prompting her to reconnect with Dan. In his own haphazard way, Rorschach is putting the band back together, which is something we want to see, and another reason why we might root for him.
It certainly is rich to see Rorschach vow to never compromise almost immediately after he compromised his morals to defend the Comedian. I don’t blame readers who miss this display of cognitive dissonance, though. I did. This is a big story. Twelve issues of 32 pages each and most pages have nine panels. It’s easy to miss things.
I think the greatest thing about Watchmen is the combination of Moore’s engaging story with Gibbons’ detailed art. He doesn’t waste a single panel, always finding ways to expand the story in the background — or, in this case, foreground. This alternate 1985 has some interesting advances in technology, thanks to Dr. Manhattan. Restaurants can serve turkeys with four legs. Most cars don’t run on gas anymore. Everybody’s smoking these space-age cigarette/pipe things. And, for some odd reason, homosexuality seems to be more socially acceptable than it did in the real 1985. This surprises me, as the staunch conservative Richard Nixon was able to turn Dr. Manhattan’s victory in Vietnam into essentially a lifetime presidency for himself. Nevertheless, something about this world enabled these two gay men to publicly display their affection for each other without fear of repercussion. And you have to know our old pal Rorschach views this as a massive problem of society.
Laurie, like all the main characters of this story, is complex and confounding. And not entirely likable. In this first issue, we learn her mother was sexually assaulted by the Comedian, and that she essentially fell into the superhero life and tasked with standing around watching Dr. Manhattan work all day. Like Dan, her lack of initiative is frustrating. Also like Dan, she has a darker side. The two of them ended their dinner by laughing at Rorschach killing a mentally ill man in cold blood. We should not be inspired by any of these people — especially Rorschach.
This miniseries includes a lot of supplemental material that may not be entirely necessary, but is still interesting. It’s rather impressive that Moore took the time to actually write several chapters of Hollis Mason’s controversial tell-all book. I do laugh, however, at the note that this was “reprinted with permission of the author.” Who’s printing this? And just when did Hollis grant this permission?
Hollis was introduced in this story as a kindly old man who likes to fix up old cars and reminisce over days gone by. And the first couple of pages of his book perpetuate that image.
Hollis then launches into a bizarre tale of a jokester mechanic who was listening to “Ride of the Valkyries” while wearing fake breasts when he learned his wife had robbed him and ran off with his friend. What does this have to do with anything? Hollis tells us on the next page.
Hollis chose to open his book with this strange, sad tale of suicide only because he wanted to get the readers’ attention. And that’s rather fitting for a man who chose to write a tell-all book to begin with. Yeah, he might seem like a kindly old man, but he’s not above capitalizing off other people’s tragedies.
This story is a deconstruction of superhero mythology and Moore spent a lot of time thinking about what would motivate ordinary people to become masked vigilantes. Each character has their own motivation. Hollis’ was primarily a desire to live in a more simplistic world.
Hollis even admits that being a superhero was a juvenile fantasy. Moore is trying to give us permission to disdain these characters, to view them as infantile idiots. But that goes against the fundamental principles of most readers of this story, who have likely spent years consuming and enjoying superhero content. We’re predisposed to root for the guy who puts on a cool mask, scales skyscrapers with a grappling gun and finds clues the police couldn’t. In fact, we’re so predisposed to that idea, that we instinctively dismiss all warning signs about that character as mere quirks or interesting character flaws. We have to actively work to understand that Moore has given us a story with fatally flawed, thoroughly unlikable characters.
It’s hard work to understand what Moore was saying. But the effort is worth it. I’m glad he didn’t dumb down this story. Otherwise it wouldn’t be nearly as rewarding on a reread.
