Dawn of the Golden Age of Superhero Movies.

…if Jesus was alive today and walked on water, it would be instantly on YouTube… And the first Comment would be: “Fag.”
— Bill Maher.

There is a scene in BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE where Batman turns a corner in his Batmobile and runs headlong into Superman blocking him in the street. Superman stands calmly, not moved one iota as the Batmobile slams into him and ricochets to a halt. All is quiet, somber, dark, as Batman slowly rises from the cockpit, to confront a grim Superman now standing on the Batmobile’s hood. There it is — a scene envisioned from all our childhoods: the two greatest superheroes the world has ever known, face to face in living, breathing, shining reality.

“Sorry for hitting you buddy. I’m guessing you’re not standing on my hood to exchange insurance information?”

These are the First Heroes, the OG’s, from the Golden Age of Comics. Supers, which were paper and colored ink, now flesh and sinew – incarnate after 80 years of expectancy. At last on the big screen in darkness and badassery. These were never just cartoon characters – they were archetypes; historical memes that represented the highest aspirations of humankind; ultimately, they were more than just brains and brawn, but the epitome of each. These beings guided us through the uncertainty of puberty, forged our visions of adulthood, infected our notions of morality. Like the God of Abraham breathing life into the mud of Adam, DC Comics and director Zack Snyder have hewn from the pages of past summers, the gods who made us the men we are today.

And instead of delving into this sincere movie’s deeper layers, the uneducated, short-attention-span lunkheads have chosen to knee-jerk and bitch-fit in ignorant spasm, focusing on the obvious lesser faults in this fantasy script, like it’s an historical document that needs to conform to real world rules. They’re all just JELLY that they didn’t make this movie first!

And I wept as my childhood slapped me in the face. I wept for all the times I tied a towel around my neck and swished around the backyard. I wept as this cinematic tableau authentically depicted what was buried under the rubble of my adult brain. And I wept because, no matter the quality, no matter the blood and bone expended in the cauldron of creation, the first Comment will always be – “fag.”

Superpoff V Batpoff: Dawn of Salad
“Hi pal! Wanna wrestle?”

Batman battles Superman for destroying Metropolis while he was trying to save it, and destroys Metropolis while he’s trying to save it by battling Superman.

Uh…

It’s the darkest superhero movie ever made. DC Comics has outdone Marvel and any other contenders (like HANCOCK, DARKMAN, THE CROW, et al) in creating an almost disturbing adventure that delves deep into the minds of two distraught men. The gravitas here stems not from the usual childish punching between good and evil, but in that age-old adage about great power spawning great responsibility. And it goes further, into the Shakespearean, “Heavy lies the head that wears the crown.” (Henry The Fourth Part 2, Act 3:1.)

We’ve all grown up with the notion that having super powers (or being in Batman’s realm of tasty gadgets and optimum training) would be peachy keen. But the abilities of these two men are a curse, a burden, and weigh on them morally for their limitations. For all his seemingly limitless abilities, Superman knows his power is finite. He cannot save everyone; he is not omniscient. In messianic scenes, we see him performing incredible feats of strength and bravery, yet behind his furrowed brow, he mourns for those he could not save; he does not embrace the joyous/evangelical reaching out to touch the hem of his cape; his visage is steeped in sadness and self-doubt.

And Batman, who donned the cowl of a bat to strike fear into the hearts of wrongdoers, realizes the new top dog is far more fearful, for his capacity to “burn down the world” in an eyeblink. To put it simply: it’s a dick thing. In a world where Gotham and Metropolis are across the bay from each other, Batman is so threatened by Superman, he steps over the moral lines he set for himself, just to match that terrifying killing power – resorting to branding criminals like cattle, then outright murdering them. When Alfred muses to Bruce about “everything changing” and “the feeling of powerlessness that turns good men cruel”, he is not talking about super criminals – he is talking about Bruce!

Also, just before Alfred subtly chides him, Bruce says, “We’re criminals, Alfred! We’ve always been criminals.” Did we hear that correctly?! Batman admits openly he is an outlaw, and is not self-deluding that his righteousness outweighs his illegality!

These pathological insecurities are woven so deep into the fabric of this tale that it totally loses the lunkheads. Where’s the colorful quipping? Where’s the simplistic punching of bad guys? Where’s the “fun” in being super? I don’t get it. I know, I’ll whine like every other beanstem on social media because I’m not used to a superhero movie forcing me to use my brain that’s been turned to pulp by Reality TV.

I think I’ll type “fag” in the Comments section…

There are real world repercussions. This movie addresses the massive collateral damage in its predecessor, MAN OF STEEL (2013). The city of Metropolis won’t stand for Superman’s decisions on how he wields his powers, and the plot foreshadows the dilemma in the upcoming Marvel production, CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR – on how to regulate superheroes and their deeds. Batman, battling his own demons and critics in pushing his vigilantism to murder, takes it upon himself to regulate Superman.

A friend of mine is always reminding me superhero movies are, in essence, “kid’s movies.” Not any more. When we see a clothed Clark Kent climb into a tub playfully with a naked Lois Lane (living together like a well-adjusted couple), we realize – this is an adult rendering. (There are also rumors of an R-rated version of the film, available only on Blu-Ray – which is not, disappointingly, for the purpose of revealing more tey-tey, but to include more violence). So put on your thinking cap and your big boy pants or get the fuck out.

Even you got too old to die young.
— Alfred, to Bruce Wayne.

Affleck: Bat to the bone.

Ben Affleck is Batman. First comment: fag.

After the internet explodes due to this casting choice, Affleck turns out to be nothing short of brilliant! Bringing a grizzled, cynical brutality to his Batman, even closer to Frank Miller’s envisioning of the Dark Knight than Christian Bale’s interpretation; a rugged, unapologetic continuance of this character. (We even see the voice modulator that makes Batman’s voice raspy – which might explain why Christian Bale said, “So that’s how it feels” in that rasp, when he didn’t need to because no one was listening).

Affleck (who was Superman in HOLLYWOODLAND! – where he dated Diane Lane, Superman’s mother here!) embodies exactly the type of vicious vigilante we saw in KICK-ASS. Remember that scene in the warehouse where Nic Cage’s Big Daddy – looking decidedly like the caped crusader – kicks and kills his way through a bunch of henchmen? And I yearned for DC to step up and make the Batman look as dynamic and lethal. Here is that dance of death. It’s thrilling to see such real world violence at last in these “kid’s movies.” Our heroes are back, and badder than ever. This ain’t your granddaddy’s Batusi, this ain’t your daddy’s Mr. Mom, Hell, this ain’t even Christian Bale’s Dark Knight. It’s Frank Miller’s nightmare vision realized in murderous Bat-Kwon-Do.

We probably know better, as an audience, the death of Batman’s parents, than the death of loved ones we know.
— Kevin Smith, director.

And in Batman’s alter ego, Bruce Wayne, Affleck brings a sadness and resignation. We feel that child who witnessed his parents being slain. And – lest we forget – here’s that origin story YET AGAIN! But it’s recreated for a very important plot jolt later, as we see Bruce’s father (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) utter his wife’s name with his dying breath, “Martha…”

Lois, Clark and Perry discuss how to benefit Mankind, by firing the guy who eats everyone else’s food in the office fridge.

Henry Cavill is Superman/Clark Kent. And he can do no wrong, as actor or character, embodying the perfection of Nietzsche’s Űbermensch (the “over-man,” the next step in human evolution, acting as his own god, without the constraints of religion, giving himself morality and value as he sees fit. Ironically, the opposite of the Űbermensch is Jesus Christ – but that’s who Superman is modeled after!). Is there some kind of physics law that states a man can’t possibly be that handsome? So flawless he’s swaying the evolutionary scales so that us natchell-born cucumbers can never mate again and pass on our genes…

Amy Adams is Lois Lane, lubricious hairstyle and a voice like she’s speaking through the finest Baccarat crystal; Supe’s live-in girlfriend and Daily Planet reporter, who earns her paycheck here not reporting one single thing. Laurence Fishburne is hilarious in a few key moments as editor Perry White: “‘Crime Wave in Gotham’! Other breaking news: ‘Water, wet’!”

Jeremy: Iron man.

Jeremy Irons is impertinent and sarcastic as Bruce’s faithful liege; the best Alfred yet, not only for his imperiousness and biting wit, but for the content of his discourse.

Diane Lane is Martha Kent, Supe’s strong mother, who rescinds Glenn Ford’s bullshit from SUPERMAN (“You’ve got a purpose, and it ain’t scoring touchdowns”), with her own advice on Clark’s duty to humanity, “You don’t owe these people anything!” I LOVE this contravening of maudlin canon! It’s all these small concepts that add up to this movie being better than its small faults.

And Kevin Costner as Jonathan Kent makes a cameo so moving, it reduces us to tears in five minutes screentime. It’s a wonder the government aren’t using him as a lethal weapon on the front lines in Afghanistan, making the enemy weep themselves to surrender. In a quasi-dream, he advises doubtful Clark on the cruel kindness of saving one thing at the expense of another; that something must die for something else to live. And he caps it with, “I miss you, son.” Clark: “I miss you too, dad.” Oh sweet Jesus, I am a blithering wreck! If I ever take a Method Acting class, I’ll know what to think about when I need to cry like a baby-man.

Costner, Fishburne and Irons prove that adage, “There are no small roles, only small actors.” These three GIANTS overwhelm their few minutes screentime with depth, personality, humor and empathy, as if they were the focus of the tale!

“Am I losing my touch? I can’t seem to top facebook with any greater evil…”

And in another stunt-casting coup – Jesse Eisenberg as Lex Luthor, Superman’s nemesis since comic books were invented. Eisenberg ain’t your daddy’s Luthor; he’s Zuckerberg-as-Joker, a shifty-limbed, loquacious super-genius, who is practically an ally to Batman here, in that he wants a preemptive strike on Superman before Superman can destroy the world. It is his Machiavellian plan that sets in motion “Son of Krypton versus Bat of Gotham.”

A senate committee (led by Holly Hunter) wants to bore Superman into submission with hearings and edicts (red tape v red cape?), and won’t grant Luthor permission to build kryptonite weapons fused with the DNA of the deceased Zod (Michael Shannon), for fear it might get interesting. “Don’t build a weapon of assassination, and call it deterrence.”

Luthor discovers that Zod’s cells degenerate when exposed to kryptonite – a scientific reason for Superman’s weakness, rather than just, “Pieces of his home planet make him weak.”

Cameos aplenty: Andrew Sullivan, Nancy Grace, Anderson Cooper, Neil deGrasse Tyson (oh yes!), with Charlie Rose asking the right question of the committee, “Are you comfortable saying to a grieving parent, ‘Superman could’ve saved your child but on principle, we did not want him to act’? Senator: “I’m saying he shouldn’t act unilaterally.” Typical politician asshat. (When that building is falling on you, Senator, I hope your red tape is all in order before Superman can be granted a senatorial injunction to save you.) When weighing the pros and cons, Superman’s deeds – unlike any god’s – are demonstrably beneficial. How can anyone mistake his averting tragedies as enmity? One word: Republicans.

When Luthor masterminds an explosion that destroys that committee, I’m not cheering for eeevil, or for the deaths of the innocents in the courtroom, but I am sure as shit cheering for the deaths of those politicians.

Title card: Mankind is introduced to the Superman.

Opening scenes of BATMAN V SUPERMAN draw on the last scenes of MAN OF STEEL, during the destruction of Metropolis. This time, as seen from the ground. Two small figures battle in the thundering skies (Superman and General Zod), as buildings topple around them. We see a man desperately navigating the shuddering streets, and we mark the true measure of heroism as he runs toward the danger to save others. The man is Bruce Wayne, trying to save people in his crumbling Wayne Foundation building. He looks up at the inhuman figures rending the world, pure hatred in his eyes.

Thus the plot is set in motion, and the reasons why these two heroes fight is quite compelling. Batman plots to preemptively destroy “the alien”: “If there is a one percent chance he is our enemy we have to take it as an absolute certainty…” And Superman, who can admittedly crush Batman easily, enhanced suit and all (with the gentlemen’s agreement that he never lasers Batty’s mouth opening), doesn’t do so because he was only blackmailed into fighting Batman over the life of his mother. The script is well crafted by Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer, each line of delicious dialogue heavy with portent. [See POFFY SEZ: The writers behind the stories that other writers take credit for.]

As everyone knows by now, the reason they STOP fighting seems weak at first blush. Batman, with his various kryptonite tchotchkes, has brought Superman down, and is about to spear him through the heart with a krypto-spear when Superman – with his dying breath – just like Bruce’s father – mumbles “…Martha…”

And the Bat pauses: “WHY DID YOU SAY THAT NAME?!”

One would think the viewers best suited to understand this reversal would be the truest fans; those who know Batman’s OCD; the ones who understand how driven/damaged a soul must be to dress as a bat to combat crime; the viewers who would comprehend how something as small as his mother’s name would adversely affect the fearful Bat Man. Nope. First comment: fag.

Like the movie, this plot point is not as simplistic as the lunkheads would have us believe. “Martha” is the wedge that opens a broader cave-in for Batman. With that plea from the man of steel to “save Martha,” Batman realizes Superman is an empathetic being, with family and human values. After all, Batman was driven to destroy Superman because he believed Superman lacked humanity; that the coldness of his alien heart might cause him to destroy Earth without even the barest moral twinge, not through malignancy, but because he was incapable of feeling at all. Hearing that Superman cared for someone else – with the added jolt of her name being Martha! – stayed Batman’s hand. This alien could discern; this being had a moral compass, this man was human after all.

Heated talk of devils falling from the sky, gods ascending from the depths. “Maybe he’s not a devil or Jesus character; maybe he’s just a guy trying to do the right thing.” Messianic, magisterial, epic in darkness, pain, moral ambiguity. Our Heroes are born anew, Movie Maniacs! Cherish them.

It is no secret BATMAN V SUPERMAN is opening up the DC Universe to spinoffs and sequels, thus the teases of The Flash (a time-travel mishap), Aquaman (mighty Jason Momoa wielding a trident underwater!), some guy whose symbol I don’t recognize and–

The Father, The Son and the Holy Wet Dream.

Wonder Woman! If the sight of bulked-up Ben Batman and square-jawed Super Cavill isn’t enough to keep everyone’s panties pouting, here comes the smooth-skinned Amazonian princess to finish the job. Her superhero name is never mentioned, and she is teased in an ominous old photo from 1918 Belgium – yet we all know who the luscious Gal Gadot is playing. An immortal warrior from a distant past, moving amongst modern mortals like a wet dream.

Luthor forges a Kryptonian abomination called Doomsday (we know him best from that limited 1992 comic series, The Death Of Superman), and in a lightning strike of mini-skirted glory, the enigmatic Wonder Woman appears, thighs akimbo, shield aloft, “W” symbol placed discreetly over her vagina, flanked by Superman and Batman.

Are you seeing what I’m seeing? The Holy Trinity of DC! Superman. Batman. Wonder Woman Wagina. Together on the silver screen at long last. Once again, step outside your social media clique of closeted dipshittery and bear witness! How many decades have we waited for this?! When Martin Luther King Jr. said, “I have a dream…” he might just have been talking about this moment in BATMAN V SUPERMAN: DAWN OF JUSTICE.

And if this scene doesn’t move you to slapping yourself with your childhood towel —

fag

END

Who watches the Watchmen?… and who watches the Watch-GIRL?
That should really tell you something about yourself…

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

And the fanboys whine like bitches. The “unfilmable” graphic novel, WATCHMEN – has been filmed! Cry the beloved comicbook and let slip the dogs of nihilism.

WATCHMEN is epic and sexy and bloody; sensual and visceral and brutal; more than a comicbook, more than a messianic cry of madness; flamboyant costumed heroes, a plot that shakes the world, and Dr. Manhattan in full frontal ectoplasm.

WATCHMEN is a triumph! …Unless you’re a fanboy.

the rorschach test:
one fan’s classic is another fan’s bubastis.

Who Watches the Cucumber?

And the writer of the graphic novel, Alan Moore (V FOR VENDETTA, 2005) has once again spat the dummy and insisted his name be removed from the WATCHMEN movie, leaving only mediocre artist, Dave Gibbons, credited as “co-creator.” There’s perfectionist – and there’s bitchboy. Alan Moore is the latter.

Directed by Zack Snyder like the graphic novel panels are emblazoned on the insides of his eyelids, WATCHMEN the movie – like VENDETTA – is ardently true to the spirit of the source material and reverently recreates the world of an alternate 1985, where Nixon has been in office continually since the Viet Nam victory (!), where costumed heroes are part of the crimefighting landscape, where colors scream and morals bend and we hit the ground running in thigh-high boots that are not removed for mile-high sex.

The opening montage, showing how the world assimilated these heroes into its culture, is crafted with such care and creativity (with source music from Dylan to Hendrix), I shed a tear at watching the pages of Watchmen come alive. And this was only the opening!

under the hood:
battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster…

WATCHMEN (written by mad prophet bitchboy Alan Moore, drawn by Dave Gibbons, published in 1986 by DC Comics as a limited 12-issue series) is a “celebrated graphic novel” because the fantasy world it presents train-wrecks into our reality so closely it hurts our Gotham nerve.

BATMAN BEGINS (2005) portended this trend of superhero films being no longer the provenance of teens vicariously living out fantasies with towels tied around necks; THE DARK KNIGHT (2008) and HANCOCK (2008) continued this journey; now WATCHMEN takes it beyond the Bubastis, raising the bar into dark adulthood, where every sin is a necessity, every moral an ambiguity.

None of the heroes have supernatural powers; except for the atomic anomaly, Dr. Manhattan (victim of an “intrinsic field chamber” accident and able to manipulate molecules at will, and perceive future time streams), they are all versions of Batman and Captain America, well-trained and well-educated athletes with a penchant for vigilantism.

And vigilantism – as in this real world – is only tolerated so long. Nixon outlaws “masks” (as costumed heroes come to be called) – after they help him win Viet Nam, mind you! – and we are thrust into this roaring, breathing work of art during the second generation of masks after they are disbanded.

When one of the Watchmen, the abrasive, cynical Comedian (Jeffrey Dean Morgan, love-child of Robert Downey Jnr. and Javier Bardem) is killed mysteriously, the last Watchman on active duty, Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), goes on a solitary manhunt to find the killer.

He warns fellow ex-Watchman, Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson), “An attack on one is an attack on all of us!”

Rorschach is the nihilistic conscience of WATCHMEN, a sociopath with principles, wearing a mask that shifts its Rorschach ink-blot patterns continually. He considers this shifting palette his “true face” – mirroring the ineffable, morally relativistic face of the New York he holds no love for… “The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout ‘Save us!’… and I’ll whisper ‘No.'”

As each Watchman entered the equation, I recognized them immediately – the last such perfect casting being X-MEN (2000). There was, of course, Rorschach’s wondrous ever-changing mask; the worrisome dweeb with the weak Chevy Chase lips had to be Dan Dreiber aka Nite Owl II (the faux-Batman guy); the bumblebee hooker with the Pert hair and bad bangs must be Laurie aka Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman); the Bowie-thin Brit is Adrian Veidt aka Ozymandias (Matthew Goode) and lemme take a guess that the shimmering blue, hung, naked buff is Jon Osterman aka Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup).

And my own chiseled six-pack hardened with delight when I saw Ozymandias’s exotic, mutated lynx, Bubastis!

WATCHMEN is a wet dream waterfall.

The key to WATCHMEN, the grand concept that elevates it above the jungle of super-beings who bust bank-robbers and petty thieves (which are merely the outlying strands of a much larger sociological problem) is Ozymandias saying, “I fought only the symptoms, leaving the disease unchecked.”

Now, as Nixon and the Soviets edge toward nuclear war, Ozymandias, “the world’s smartest man” with unlimited resources, takes it upon himself to attack the disease. To save humankind from itself.

Hero? Villain? Spandex-wearing looney? When Spock said “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” he was regarded as noble because he was sacrificing himself. Ozymandias plots to destroy life as part of a bigger plot to save life. The Comedian’s death was a small cog in this world-shaking coup. And the moral dilemma falls to the other Watchmen to either stop him, or stop the truth being told.

Though Dr. Manhattan is acclaimed as, “God exists – and he’s American,” Ozymandias’s plan to kill millions to save billions is nothing short of godlike. (“…lest ye become a monster.”) Superman saving kittens just wouldn’t get it.

Thus the graphic novel’s slogan: Quis custodiet ipsos custodes (Who is going to guard the guards themselves?), or simply, Who watches the Watchmen?

gazing into the abyss:
one man’s artist is another man’s autist.

As with any great movie loaded with cerebral thematic grist, it is impossible to convey the innumerable hooks and references, analogies and cultural touchstones contained within its hurricane walls.

Snyder and screenwriters, David Hayter and Alex Tse, have retained a layered complexity, yet removed superfluous characters and events (such as Captain Metropolis, and a non sequitur pirate story within the Watchmen story, and even (gulp!) changed the ending – okay, stop that puling, dorknozzles!) and recreated every imperative scene as meticulously as possible.

“Look on my – ahem – works, ye mighty, and despair!”

Like his ultra-violent battle hymn, 300, Snyder’s framing is breathtaking: Rorschach atop a roof as lightning silhouettes him, Dr. Manhattan’s clockwork bachelor pad on Mars, a cityscape with the Twin Towers in the distance… even the grimy understreets, the balletic breaking of bones, the mobs and the mayhem, all gloriously swank. Never has the ugliness of mankind looked so alluring – Snyder has a knack for conveying emotional darkness as visual beauty.

This movie has envisioned Watchmen better than the graphic novel and I’ll tell you wh– (Oh. Here comes Alan Moore and his gang of bitchboys to break my little cucumber legs. Marnoo! Bar the doors and windows, would you please. Onward…) –and I’ll tell you why:

Two elements go into making a graphic novel (as if real comics fans don’t know). Story. And artwork.

I give Moore all the credit he doesn’t want to deserve (hell, I’d be happy if someone would just buy my stories, let alone pay such rapturous tribute, man!) – but though his story is epic on toast, Dave Gibbons’s artwork is like watching paint dry – literally.

Gibbons is a great anatomist (he even depicts Dr. Manhattan as Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man in issue #4), but lacks superhero flair. His neatly-blocked nine-panel pages in the Watchmen comics make for some creative transitions and interesting gimmicks (such as the “Fearful Symmetry” issue #5, where the whole book is almost a mirror image of itself), but are flat, static and would go far to inspire accountants. In this medium, Artwork is King. They’re GRAPHIC novels fer chrissakes!

Bad artwork ruins a good story. Gibbons has no action lines.

Moore would pen the Batman benchmark, The Killing Joke in 1988, with Brian Bolland on poison inks. Now that was Art. So too, the driveway-gravel grit of Frank Miller, the sexual fluidity of Jim Aparo’s 1970’s Batman, the slamdown of Marvelites, John and Sal Buscema; pull up any number of X-MEN artists – you’ll be inspired to tie a towel around your neck quicksmart. Not with Gibbons. The WATCHMEN movie endows The Watchmen with skills, training and verve, whereas Gibbons’s drab panels don’t display any reason for them to be wearing such tight trousers.

kindle a light:
the darkness of mere being.

Each WATCHMEN character is more of an emotional pizza than is usual with costumed types because this series was written as a limited run – they did not have to sustain arena love for decades. Each of them is us.

If we had the impunity to be unchained, unholy, what would we do with that power?

The Comedian “saw society’s true face – chose to be a parody of it, a joke…”

Rorschach, breaking people’s fingers all over the place, says of himself, “This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.” No kidding, with a long trail of fingers to prove it… (The filmmakers admirably got Rorschach’s ‘hurm’ sound down – like the X-MEN filmmakers prided themselves on getting Wolverine’s ‘snikt!’ sound.)

Playing Blind Man’s Buff with Rorschach is harder than you think…

I admit on the fanboyjury stand that Dr. Manhattan’s non-personality was ruined by the movie writers. This amoral, unfeeling wraith would slip further psychologically from humanity with each blue day, but in this movie he went from the cutting, “Existence of life is highly overrated” to a sudden Chick Flick epiphany, “Life itself is the miracle.” Someone call Julia Roberts.

Nite Owl II, a technophile who resembles Batman in more ways than one, only comes alive through his alter-ego. He can only get it on with Silk Spectre (in his Owl Ship floating in the clouds, no less) after they’ve had a costumed adventure together. Just like a woman, first thing Silk Spectre does when she moves in with Nite Owl is start messing with his vehicles.

Ozymandias, whose inspiration is Alexander the Great, wants “conquest not of men, but of the evils that beset them.” When you slide this slippery slope, the question becomes Dirty Harry’s in MAGNUM FORCE, “When police start becoming their own executioners, where’s it gonna end?… Pretty soon you start executing people for jaywalking, executing people for traffic violations, then you execute your neighbor because his dog pisses on your lawn.”

Let’s face it, Vigilantism is as malformed and unjust as The Law that it thumbs its nose at. Two sides of the same confused coin – how to embrace your freedom without being stultified or harmed by other idiots enjoying theirs. We all have built in radar for “right” and “wrong” – and we are all prone to what I’ve always called “circumstantial morality” so a cloudy mix of vigilantism and written laws should prevail.

But who decides what I think is right is wrong? “Shall not the judge of all the earth do right?” (Genesis 18:25.)

Who watches the Watchmen?

from crimebusters to watchmen:
The times they are a-changing.

Interestingly, Watchmen is not the group’s official name. In the graphic novel, they’re called by the unofficial cheesy name of The Crimebusters. Watchmen is never mentioned. In the movie, they contemplate banding together as “Watchmen” but are ridiculed immediately and never get around to registering the dba. (Or whatever superhero groups like The Avengers and The Justice League did to protect their precious band names. Although, who’d be dumb enough to don underpants-outside-spandex and plagiarize a name that could get them hung by their nipples from the Golden Gate bridge with the ineffectual police powerless against the person who hung them there?) So there’s no such thing as a Watchman, Victoria…

Maybe that’s why the fanboys are bamboozled… they need the obvious frame-to-frame intrinsic field metamorphosis… anything less… is simply blood from the shoulder of Pallas…

What’s that incessant banging on my door? Ah yes, I’ve got some fanbitches to deal with. Marnoo! Bring me my broadsword and clear understanding; let me just slip my Rorschach mask on…. and I’ll meet you on the far side of crazy…

END