Review of Watchmen (2009) by Nonstop R — 07 Jul 2015

Watchmen --This was a movie full of terrible conflicts for me. On one hand, this was possibly one of the greatest fucking movies I've ever seen. On the other hand, it was also the worst movie I'd ever seen. On the other hand, I was blazed during the entire movie, thus perverting or enhancing the entire experience, so neither conclusion is clear.

This is one of those one hit wonders; you can watch it one time, and then you're done. Watching it more than once causes shame and severe abdominal pain.

And yet, this is one of those movies I'll have to see again. And maybe (MAYBE) one more time. And then once more after that to appreciate all the succulent nuances permeating the entire film.

When a film opens and the photography is fucking stunning as fuck, I know something is going to happen to change the very ethos of cinematic history. This film was that.

It fucking... woke me up. :scared-shocked:

And I don't get woken up easily.

This fucking film had a few cunts get pwned. And I mean PWNED... And that's still the least of your appetite's romantic, vicarious, slaughtering indulgences.

There's time play.

Yes, there's Momento. And then there's time play. I've battled more coherent cat's cradle-strewn webs of time swimming upside down on acid in the middle of orange clouds on Mars-- the time roared. It fucking had it's hand up your dress the entire night. You were seeing double before double was invented. You were feeling the impact of in medis res before the greeks and the Greats even had a chance to unroll the yet-to-be-aroused parchment.

Fucking Time left the clock, said an eerie incantation in the form of slower than motion photography and brought itself to life in spite of its own difficult manners.

People and events often fight each other for a foothold in what we like to refer to as chronology. People want to mean something while events could care less about the recognition and more about the simple Medal of Accuracy; as a cause of laughter, they wish to be recorded and then go unregarded.

This is the charting of maps and the beginnings of patterns. This is wooing of destinies by the calloused, potent hands of circumstance, plain, without the perfume of sentiment.

This film paced itself, set its own course and let its pitiful 20 & 30-something crew believe it had come to see a common spectacle of mundane gladiators. And by the end of the film, no fresh green eye-shaped leaf could resist the silent tarnish brought about by the Pied Pipering voice of Autumn. We drifted together down the drain to the very end of time. And we were washed as we were washed away.

I... There were intrusive scenes of candy-coated affection. The rotting stench emanating from a sterile construction of middle class passion couldn't help but justify the eager budget concerns of those on land yelling to those at the helm, enough to put your nuts in harm's way... And "The Owl" could better be renamed "The Faggot"... These meteors alone destroy the earth underneath the nimble feet of this once-upon-a-midnight-blaze movie.

But see it once.. And then see it once more. And reel.... in the narrative. Soak....in the displacement of clocks, watches, and naive notions of recording what will stay in spite of your desire to hold it.

Is it any coincidence that the clocks moved forward on that unassuming day in March... You be the executioner. Let the jury close its eyes instead and shed duty like a youthful obligation from the reptile's back.