I admit to being a little nerdy. My nerdy pleasure comes in the form of super hero movies. Seen them all. Simple, predictable, usually someone’s falling in love, lots of stuff gets beat up and blown up, and in the end the good guys win.
Little guy’s away at grandma’s house. So, I drop mom at the mall and head to the theatre to see The Watchman. Was kind of excited about it actually.
Dear gracious Laverne.
The villain is not some mutated nuclear accident with six arms and a predisposition to lengthy soliloquies in the heat of battle. Nope. It’s us, or better stated, the U.S. along with our Russian friends. We're the bad guys. The good guys, just FYI, aren’t all so good. In fact, some of them are downright scoundrels. The story is jerky, it’s two and half hours long, and there’s nudity for, well, just because I guess. Note to the screenwriters: I don’t want to see two supers going at it. Unnecessary. That’s like something that should be going on back at the Hall of Justice or in a secret lair, not for the world to see. Wrong.
Here’s the kicker. One of the so called heroes, Dr. Manhattan, is not really sure he likes humanity, yet goes on to expose his own humanity on several occasions. Seriously, the dude is weird and blue and strutting around with his frank and beans out for the world to see. I don’t care if he is “Super” let’s dress the freak shall we.
Come on people.
Left the theatre thinking “you know mortal’s not that bad. Clothed and Mortal.” Yes, thank you.
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