Watchmen was a film of the sort I normally like-- long, with triumphs strung together by deep flaws. At its best a proud flesh sort of movie, mean, dark, of the home planet where Heath Ledger's Joker resides. Rorshach owns the film (with The Comedian as co-owner), and whenever he is not in the shot the film often suffers by an excursion into Disney-like cuteness where the too-good looking heroes try to be "baaad."
The rest is just a blue guy, somehow reminding me of Al Gore, and some used-to-be heroes trying to make sense of the death of The Comedian, and get a grip on their shrinking spandex. Dr. Manhattan does have a nice house on Mars, much like the one I will move to if I can just solve the power problem.
The bottom line is that any film boasting two Leonard Cohen songs on soundtrack is a work of art, even if only second-hand. All in all, this movie must be seen if only to be disbelieved.
After the movie I visited the Caveat Emptor used book store in Bloomington where I picked up a book: A Theory of Language and Mind, by Ermanno Bencivenga. He does a nice apeing of W's propositional style, following the line that reality is more mirrored by the juxtaposition of ambiguities than by falsely logical explanations. My kind of guy. I noted also that hardback copies of F. Yates books are going for $75 per, so I declined on the basis of budget her nice tome on the Rosicrucians.
As a way back to the Babel puzzle, Herodotus notes that the bitumen used in the masonry was shipped to the tower site from the river Is, a seven day transport. The puzzle languishes as the colors along the quay are smudgy and various in ways that can not be predicted. I find one or two pieces and am exhausted. Perhaps the language of color has been scattered after reading W? Reddish green will be the end of me.