Appendix: “Under the Hood”

Back in the day, prior to the rise of the internet, comics used to print a letters page (or two) in every issue. Naturally, until letters trickled in on a new title, the first two or three issues had space to fill in the back, which is why Moore suggested doing three “excerpts” of Hollis Mason’s autobiography. By the time the fourth issue was going to press, everyone at DC Comics realized what a unique beast they had on their hands, and the execs had wisely decided to let M&G continue to play with those back pages, rather than devote them to readers’ letters. (I can’t complain about that decision — but still, wouldn’t you love to have some regular readers’ initial reactions documented in that way?)

The various text pages inserted between chapters have slowed down, even frustrated, more than a few “Watchmen” readers over the years. But here’s their genius: You don’t have to read them to get the main story. They’re purely supplemental material, designed to even more fully flesh out this crazy world M&G have created (and therefore enhance the engaged reader’s enjoyment) without being essential to the plot. That said, the three “Under the Hood” sections have always been my favorites, not only because I like Hollis as a character (he is, arguably, the only completely likable guy in the entire book) but because his backstory, including the history of the Minutemen, feels most germane to the comic.

Writing as Hollis, Moore adopts a very accessible voice and, initially, casts a warm light on the early days of costumed heroism. There’s a deliberate nostalgic parallel between the Minutemen and our world’s highly popular first super-team, the Justice Society of America, whose simplistic comic was a hit during World War II. (The main difference, of course, is that many JSA heroes — like the Golden Age versions of Wonder Woman, the Flash and Green Lantern — had super-powers; in the more realistic realm that M&G are creating, the Minutemen are mere mortals in masks.)

Speaking of famous superheroes, it’s amusing that, in the Watchmenverse, Superman debuts in Action Comics (as he did in our world) — but instead of kick-starting an entire capes-and-tights genre which still influences pop culture decades later, the Superman in Hollis’s world merely ignites a fad. “All these old characters are gone and forgotten now,” he writes. Comics are still popular enough to be available at newsstands, but it’s not superheroes that sell, it’s pirate tales.

Nevertheless, comic-book heroes inspire the creation of the Nite Owl alter ego. Significantly, good ol’ Hollis dresses up in a funny outfit and fights crime due to a drive to make the world a better place. He’s one of the few driven so selflessly: It becomes increasingly apparent throughout the book that most of the other “masks” don’t have such altruistic motives.

Moore’s deconstruction of superheroes and all their standard conventions even extends to the costumes. Adding to Laurie’s amusing lines about costumes elsewhere in the book (she mocks her own outfit in Chapter I, inspiring an funny response by Dan), here we get Hollis’ assessment of the dangers of bad design. By the way, writer/director/animator extraordinaire Brad Bird (“The Incredibles”), who’s clearly a big fan of superhero comics, has surely read “Watchmen.” Recall Edna’s cardinal rule about designing for heroes? "No capes!" A good funny bit in “The Incredibles” — perhaps inspired by Moore’s tragic tale of poor Dollar Bill, the Minuteman who dies young. His cape trips him up while he’s trying to stop a bank robbery, and the crooks murder him. “If he’d designed [his costume] himself,” Hollis writes, “he might have left out that damned stupid cloak and still be alive today.”

Throughout “Watchmen,” M&G love to play self-reflexive games with the reader. So when Hollis complains about how life changed after the Minutemen era had waned (“The new breed of villains ... weren’t as much fun to fight,” and the cases were “sordid and depressing and quite often blood-chillingly horrible”), that’s also a commentary about how the superhero comics had themselves changed. Starting in the ’70s, they slowly become invested in tackling social issues like racism and drug abuse. Those ills can’t be solved by a quick left hook from any hero, no matter how super; to this day, some fans contend that complex issues have no place in superhero comics, because they sap all the fun out of the adventures. Moore’s even issuing an ironic prophecy here, because the success of “Watchmen,” with its bleak but (arguably) realistic world view, bred an entire generation of comics that have become increasingly more violent and, to some perspectives, depressing.

Hollis’s pessimistic thoughts also offer meta commentary about the very book we’re reading. Moore-as-Hollis writes: “Real life is messy, inconsistent, and it’s seldom when anything ever really gets resolved.” That sums up “Watchmen” almost perfectly. (Except for the inconsistent part — this book is meticulously planned.) The book poses a number of complex, potentially messy questions that don’t have pat answers: Who’s a hero? Who’s a villain? In a world that can’t be boiled down to simple right and wrong, who makes the wisest choices? Even after all these years and several readings, I’m still not sure I know.