Chapter IV: “Watchmaker”

Ahhhh — one of my favorite issues. In fact, this entire second quarter of the book — chapters 4, 5 and 6 — are the best of the whole series. (Part of me winces when I type that; I realize it’s some sort of folly to isolate individual segments from the greater whole. On the other hand, Moore clearly adopts different storytelling approaches in different chapters, and some of the chapters contain enough of a story arc that they could stand alone. Therefore, singling out this or that chapter isn’t an entirely foolish enterprise.) Moore’s a highly flexible writer, able to adopt a variety of styles, such as the deliberately turgid prose found in the “Black Freighter” comic. But here, his prose flows smoothly, his rhythms well-measured, his insights poetic. Running through the entire chapter is the deft use of the watch metaphor, reflecting how everything in Jon’s life clicks perfectly into its place, one event setting up another with precision.

Frontispiece. Here’s an interesting twist on an otherwise strict “Watchmen” pattern: The cover art is not repeated in the very first panel of page 1. Sure, our favorite naked blue demigod is holding that aged, tattered picture of Janey and his human self in his hand, but Gibbons doesn’t show it lying the Martian sand, as on the cover, until the second panel. Considering that little (if anything) in this meticulously planned comic is left to chance, the difference struck me when I (finally) noticed it. And then it hit me: While the entire book plays with chronology, this chapter concerns itself, far more than any other, with the mercurial nature of time. We humans see it only in linear fashion, but (riffing on Einstein’s theories about the relativity of time) Dr. Manhattan sees it all at once. Accordingly, as they introduce us to Jon’s backstory, M&G give us a visual glimpse of his future-past-present sense of the world by mixing up the standard visual order of the chapter’s beginning.

Page 1. “All we see of stars is their old photographs.” I love this line.

Pages 4. Wally Weaver and Professor Milton Glass — minor but significant recurring characters. Weaver, as we learned last issue, is the first of Dr. Manhattan’s associates to contract cancer. Glass breaks the bad news to Jon after he’s locked in the intrinsic-field machine; he’s also the author of the appendix to this chapter.

Page 5. “At play amidst the strangeness and charm”: I didn’t have any idea what this signified, though I love the turn of phrase. Let us now give thanks, once again, to the magic of the internet — apparently “strangeness” and “charm” are adjectives used by physicists to describe the qualities of quarks. The full saying, it seems, is a scientist’s way to describe death — a beautiful brainiac euphemism, melding science with spirituality. It makes further sense when you consider Jon’s response, in Chapter 1 (page 23), to news of the Comedian’s death: “A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Structurally, there’s no discernible difference.”

Anyway, this bulletin board is clearly how Gila Flats employees pay tribute to those who’ve died. Soon, Janey will put the picture of her and Jon on the board, thinking that he, too, is at play amidst the strangeness and charm.

Further down the page, during the couple’s first meeting, he tells her, “Other people seem to make all my moves for me.” A prophetic statement, given how detached he becomes from the rest of humanity — and how little he does to affect any outcome in the entire story.

Page 6. We get the only “real time” glimpse of this moment preserved by the camera — and, as colored here by John Higgins, the silhouetted shapes of the ferris wheel and the escaped balloon in the background remind me of a watch’s various cogs and wheels. We see those, of course, tumbling repeatedly, also in striking silhouette, throughout the chapter.

Page 7. Jon’s “accident” happens in August 1959. It’s worth noting that the world’s most notable experience with atomic power — the bombing of Hiroshima (and, two days later, Nagasaki), the event that launched Jon onto this path, thanks to his father’s proclamation on page 3 — also happened in August, 14 years earlier.

Page 8. Stunning illustration here by Gibbons. And of course, another striking use of an extra-large panel, which lends the moment greater storytelling impact.

Page 12. A little inside joke, I think, from M&G about costume logos. DC’s “mighty mite,” the Atom, can shrink to microscopic levels; his Golden Age predecessor with the same code name was merely a short scrapper; both of them sport the very same logo that Dr. Manhattan rejects.

Pages 14. Among other costumed heroes, only Ozymandias “seems interesting” to Jon — another suggestion that Veidt, the smartest man in the world, is the closest thing to a peer that Jon has. Also, look — poor Mothman’s drinking. I’d turn to liquor too if my costume were that dorky. (In a completely gratiutous tangent, I’ll note with surprise that the “Watchmen” costume designer and actor manage to make Mothman look both cool and studly!)

Page 15. Jon completely ruins Hollis’s retirement party and doesn’t even realize it. Poor Hollis.

Page 17. Laurie’s now wearing the earrings that Jon initially gave Janey.

Page 21. A great snapshot into the relationship, such as it is, between Jon and Adrian. Very interesting exchange about scientific imagination and conscience, too.

Page 22. We’ve seen Jon kill before, deliberately, whether in Moloch’s vice den or in the jungles of Vietnam. Now, however inadvertently, he causes the death of two citizens who were just out protesting — and he feels no compunction.

Page 24. An intriguing description of Jon’s view of the world: “Things have their shape in time, not space alone. Some marble blocks have statues in them, embedded in their future.” These words also connect, thematically, to the famous Percy Bysshe Shelley sonnet “Ozymandias,” which Moore explicitly cites later in the book.

Pages 26-28. A stunning conclusion to this beautiful chapter. The Einstein quote is the perfect tag.