Watchmen

It's perhaps the most surreal experience of my life.

There they are, in a shadowy clubhouse, standing around a map of the USA, just as we'd imagined them. The smoke of the Comedian's cigar hangs in the air as I drink in the details of the scene. Framed old copies of The New York Gazette tell stories of past exploits; trophies glint in glass-fronted display cases; Moloch's solar weapon shines in a dusty corner and over there, on its mannequin stand, the faded costume of the original Nite Owl keeps silent vigil.

Then, a sudden flash of unearthly blue light announces the arrival of Dr. Manhattan and the tableau comes to life. The voices of quarreling heroes rise and fall, a Zippo flares and the map catches fire.

Somewhere, someone shouts "Cut!"

And I'm standing amongst them. Nite Owl shakes my hand. The Comedian slaps me on the back. Silk Spectre smiles a dazzling greeting. I'm overwhelmed by the depth and detail of what I'm seeing.

But more than that. I'm overwhelmed by the commitment, the passion, the palpable desire to do this right.

I'm starting to feel a glow that eclipses even Dr. Manhattan's...

-Dave Gibbons
December 2007

On the movie backlot, like a sailor on shore leave, I gawp in wonder at a New York City that never really was. Once a Canadian lumber yard, it's become a complex of American city streets.

At the corner, a Treasure Island store promises a bounty of pulp thrills; down the block, the Gunga Diner beckons, fully fitted out in chrome and purple leather and, over there, the Rumrunner sign looms luridly. Even the austere facade of the Institute For Extraspatial Studies can't spoil the gaudy fun.

On an upper floor, I spot the windows of the Judomaster Martial Arts Studio. I’m stopped in my tracks. Judomaster? Detail piles on dizzying detail.

Rain's falling hard now and I'm led inside, through a grubby little hovel crammed with dressmaking dummies, past the huge halls of Karnak, into Dan Dreiberg's homely brownstone and down to where the Owl Ship sits. I clamber aboard in giddy delight.

The rest of the visit kaleidoscopes crazily by: I watch footage of Rorschach pulling Nite Owl off a bloodied Knot Top; I flip through an issue of the Black Freighter; on a laptop, I see raw CGI blocking for the Vietnam sequence; I hold a smiley face pin splattered with what looks like real human bean juice; sitting in my own personal director's chair, I sign dozens of books and posters for cast and crew...

Finally, tired but happy, arms around my new buddies, costumed and otherwise, it's my turn to smile for the camera.

A month later, I'm smiling still.

-Dave Gibbons
December 2007