WATCHMEN

I'll do the actual movie bit later.

Last night, I went to a private screening of the Watchmen movie organised by the same chaps who do Secret Cinema. It was billed as an interactive experience, something like theatre. I almost agree. It was more like theatre crossed with experiential marketing.

I got oddly lucky. After the single most annoying pre-event wrangling to get the times of stuff from various parties, I arrive at the SEOne club in London Bridge at about half five. There were plenty of folks with walkie talkies, and lots of "move that van NOW", but nobody else. So I leaned against the wall in an appropriate spot, and then was asked if I needed a ticket. Quite by chance, I found myself at the head of the queue. Literally. Mike joined me about 20mins later, feeling terrible as he strolled past the other 600 people to reach his girlfriend at the very front.

They'd taken over the tunnel on Weston Street, but not arranged to close the road. This was a bad idea, really. It's not a busy street, but it is a taxi and white van cut-through, and they're not the most famously patient sets of drivers in the world. Holding the street up whilst you park a wrecked Lexus for grafitti-ing and preventing a lorry from getting down with your US-style beacon tow-truck? Not wise. Particularly not when the only thing between the lorry and the general public are the hoarding barriers, which the lorry driver has no qualms about ploughing into... Also, not sure of the wiseness of placing a bollard opposite a road narrowing bit. I'm sure it fed some purpose, but mainly it slowed any passing traffic to a standstill whilst it tried to negotiate the lorry, the hoarding, the cone and the performers running around. This somewhat made a sham of the hired vehicles that were meant to drive around the block again and again, who just got stuck in their own traffic a lot.

Anyhoo, as I said, they'd taken the whole street over. A small archway entrance had a 'live sex show' theme, with lingerie-clad girls calling to the queueing guests. A mocked-up Mason's garage entrance had tardis-like abilities to spout car after car, 50s tow trucks to modern (not 80s, I think) NY police cars. A group of protestors held signs against costumed adventurers, the End is Nigh sign held by a later-'arrested' Rorschach. A tiny little woman in a blue suit played a news reporter for CNN, yelping at performers and guests alike with her hilariously poorly executed cardboard mic-ident. I've added some shoddy pictures from my phone, but only to vaguely illustrate - better pictures will be on flickr if you care to look.

A little later, various other bits happened - a Comedian arrived on an armoured vehicle wearing a paper and sticky-tape smiley face badge. Oops. Some poor sod painted blue and wearing a blue net jockstrap walked through the freezing tunnel trying to look aloof and mystical, but mainly looked short. The costumed Rorschachs (and they actually wisely had a few of these so with the queue length everyone could see one) stood around appropriately suspiciously, but mutters from the crowd of 'they're far too tall' were heard often. They were all at least 5'10" if not massively taller, which seemed to annoy a lot of people, especially after Dr Manhattan arrived in his diddyness of height and underwear. Ozymandius arrived in a shockingly bad costume, and was also incredibly short. Being 5'2" myself, no objections, though again the muttering of purists continued on behind me. After some other flurries of movement, such as newpaper sellers, kids on skateboards, press men running around, more graffiti around, police arresting etc. the doors opened and Mike and myself walked in to see what other bits were within.

Oh crap, I early forgot the single most exciting thing of the evening. One of the guests to arrive was in a perfectly normal blacked-glass hire car. For a minute, I thought it was a particularly stubborn taxi driver wishing to lodge a complaint about the traffic. Instead, it held Dave Gibbons. I stood that close to him. That being about a foot away. Mike and the chap behind us were veritably splurging with joy. And he seemed very gracious and appropriately confused by the fuss and nonsense. Hurrah. Join the club Dave.

So, inside. Being under railway bridges, this consisted of several bricked tunnels leading from one into another, all painted black. Immediately on the left was a small gallery of some working sketches of the characters, including Rorschach's funky Disco Stu jumpsuit of the face fabric. Good call on losing that. On the right (shown here consusingly on the left in very poor quality) was a prison cell containing the too-tall but yes, ginger, Walter Kovacs, with matching decapitated hands at the cell doors.

Opposite was a bald fat bloke in a dressing gown on a chalk outline, who I think was meant to be the Comedian. Except he was just a fat bloke. Similarities ended on the dressing gown and being dead. Still, the set was nice, from the street corner with the news kiosk to the TV shop bit with cops strolling past. And they'd gone all-out with the neon, which, I have to say, played.

Beyone that was the Comedian's apartment, with him on a reclining lounger watching the tv. There was also one of those intereactive touch screens, with a nice added 3d projection bit behind it, so as you played, things got more exciting as the counter on the right clocked up the field quota. Ah, you know what I mean. Osterman's death bit.

Just past this was a little section marked 'LIVE SEX SHOW GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS' which of course Mike had a wander into. I didn't, for the same reason I find it hard to go to gigs and especially hard to dance around - I just feel all the embarrassment on behalf of those who don't feel it, and a bunch of scantily-clad girls calling come-ons to my boyfriend just makes me cringe. Somehow, I have managed to convert inexplicably-inherited Mother's-lapsed-Catholic guilt into social embarrassment over anything where someone is being more brave than I'd be. I don't get it, but hey ho, they all seemed to be having a good time, and Mike came out with a big smile on his face. But not too big. The area itself was nicely done, with varying qualities of bottoms on display (it was quite a talking point between Mike and I later, but we'd both sound bitchy covering it here, so suffice to say there was one that perhaps should've been a little more discretely displayed...) and again, lots of neon.

Beyond this, there was a 'lab', with the poor little blue sod and a bloke in a lab coat fiddling with buttons. Not much more to say about it except for the LED floor chasers which are often a shorthand for 'ooh, futuristic'. Except it's the 80s. Go figure.

Opposite this was a very nicely put together Nite Owl's study, where a bloke in possibly the most unfortunate Nite Owl suit I've ever seen (truly, even in the low light, shockingly bad - they might've been better off going with the Dan persona) stood chatting to the 2nd Silk Spectre, whose costume was so infinitely better it caused Mike to stop and stare and have to be dragged off after it started to get a bit embarrassing. And creepy.

At the end of this room was the DJ stage (which would later become the punk band stage), and he won favours by playing quite a mixed set including possibly my favourite track of all time, Gut Feeling by Devo. Good for him.

Going into the last room before the screening room, they had created the Gunga Diner. Painted red and with a giant Sally Jupiter painted on the wall, they had made space for a checkerboard dancefloor where the 1940s Minutemen danced with other jiving girls and boys as an appropriate band played on. Hot dogs and popcorn were available, and I quickly redeemed my playing chips for a free drink of mystery origin. Realising that there was a subtle queue forming towards the viewing room, Mike and I sidled up ready to take position when the doors opened. Oddly, when the finally did, everyone did that weird thing where they suddenly filed to the back. Admittedly the screen was a bit high for comfort, but I much prefer being near the front, so we took our place in the third row and awaited the 'special guest'. Which, of course, was Dave Gibbons, somehow looking even more mystified as he appeared between four Rorschachs. After a quick 'I never expected this, but enjoy the movie' to thunderous applause, we waited for him to finish this same speech in the VIP room next door before simultaneous screenings began.

And then: ooh. But I'll get to that in another post.

Afterwards, reaslising my total exhaustion and terrible neckache from craning slightly up to view the screen, Mike and I wandered home again. Looking back, it was quite an interesting experience, and certainly different, and a fair whack of effort had gone in, but oddly the bits that worked best were when a bit of liberty had been taken. Some of it was, frankly, cringing (I'm looking at you, Nite Owl suit), but some of it was pretty good (the diner and the torn posters outside especially). Doing what I do for a living, I was picking apart bits by the seams and spotting logistics issues (ice trucks arriving before the show and blocking the road - ice being a basic for any licensed event, that should've happened a little better), and also mentally cueing when I'd bring some elements in and clocking missed opportunities. Which made it a bit of a busman's holiday, but was definitely good practice. And I did enjoy myself, as did Mike.

So there you go. There are now pictures up on flickr of the whole event, including a fuzzy one of Mike and I in the audience, but we're there, sure enough.

Next time, the movie itself...