Watchmen is a film that concerns itself with details that, while not strictly relevant to the narrative, result in a textile world that is remarkably richer and more realistic than recent superhero movies like The Dark Knight and Iron Man. With high regard paid to the nature of costumes, both philosophically and literally, the film and the graphic novel deal intricately with the nature of a “mask” and the relationship a hero has with themselves when in costume.

In the beginning, there was Hooded Justice. Acknowledged in the graphic novel to have been the first costumed hero, his true identity was never revealed, even to his fellow crime fighters. Behind the all-black costume and decorative noose around his neck is the essential mystery; the allure of fighting crime anonymously, removed from one’s true self. Among the supplementary materials in the graphic novel are excerpts from Hollis Mason’s (the first Nite Owl) Under the Hood. In it, Mason speculates as to the identity of the man “beneath the hood,” establishing the dichotomy between ‘mask’ and ‘man.’

Dollar Bill, another superhero in the original ‘Minutemen’ team whose fate is linked to the clothes he chooses to wear. The classic superhero cape is his downfall - it gets caught in a revolving door, resulting in his murder by gunfire, glimpsed briefly in the film’s staggering opening montage. Perhaps the most dependent relationship between character and costume is that of the first Silk Spectre, Sally Jupiter (Carla Gugino). In the film, we see her clad in variations of her trademark yellow and black outfit, including a maternity gown and a set of pajamas. She reveals her dependence on the disguise by continually wearing the costume, whether she’s stopping crooks on the street or arguing with her husband at home.

Legacy of legs.

In the 1970s, Sally’s daughter Laurie (Malin Akerman) has inherited both the mantle and color scheme of her mother, updating the look from classic pin-up to fetishistic leather and latex. Despite Laurie’s seeming unwillingness to embrace her past, she still shows up at the home of Dan Drieberg/Nite Owl II (Patrick Wilson) with her outfit packed, because … you never know. Simultaneously embracing the legacy of “the look” and making it her own, Laurie’s dependence upon her costume is brought to a head during a dream sequence where the soon-to-be-lovers stand naked before one another, only to peel off their “skin” and reveal the costumes within. Later, having sex in Nite Owl’s ship, Laurie leaves her knee- high boots on. Daniel gets completely naked.

The costumes of both Silk Spectre and Nite Owl are palpably composed of fabric and thread. Zippers are obviously visible on both, a sharp distinction from the cartoonishly unrealistic costumes worn by Tobey Maguire in the Spider-Man films (really, such a costume could never be constructed by a high schooler) or Christian Bale’s body-armor batsuit in the new Batman movies. Dreiberg’s relationship to his costume is made clear when he stands in front of it, naked and sexually impotent, lamenting that he is tired of “needing” to wear it. The slick, robust Nite Owl costume, zippers and all, does indeed seem an improvement over Drieberg’s usual outfit of rumpled corduroy blazers, knit ties and oversize sweaters.

Zippers.

Dreiberg’s “street clothes” recalled another recent, fully-realized beacon of cinematic loneliness – Joaquin Phoenix’s Leonard in Two Lovers. Both men are characterized by a distinct abundance of blandness: clothes that have been picked for their practicality as opposed to quality. Browns and grays permeate the wardrobes of both men — Daniel and Leonard are stuck at some point in the past, beyond which neither their conscience or their clothes ever progressed. Both have a child’s idea of what it means to “dress like an adult.”

Of course, no character has a relationship to their mask quite like Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), who goes so far as to refer to his mask as his “face.” Rorshach’s mask feels so real and textured, you almost want to reach out and touch it. The bumps and imperfections in the fabric, the worn out patches -– it’s in staggering contrast to the false plasticity of Spider-Man’s mask. Rorschach’s trench coat and fedora could be bought at Sears. Dreiberg’s ties and jackets can be found in the closet of any vintage connoisseur, or lonely Jewish boy from Brighton Beach. Silk Spectre’s costume (mother or daughter) could be found in the closet of any fetishist from the 1950s to the present.

The only real “super being” in the picture, Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup) is also the only character to forsake the false sense of security playing dress up affords his colleagues. Detailed in the novel, and reduced drastically in the film, is Manhattan’s eventual shift from wearing a leotard to trunks, to full nudity. The more in touch with the elements and inner working of the universe Manhattan becomes, the less emphasis he puts on the superficiality of outward appearances, the implication being that Dr. Manhattan, and he alone, has distilled day-to-day existence to its true essence, and this does not involve a costume or a mask.