After two weeks of scattering Easter eggs like so many tiny squids, the third episode of HBO’s Watchmen, “She Was Killed By Space Junk,” offers the show’s most overt references yet to the graphic novel it’s based on. We caught up at last with Laurie Jupiter, aka Silk Spectre, aka FBI Agent Laurie Blake (played by Jean Smart), a key Watchmen original who’s since dedicated herself to rounding up the next generation of wannabe superheroes as part of the Anti-Vigilante Task Force. We also got confirmation—not that we needed it, exactly—that Jeremy Irons’ eccentric country squire is the missing Adrian Veidt, who even slipped into his old Ozymandias armor for good measure. And while we didn’t actually see either of Laurie’s ex-lovers, Nite Owl and Dr. Manhattan, the episode made clear that she’s still carrying a lot of baggage there, at least some of which is packed with an enormous blue dildo. It may not be the 1980s anymore, as Laurie’s FBI boss reminds us. But this week, we got our most revealing glimpses yet of how the events of that decade continue to loom like a pissed-off Martian exile over the world of the show.
Amid all those big reunions, it would be easy to overlook the episode’s other major character introduction. Agent Dale Petey, played by Dustin Ingram, makes his debut relatively quietly, reluctantly drafted by Laurie to accompany her to Tulsa on her investigation into the murder of Don Johnson’s Chief Crawford. But Petey soon surprises her. More than just some low-level IT drone who’s handy with a slide projector, Petey also boasts a Ph.D. in history. And he seems to have a deep understanding of her history, specifically. He wrote his graduate thesis on the epochal Police Strike of 1977, he says, that epochal moment that led to the outlawing of costumed crime fighters in the first place. He’s also well versed in everything that happened afterward, which formed the narrative of the original Watchmen.
So far, Agent Petey’s role on screen has been relatively minor, but off screen, he’s already been an important part of the show. Even before the premiere, HBO’s official Watchmen website has been publishing a collection of PDFs under the banner Peteypedia, comprising various memos, newspaper clippings, and other documents culled from the series’ universe. These kinds of ancillary rabbit holes have become fairly common in today’s pop culture—particularly in the wake of Lost, co-created by Watchmen showrunner Damon Lindelof, which spread its myriad mysteries across various websites, phone numbers, and Sprite commercials to keep fans actively engaged between episodes. Lindelof would later take that strategy to Prometheus, devising a viral campaign for his scripted Alien prequel that would fill in some of the blanks in the mythology, and he seems to have adopted a similar approach here. But Peteypedia also has roots in Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ original comics, which appended various documents—letters, interviews, and most notably, excerpts from Hollis Mason’s autobiography, Under The Hood—to flesh out much of the backstory. We’ve similarly learned a lot from Peteypedia already.
HBO
Thanks to Agent Petey’s files, we know that, in the wake of Ozymandias dropping an enormous alien squid on Manhattan, the world went into a technophobic panic, shunning all electronic devices and even radio broadcasts for fear they would open the door to another transdimensional invasion. (The suspected carcinogenic effects of Dr. Manhattan-created electronics was another factor.) As a memo informs us, it’s only now that computers—and the newfangled invention known as “El-Mail”—are being cautiously allowed back into the workplace. This would also explain why no one on Watchmen uses the Internet or cell phones.
Documents pertaining to a 2004 lawsuit, filed against the State of Oklahoma on behalf of the survivors of the Tulsa massacre of 1921 (and co-authored by O.J. attorney Johnnie Cochran), also add some context to the show’s oft-referenced “Redfordations,” which were doled out by President Robert Redford to those whose ancestors suffered racial injustice. Likewise, a gallery sheet for a retrospective screening of Trust In The Law! gives us some more insight—not only into the faux-film about real-life U.S. Marshal Bass Reeves that was seen in the series premiere, but also the overarching themes of race, morality, and mythology that Watchmen means to explore. (According to some theories, they might even provide a hint as to the secret identity of Louis Gossett Jr.’s character.) In a memo drafted by Petey himself, we also hear his thoughts on the way show-within-a-show American Hero Story exploits some of those same themes, with Petey offering a self-referential screed against the TV series’ “sensationalistic hyper-pop narrative that plays recklessly with history, proceeds from an overtly left-wing point of view, and risks alienating the fringe constituencies who regard ‘costumed adventurers’ with problematic reverence.”
The Peteypedia documents are enlightening, and often just plain amusing. We learn that Elvis faked his death and once staged a surprise show back in the late ‘90s; that Dr. Oz has been placed in charge of America’s collective colon as the Surgeon General; that Roger Ailes ended up running the white nationalist rag The New Frontiersman. (Okay, that last one isn’t so surprising.) But more importantly, they also fill in some significant gaps. A newspaper clipping headlined “Veidt Declared Dead” fills us in on a lot of what’s transpired since the book, including the role that Veidt played in financing the “blue wave” of progressive politics that led to Redford’s presidency and the deeply polarized world of the show. We also find out how Veidt’s personal fortunes and philanthropic endeavors stumbled amid the mass rejection of technology, how he sold off his companies to Trieu Industries (which is also referenced in the third episode), and, finally, how he disappeared in 2012, eventually spurring the government to abandon its search.
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Another memo from Agent Petey tells us more about what happened directly after the comic ended. Rorschach’s journal, whose last page detailed how Veidt had faked his “Dimensional Incursion Event,” did indeed end up in the pages of The New Frontiersman, galvanizing the misfit reactionaries of the Seventh Kavalry to wage their terroristic war against the liberal establishment. Petey also fills us in on the fate of Dan Dreiberg, aka Nite Owl, who was arrested alongside Laurie in 1995 for resuming their old ways. (Petey adds that Laurie eventually adopted the name The Comedienne after her late father, The Comedian/Edward Blake). As alluded to in this week’s episode, Dreiberg remains in custody, while Laurie was apparently conscripted into the FBI, forced to help clean up some of the mess she’d created by inspiring a new generation of vigilante copycats.
In short, Agent Petey seems to be a veritable fount of useful knowledge—and forceful opinion—in the Watchmen world. He’s a character who’s as steeped as anyone we’ve met so far in its fictional history, and he’s equally fervent about the threats would-be heroes still pose to society. From what we’ve seen, in both his memos and the show, Petey seems content to remain a helpful bureaucrat in this mission so far: In recommending that the FBI continue investigating Veidt’s disappearance, even if it’s just a ruse to avoid riling the Seventh Kavalry members who want him brought to justice, Petey volunteers to “take on the responsibility of continuing to write lengthy memos no one will ever read to demonstrate said diligence.” Petey’s own donning of a mask in this episode is played off as a joke—first as a rookie mistake, then as a kind of erotic cosplay. He seems more than content to continue watching the Watchmen.
But in making Agent Petey such a central character off-screen, long before he’s even introduced, the show seems to be telegraphing that he’s more important than he first appears, beyond just being a reliable source of exposition dumps. Could Petey’s anti-vigilante passion eventually turn into something more aggressive? Could the flash of cold resentment he shows to Laurie (“Please don’t treat me like I’m some kind of fan,” Petey snaps, his jaw visibly clenching) foreshadow some even more sinister campaign toward her and her ilk? Or is this a case of Petey doth protest too much, and could his stolen night of motel sex with Laurie lead to Petey donning the mask for real—remaking himself in the mold of the people he’s dedicated so much of his life to studying and, let’s face it, probably envying at least a little? We’re only three episodes in, so obviously, time will tell. But in the meantime, it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Petey, along with a bookmark.
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