American Splendor

Well, it’s no Tremors, but…

I’ve never really read any of Harvey Pekar’s work in graphic novels. It’s not for a lack of wanting, but rather that up until a few years ago, I pretty much stuck to Spider-Man comics. It’s only recently that I’ve got into works like Alan Moore’s Watchmen, V for Vendetta, Brian Michael Bendis’ Fortune and Glory, Grant Morrison’s Animal Man and Warren Ellis’ Transmetropolitan — I could keep that list going for a while.

It’s my contention that the graphic novel — which are essentially comic books presented in a larger volume — is the next great artform. It represents an intellectual, dramatic and often beautiful marriage of visual art and literature, allowing for creative stories that bring with them incredible innovation. The prose novel, in existence for hundreds of years, seem absolutely stagnant compared to some of what’s going on in the pages of these graphic novels. And it’s always been one of my unending goals to expose people to this artform that has evolved to represent far far more than just strongmen in tights.

American Splendor brought a smile to my face on several occasions because it’s one of the first pure adaptions of a non-superhero comic book that is absolutely devoted to its graphic novel roots. Daniel Clowe’s Ghost World, while a haunting and brilliant film, seemed to shy away from even MENTIONING its origin as a comic book, as did Sam Mendes’ Road to Perdition, which nobody seems to believe was ever a graphic novel.

But with Splendor comes a film that not only embraces its comic book past but USES the format in tremendously innovative ways. There are some absolutely beautiful images — Harvey walking along an industrial bridge, or sitting on the steps of his house — that seem to have lept right out of a comic book. The opening sequence jumps from panel to panel: live action to drawing and back again. And in a very haunting climax, we watch Harvey’s life drawn on the screen, real life and the drawings once again coming together to make up this man — this crotchety, obsessive compulsive, dirty and depressing man we come to identify with so strongly over the course of the film.

American Splendor, the comic book, was drawn by a variety of artists over the years, and so Harvey’s appearance in the book never stayed the same for long (A fact that is hilariously brought up during the film — “Those are motion lines!”). In order to portray this on screen, Harvey is played by both himself and Paul Giamatti. Giamatti’s does an awesome job with the role — making a character that could very easily come off as unlikeable into a sympathetic, sweet and even heroic character.

Despite my love for the comic book elements, I’d say my favourite part of the film is in fact the story itself. Pekar’s life story represents, if nothing else, a celebration of the awkwardness of humanity. There are very few of us — if any — who always know what to say, or what to think, or manage to get all the words out without tripping over ourselves. We’re told that the stupid insecurities that plague us are somehow unnatural and to be hidden, as we watch Hollywood’s perfect people with sharp wit and immacuately delivered one-liners fall in love. American Splendor is the opposite — a frank, and often hilarious, look at the broken down, dreary, absurd and weirdly desirable face of real life.

Go see it.