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“If you’re the kind of person looking for romance or escapism or some fantasy figure to save the day…guess what? You’ve got the wrong movie.”
During the graphic novel revolution of the 70s, Harvey Pekar wrote a series of graphic novels titled American Splendor. I knew nothing of him until this film, but he was a huge success in the underground comic book scene and changed the idea of hero comics. He thought of superhero comics as “phony bullshit,” so the novels were about his life, his everyday battles, illustrated by his friends. He was the hero of his story much like we are heroes of our own lives. The film translates his story on the big screen, resulting in a quirky and off-beat biopic.
If I had to describe Pekar’s personality, perfectly depicted by Paul Giamitta, it would be the bastard child of Debbie Downer. Cynic would be an understatement. At the mid-point of his life, divorced twice, alone, out of shape, and a dead-end file clerk job. An avid reader and collector, his loneliness eats away at him. His misery is so pungent that it’s humorous. Pekar had no reason to exist, or so it seemed. In a crisis of purpose, he yearned to leave his mark on the world. Something to be remembered by, a purpose to his vain existence.
A turning point in a man’s his life, when he wonders “how he got to be second rate,” and faces an overwhleming feeling of futility. A realization that you are one of billions of people, so what is your life worth? You didn’t get fame or fortune and didn’t find the love of your life. You didn’t accomplish your dreams, life didn’t pan out as you planned, and you’ll be forgetten as fast as the ink dries on your death certificate. You lived and died and the world didn’t even blink an eye. It’s a foreboding realization, powerful enough that it provoked Pekar to write American Splendor.
We are familiar with this story and character in films such as Synecdoche, NY and American Beauty. However, American Splendor presents them in simpler terms, without the drama of a cheerleading lolita or a psychedelically grand production of life. The film finds simple drama in everyday life. Like his novels, Pekar fights his ordinary life one day a time. His argument against superhero comics is similar to arguments against movies like Synecdoche, NY: why the phony intricate stories when “ordinary life is pretty complex stuff?”
American Splendor was refreshing in style, characters, and simplicity. Part narrative, part documentary, it presented an interesting perspective on life, through the eyes of a cynic. The film was no phony, nor were the characters. The fact that Pekar is a real person only increases my affinity for this film. It isn’t a film for everyone, often slow and untidy. However, it is uplifting in it’s own way, despite the introduction, and it’s comforting to know that all ended well for Harvey Pekar.
