“Okay, this guy here, he’s our man. All grown up and going nowhere. Although he’s a pretty scholarly cat, he never got much of a formal education. For the most part he’s lived in shit neighborhoods, held shit jobs, and now he’s knee-deep into a disastrous second marriage. So if you’re the kind of person looking for romance or escapism or some fantasy figure to save the day, guess what? You got the wrong movie.”
American Splendor is, in my humble opinion, Paul Giamatti’s finest hour. Even more so than the mighty Sideways. American Splendor throws everything at the wall – biopic, documentary, animation, indie-flick goodness – and it all sticks. Jackson Pollock would be proud. The movies weaves in and out of the fictional presentation, with interviews and comments from the real Harvey Pekar and the associated characters of his life and comics. The resulting dance between the actors, the hand drawn comic character and their real life doppelgangers breaking the third wall is nothing short of a ballet.
Swan Lake. In Cleveland, Ohio.
I lived in Cleveland for a brief stay in the late nineties. The story of how I got there is as weird as the city itself. Had it not been for the lack of mountains, I may have stayed. But I am west coast until the end. I need a hill or two to break up the horizon line.
In 1999, I took a poorly paid writing gig in New York City. I was newly married, into the gig and had the highest of hopes. We drove a rented van from Portland, Oregon to the Big Apple, stopping in Cleveland along the way. It was kismet. I was in love. The opposite was true once we reached New York. Sure, it was big. And there was all those cool buildings I had seen in the movies. But it just didn’t move me. After a couple of days riding around the subways and checking out the sights, we made the decision to hightail it back to Cleveland and take our chances in the Midwest. I probably set my writing career back ten or fifteen years, but I don’t regret a thing.
(I failed to notify my employer in New York City about the sudden change of heart which resulting in a missing person’s report filed on me in three different states. That was fun.)
Cleveland is one of those cities that is perpetually picked upon. (See also: Reno, Nevada.) But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and as the song goes, Cleveland Rocks. Downtown Cleveland. The Flats. A Christmas Story. Harvey Pekar. Trent Reznor. Halle Berry. Michael Symon. The perception may be Mos Eisley – “You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.” – the reality is more Addams Family at Mardi Gras.
I remember seeing Harvey Pekar on Letterman back in the day, but never made the connection to Cleveland, Ohio. I’ve never been all that into comic books, even the underground stuff, so all I knew of him was that gruff cat from late night television. But he did carry with him no small amount of charm.
Turns out we have a bit in common, Harvey and I. Harvey Pekar is the everyman. We’re both writers. We’ve both been through a couple of marriages. We share oodles of experience working shitty jobs. American Splendor is my life and likely yours too. Certainly someone you know.
The movie. The comic. That’s life. Crazy as it seems.
Watch this move and keep an eye out for the scene of Paul Giamatti and Judah Friedlander in costume, but out of character watching their real life counterparts in the form of Harvey Pekar and Toby Radloff discussing the merits of jelly beans. That single scene captures the entirety of weirdness in this masterpiece.
All the little chicks with the crimson lips go, Cleveland rocks.