Factotum

(2006)

Directed by

Bent Hamer

Review by Zach Saltz

“There is a time to stop reading, there is a time to stop trying to write, there is a time to kick the whole bloated sensation of art out on its whore-ass.”

- Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski stood tall amongst the great heads of the Beat Generation alongside the likes of Jack Kerouac, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and Allen Ginsberg.  The aims of the Beat Movement reflected a change in social consciousness in the late 50s and early 60s that eventually led to the cultural revolution of the psychedelic late 1960s; and no one better than Bukowski embodied the change in the perception of the romantic writer -- no longer the chic, affluent bourgeoisie (F. Scott Fitzgerald) or even the Bohemian libertine (Henry Miller) but an uncultured, destitute, drunken servant of corner bars and peep shows.

The irony, of course, was that Bukowski vehemently denied being a Beat.  But with stories with downtrodden titles like Aftermath of a Lengthy Rejection Slip and Poems Written Before Jumping Out of an 8 Story Window, it’s clear to see that he didn’t accept much.  The brilliance of his stories is their flow of the prose, characterized by critic Robert Peters as “cut up more or less projectively into boozy breath-groups.”  His work has certainly opened up the door for many of the best writers of the modern era, including R. Crumb and Harvey Pekar, who were forced to earn a living through average day jobs until the public eventually began to notice their work.

Bent Hamer’s Factotum stars Matt Dillon, one of those inimitable chameleons to come out of the Brat Pack generation of actors, as Bukowski’s famed alter ego, Hank Chinaski.  Micky Rourke also played Chinaski in Barbet Schroeder’s brilliant Barfly (1987) but Dillon’s performance is probably closer to the beguiling, laconic image of Bukowski.  He is complacent habitue of skid row and claims to be a writer, but it’s clear that his three aims in life are cheap cigarettes, cheap alcohol, and cheap women, not necessarily in that order.  He works odd jobs that are too odd to believe -- one job requires him to separate pickle slices while another has him dusting the nostrils of an enormous statue. 

The film uncannily resembles Bukowski’s own writing, complete with off-topic tangents, stream-of-consciousness monologues, and scenes that are so irreverent you���re not sure whether you’re supposed to laugh or cry.  A priceless example of this comes when one of Chinaski’s bosses tells him to come into his office to meet a friend of his.  He tells Chinaski that his friend is a writer, too.  They look at each other expressionless as the human face can get, and painfully wait for the awkward moment to end.  Scenes like this reinforce Bukowski’s motifs of being incapable of fitting into to any social strata because of shallow expectations.

Ultimately, Factotum will probably prove to be difficult to watch and appreciate, unless you are a fan of Bukowski or a starving writer (the two sometimes seem interchangeable).  It doesn’t really have a beginning or end, and finding any sort of message is meaningless and futile.  But then again, contemporary perceptions of art expect us to find substance and relevance in empty images and superfluous ideas; Factotum reminds us that sometimes it’s better to kick it out on its whore-ass before making any sublime judgments.

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