Nobodies

It's easy to feel like a nobody. After all, most of us are. Sure, we have dreams when we're young, of fame and/or great accomplishments, but there are obstacles, distractions, and compromises along the way. Maybe we don't leave the mark we wanted to, or our name isn't known. Maybe your job doesn't improve the world in any way, or your boss treats you like a rookie no matter how much you improve. We're not rock stars or actors. We don't make an insane amount of money. We don't save lives. We're nobody, right?

A while back, Curt recommended American Splendor to me, citing that the portrayal of underground comic book legend Harvey Pekar by Paul Giamatti was one that I could definitely relate to. I'm used to possibly unflattering comparisons by now, and I remember college friends urging me to see Crumb years ago, because they saw something of me in that as well. The films are actually connected, as R. Crumb was friends with Pekar and illustrated his first comics. So, I put both on my queue and moved on.

Sometimes it takes years for me to get to films, with all the rearranging and prioritizing I do with my list. I had forgotten about these comic book biographies, until I received them Friday night. Interestingly enough though, rather than Crumb, I must have added Who's Harry Crumb?, which I suspect as an ‘80s John Candy comedy is a lot cheerier than the film I was expecting. It was enjoyable for what it was, and his plucky teenage sidekick looked very familiar to me. Turns out, Shawnee Smith went on to portray Amanda in the Saw trilogy, possibly her best role and a complete change from a teen in a bad ‘80s flick. But, I digress.

After watching the comedy and putting Crumb on my queue, I moved on to American Splendor. I had no idea what to expect. Pekar is an anomaly, both nobody and somebody at the same time. He's your typical American loser, stuck in a dead-end job for life and getting little joy. Like me, he's a collector, and I identified with the sight of his apartment cluttered with records and comics, and his unwillingness to part with anything. The film is part documentary, and blends footage of the real Pekar with drawings from the comics and Giamatti and the other actors. Giamatti transformed himself for this role, and I've felt the anguished expression I saw on his face at times, like just being was hurting him. I get in these inexplicable funks sometimes, where little things bother me. I could be driving my mom to church, and she'll be tapping her fingernails on the cap of her bottle of water, and playing a CD of classical music, and it all irritates me. Usually, it's when other things are on my mind that harmless things make me grimace and twinge like Pekar.

We all feel like nobodies sometimes. Pekar was right to feel that way. His wife left him. His voice left him. He worked as a file clerk in the basement of a hospital with misfits and oddballs, and all that was there to greet him at home was a cat. After meeting Crumb, he was inspired to start drawing. Pekar was no artist though, and grew frustrated with his attempts. While his art was off, his writing was on, and his autobiographical accounts of the minutia of daily life, from people asking stupid questions at work to waiting in line at the supermarket, brilliantly brought life to the no-life of your average joe. He showed Crumb, who was inspired to illustrate it, and American Splendor was born.

Over the years, the comic gained fame and he worked with various artists. It even led him to find a new wife, Joyce Brabner, who remains with him to this day and collaborated with him on Our Cancer Year, which chronicled a particularly challenging time in his life. Pekar gained recognition as a tell-it-like-it-is guest on Letterman, though speaking up too much got him banned from the show for a decade.

Eventually the comics led to a play, and the film I watched. Pekar hasn't changed despite all this. He still works as a file clerk. He still has misfit friends like “Genuine Nerd” Toby Radloff(portrayed brilliantly in the film by 30 Rock's Judah Friedlander). He's done what many of us have dreamed of. Comic books. Talk shows. A play. A movie. People know his name. People recognize him on the street. He still sometimes winces at life.

At the end of the day, it isn't fame or fortune that make us somebody. Maybe our dreams don't turn out the way we planned, either because we got tired and curled up into a ball, or because the goals simply changed along the way. I called his friend a misfit, but a friend is a friend. His wife is his best friend, and has remained loyal and by his side, even when he portrays her unflatteringly in the comics. The two have an adopted daughter, though Pekar thought he would never make a good father. We're all nobody, but we're also all somebody, most importantly to our friends and our family. You should set goals, but you shouldn't crumble when you don't reach them, or when life itself just beats the crap out of you. There are people better than you, but there are a lot more who are in the same boat, and even worse off. It's easy to focus on the bleak; I often do. Your friends will still be your friends if you don't hit a home run or conquer the stock market, and your family will certainly still be your family, there when you need them even when you don't want them. American Splendor is an ironic title, but beneath the crusty surface of disease and stress and human nature, there are things that are splendid. There's definitely some perspective to gain from the world's most famous nobody.