Film Review: Funny Pages (Kline, 2022)

In his feature film debut, Owen Kline replicates the gritty, lo-fi sentiment of the 1960s/70s ‘underground comix’ writers and artists that his central, incredibly arrogant protagonist, Robert (Daniel Zolghadri) loves and aspires to rival. Funny Pages is a warts-and-all slice of Americana predicated upon a male juvenile obsession with sex and abject bodies as a source of grotesque humour which, in its scratchy 16mm cinematography, captures every blocked pore, hairlip and bead of sweat to be seen on its oddball ensemble of (mostly male) social rejects and misfits. In fact, DoPs Sean Price Williams and Hunter Zimny routinely indulge in maximising these imperfections, shooting the film’s characters in often claustrophobic close-ups, having us confront the drab and degenerate with the same pin-point detail found in the Ben Day polka-dotted comics that Robert himself pours over in granular detail. Its comedy is awkward and uncomfortable rather than broad or slapstick, with Kline frequently putting us in a position where we’re uncertain whether to laugh, cringe or cry. Robert’s self-proclaimed hipster superiority and dismissal of any cultural product that he views as below him betrays his precocious arrogance and naive pretensions, an arrogance that long-haired pal Miles (Miles Emanuel) does not share, but lacks the confidence to call out Robert on.

Determined to live a bohemian existence, Zolghadri’s wannabe comic artist leaves his comfortable suburban home for the squalor of a cramped basement apartment, shared with two older men whose hermit lifestyles serve as inspiration for some of the young artist’s formative experiments. Working odd jobs at a comic store and later, for the same legal aid worker who defends him in court following a minor criminal act, Robert’s desire to immerse himself in what he pretentiously views as the artistic life, mired in poverty and petty crime, underlines the young teenager’s idealistic view of the underground comix writers/artists he champions. Indeed, the grotesque comics work of Robert Crumb, Aline Kominsky or the storytelling of Harvey Pekar are the core points of reference for the cultural world with which both Robert and Funny Pages as a film engages. As a result, its storytelling is episodic rather than strictly linear – Kline’s script being more observational than it is narrative-driven – with Robert’s aspirations and enthusiasm for his artform put to the test in a variety of situations that he sees as his first rung onto the artistic ladder, even if their educational value is perhaps less obvious than he perceives them to be (one scene in a local pharmacy is particularly brilliant).

These initial narrative skits are given some form following a chance encounter with former Image comics employee Wallace (Matthew Maher) who Robert views as something akin to a comics demi-god, someone who he can learn from and who even may act as a stepping stone into the industry. Wallace, however, is somewhat psychologically unhinged; at best disinterested in Robert’s puppy-like subservience and at worst prone to violent outbursts. Yet despite Wallace’s clear personal issues and realistic view of his previous comics career (not as some higher calling but as simply a means to ‘survive’ and pay the bills) Robert’s delusions about the older man’s involvement in the golden era of Image comics and comics artistry as a whole cannot be shaken, leading to a chaotic Christmas day encounter between Robert’s family, Wallace and Miles.

Funny Pages probably isn’t for everyone with its deadpan comedy and obscure references (a passing knowledge of underground comix would probably make or break a viewer’s experience) but like many releases from A24, the eccentricities, absurdities and overall individualism on show here set the film apart from previous filmic portrayals of geekdom (Napoleon Dynamite, Superbad) that in hindsight come across as overly glossy and sanitised in comparison.