When I first read the description of Funny Pages I knew that it would be a film that I had to watch. Honestly, any movie that inserts the word “cartoonist” or “comic books” in its description is going to get my money. That’s just a fact of life.
After being completely annoyed by its quick, week-long run at the theater, I was happy to see that the movie was available for rent on-demand. I went in expecting a quirky coming of age story about a young artist, something closely related to a 90s Kevin Smith movie. Instead, I got a gross, unnerving, subversion of a movie that was faithful to the grind and adolescent awe of breaking into the comic industry. For my fellow comic book people and movie enthusiasts alike, Funny Pages is a must watch, and one of the most unique movies that you will see this year.
Here, I will raise the SPOILER flag. I’m not going to do a play-by-play of the movie, but I do want to provide commentary on the major themes of the film, so I will have to talk about some significant character moments and scenes. Be warned!
Eighteen-year-old Robert loses the most influential figure in his life, his art teacher Mr. Katano. What ensues is a wild romp of a young cartoonist trying to grow up too soon as he will stop at nothing to become a full-time comic artist. The trip is wild and unexpected. The movie is entirely influenced by R. Crumb and the underground comix movement right down to how the movies looks. It’s grungy and slimy. There are no “pretty” people or highly enhanced filters that give the world a crisp aesthetic. The tone of the film falls right in line with Robert’s journey. Robert doesn’t want to conform to his standard home life. He wants to quit high school and draw like his heroes, most notably Katano, who injected his pencil with unrelenting cartoons. The entire film uses this relationship as it’s northern star. Where does Robert go now? Who does he look up to without Katano in his life?
The most interesting question and moral dilemma of the movie is introduced in the very opening scene. Robert and Katano are in the art studio talking about subversive comics. Soon after, Robert takes out the figure drawings that are part of his student portfolio. As Katano gripes about the drawings, Robert explains what they are and that he needs life drawing pieces if he wants to get into a credible art school. “Fuck that,” Katano says. The teacher tells Robert that he needs to put “himself” into his art. The “lifeless” drawings are nothing without expressionism, without the artist’s soul being reflected in the art. The scene plays out and Robert eventually does a nude drawing of Katano, using his cartooning skills in the piece, as the instructor teaches his student a valuable lesson in artistic expression. Upon initial watch, this is a good scene, but once you realize how this idealistic struggle is one of the primary themes of the movie, it makes such an impact, all the way into the final scene.
Robert is the stand-in for all of us creatives. He’s the indecisive gray matter that constantly questions the integrity of one’s work. Do you conform in order to make things sustainable, or do you express yourself, making art for the sake of art? Robert’s struggle continues. His best friend and fellow cartoonist, Alex, symbolizes pure comic making, or individualistic art. Alex doesn’t care about pretty pictures, realism, or big superhero books. Alex makes what he feels while Robert is caught in between a rock and a hard place. Robert needs money to make ends meet in his newly acquired adult life, so he dismisses Alex’s work for a more mainstream outlook on comics. Robert meets Wallace, a former color assistant for Image Comics, and becomes obsessed with the unstable man. He believes that Wallace is his one shot at breaking into the industry, which would prove himself to his pessimistic parents. As Robert says in the film, “all my heroes didn’t have jobs”.
In the final scene, Robert and Alex are in a room listening to Wallace dismiss outsider art. Wallace acts as a metaphor for “marketable” or conformed art when he boasts his original penciled page. He delivers perhaps the most comedic line in the movie when he swears by Liefeld being the golden standard of inking. Wallace says that this is what it’s “supposed” to be like.
So, in an epic moment of mayhem, Robert stands in the middle of the two ideals. Alex continues to ask the question, “Is form more important than soul? Isn’t imagination more important than craft?” I love this scene. It’s the culmination of the entire film, both for the personal journey of the young cartoonist and for the abstract meaning behind the archetypes. It’s also absolutely bonkers.
At the very end of the film, Robert runs away to his haven, the comic book shop. He sits at the register and stares at the wall, processing what just happened. He doesn’t know what to do. Robert grew up too early and doesn’t understand the real world and its complex choices. Art is subjective, can you truly live a life that is always subject to interpretation? Robert doesn’t have the answer. The ending perfectly captures those busy minded thought sessions that I know I have had, and I’m sure you too.
We don’t see what happens to Robert the next day. In my mind, he sleeps in, throws on some cartoons, and sits at the drawing board. The only time we ever see Robert smile is when he’s drawing. Even in the most disgusting of environments, in excruciating heat, he laughs at his own handmade funnies. Ultimately, we all need something to fall back on to keep sane in an often times cartoonish world. Funny Pages teaches us that even in loneliness, confusion, and perceived doom, as long as we have that one true root, we can escape all the bullshit when we need to and hit the reset button.
There is so much in Funny Pages that I have not mentioned. If you’re not much into comics, I still think that there’s a ton to get out of this film, and if you are into comics (especially a creator) you will love seeing the medium portrayed in an authentic way. Then, when the movie is over, watch Crumb and complete the wildest double feature ever.
Thanks for your time,
Nico