Bent Hamer
Factotum

The international film library is not particularly rich in movies about Bukowski, and perhaps it's for the best, given the immense difficulty in cinematically translating the complex works of the "great dirty old man." Transposing with even a minimum of coherence to Bukowski's true philosophy, constructing plots at least somewhat believable to the original texts, and above all capturing the essence of a writer who, in a banal blockbuster from a rainy Saturday night, would be portrayed as a little drunken, idle womanizer. Years ago, the famous filmmaker Ferreri tried, courageously diving headfirst into none other than the author's most cunning and daring work, namely Tales of Ordinary Madness. The result, in my very debatable opinion, was a disappointing film that didn't even remotely reach the heights of the celebrated collection of short stories, a dismal reduction of a masterpiece unjustly reduced to some binge drinking, fleeting love affairs, and job insecurity. Tales of Ordinary Madness, an authentic compendium of a misunderstood mind poorly stylized in the cultural-popular imagination, therefore found an unjust cinematic treatment to say the least reductive, simplistic, populist, and benign, light years away from the gloomy and sordid anti-luminescence reflected in the splendid chapters of the volume.

After the mediocre offering of Tales of Ordinary Madness, in 2005 Factotum was released, an adaptation of the novel of the same name by the lesser-known Bent Hamer. Unlike the Tales, the Notebook, and other collections of stories dominated by carnal perversion, attractive and available street femmes fatale, and the inevitable alcoholic river of accompaniment, Factotum illustrates the (failing) professional-employment curriculum of the usual Henry Bukowski (the famous alter ego of the writer) rather than the hot wheel of unbridled sex in perpetual rotation in other works. Chinaski, an understated writer, moves from one job to another, from one production line to another, staying there, due to his negligence and intolerance of the hyper-rational stasis of the factory, for only a few days or even a few hours. All this is seasoned with a love life far from fulfilling, some available floozy, and a partner, Jan, with whom he'll share more sorrows than joys, while inexplicably establishing a lasting relationship.

Comparing Factotum with Tales of Ordinary Madness, one can infer the greater simplicity of the director in dealing with the former compared to the latter, and perhaps this can explain the stylistic-content superiority of Hamer's version compared to Ferreri's feature film. Although he cannot boast the curriculum and notoriety of the Italian filmmaker, Hamer managed to create a film consistent with the work, to present a cast of actors capable of effectively portraying the protagonists, to insert the most significant dialogues, and to synthesize with great professionalism the contorted, yet brilliant mind of Bukowski. Henry Chinaski, played by a young and lively Matt Dillon (something that also departs from the tradition of the old, elderly, and aesthetically declining Bukowski), is an almost perfect cinematic transposition of the book counterpart, a man subdued by an exhausting inner creativity that prevents him, almost to protect him, from bending to the ignominy of industrial dehumanization, brutal Taylorism, and pickle factories, intoxicating him with the bene-vanefic elixir of alcohol, the only escape from the fake American dream and the false good way of life so promised and extolled by capitalism and its proponents.

The only flaw, however negligible, of Hamer's Factotum is the lack of chronological adherence between the writing and the film, which might cause a slight sense of confusion for those who have already devoured Bukowski's pages and expect the exact and meticulous video version. This small fragility is nevertheless compensated by the director's intelligent coherence in knowing how to link and connect the deviations from the book, creating a rearranged and reworked story, yet orthodox in presenting the salient points of the novel.

Having recovered from Ferreri's debacle, I have finally been able to appreciate a cinematic Bukowski, faithful to the character, rigorous in the script and little inclined to benign, bland, and simplistic revisions. And this is to demonstrate how a small director, perhaps far from the red carpets and box office success, has been able - by staying in his personal and unique anti-blockbuster niche - to exquisitely capture the moods, flavors, and smells of a work that might be politically (and morally) incorrect, yet eloquent and fascinating in mythologizing a literary era worthy of being retrieved with all its basic ingredients and the related and indispensable side sauces.