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Storyline
This movie chronicles the life and times of R. Crumb. Robert Crumb is the cartoonist/artist who drew Keep On Truckin', Fritz the Cat, and played a major pioneering role in the genesis of underground comix. Through interviews with his mother, two brothers, wife, and ex-girlfriends, as well as selections from his vast quantity of graphic art, we are treated to a darkly comic ride through one man's subconscious mind. As stream-of-consciousness images incessantly flow forth from the tip of his pen, biting social satire is revealed, often along with a disturbing and haunting vision of Crumb's own betes noires and inadequacies. As his acid-trip induced images flicker across our own retinas, we gain a little insight into this complex and highly creative individual. Written by
Tad Dibbern <DIBBERN_D@a1.mscf.upenn.edu>
Plot Summary
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Taglines:
Weird sex · Obsession · Comic books
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Did You Know?
Trivia
When he was trying to raise funds for the film,
Terry Zwigoff encountered
Terry Gilliam who he knew had worked with
Robert Crumb in the late 60s. Approaching Gilliam, Zwigoff asked for some help with the budget. Gilliam reached into his pocket, handed over a nickel and then walked away.
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Goofs
"San Francisco" is misspelled in the closing titles. The caption reads: "Max Crumb still lives in San Francicsco".
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Quotes
Charles Crumb:
How perfectly goddamned delightful it all is, to be sure.
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Connections
Referenced in
Roseanne: Hit the Road Jack (1997)
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Soundtracks
"Ragtime Nightingale"
Composed by Joseph F. Lamb
Performed by
David Boeddinghaus See more »
What are the odds that an artist can survive family violence, mental illness, sexual rejection, and Big Mac culture? As far as this film can make clear, three members of the Crumb family had strong artistic temperaments and significant talent. Only one, Robert, made it out alive, and his life and work are defined by resistance to what should have been a sad fate.
To many, this documentary may be depressing, offensive to women, or just too damn ugly to sit through, but it made me as happy as anything I've ever seen on screen. Art's ability to reveal truth and promote survival is evident in every frame. I admire R. Crumb's courage to speak unpopular truths, to draw what gets him off, and to ferret out the art he loves at considerable expense and trouble (he's a blues maven; one of my favorite scenes, where's he's sitting on his floor absorbed by aching music, is echoed in Ghost World, when Enid takes home Seymour's record and gets lost in her favorite song). And like Ghost World, ratty, real American culture is railed at hilariously: another favorite scene involves R. on a park bench, disgustedly commenting on the ugliness of everything around him: logo-emblazoned clothes, graceless music, ugly plastic everything.
By the end of it all, I respected and liked him Crumb enormously. I'd take his scary-woman worship over the banal musings of a dime-store philosopher any day. And Terry Zwigoff deserves much praise for being able to pull it off (especially as a first-time filmmaker who had very little idea what he was doing). From high art and family pathos to a lovely animal appreciation of big round female asses, this is far more a "roller-coaster, I laughed/I cried" film than most others so touted.