Born Into This
Starring: Charles "Hank" Bukowski, Linda Bukowski, Harry
Dean Stanton, Sean Penn and Bono
Directed by: John Dullaghan
speaking? This aint exactly a family friendly documentary
and the film's subject, Charles Bukowski - who wasn't always particularly
pleasant, but who was always pleasantly particular - would have
been just fine with that. In fact the great "unknown"
American writer, infamous in some circles for his brutally honest
works, 'Love is a Hound From Hell', 'Ham on Rye', 'Post Office'
and 'Women', wanted to "whack the Disney out of people's
heads"; he had a hair across his ass about the whole "Disnefication"
of America, amongst other things.
"Hank" Bukowski was a gruff, blunt, hard drinking, injured
man that, even more (in my opinion) than the infamous beat writers,
Herbert "The Junkie" Hunke or Jack Kerouac, with whom
he is often mistakenly categorized with, captured the darkest
of the human inner workings with the most gritty and powerful
prose - street prose - of our time. He borders on obscene sometimes,
yet before you're at the edge of the trashcan if you stop and
actually listen to the words he's adjoined, beneath the baroque
bar-room tinged adjectives, you'll find a devote, profound, realness.
Rare, incredible realness.
words dance - like a boxer - across the page. He wrote from the
gut - just below the heart and above the groin, but always infused
both, with a bit of the brain. He spoke frankly about things people
didn't speak about. He stripped himself, emotionally unafraid
- in his writing at least - managing to etch a moment on paper
describing what many of us think, feel, want, wish, have never,
nor never will be a part of and so forth. Brave.
was known as "The King of the Small Magazines." Those
inexpensive poetry give-a-way style magazines you find on your
way out of an artsy urban coffee shop (even in his day). But as
his audience grew across America, the hard covers came, and a
treasure trove of gristle filled novels. To this day - whether
you like his style of grouchy whack literature or not - Bukowski's
rants on hangovers and poop dowsed wallets, whores and pain, and
underbelly stand proudly on any self-respecting bookstore in the
world; most of his novels in their thirtieth printing.
also wrote about his "earlier dayz" in a film called
Barfly. The film received mixed reactions. A Snaglepuss
accented unwashed version of the then "it" guy, the
pre-fight scared mega-talent Mickey Rouke, played Bukowski. For
the role Rouke was less subdued than the real Bukowski, ultimately
spewing the words like an animated drunken Bowery Boy with lock-jaw.
Hence the small film, sadly, had an even smaller audience - and
Bukowski remained a visionary secret among the intelligente.
documentary meanders but Bukowski's fans are indeed in for a treat
as the warts-and-all footage of the man peeks into his pain -
a pain that created a remarkable writer. Bukowski even thanks
(tongue in cheek) his abusive father for the perpetual sadistic
beatings that showed him there was "pain for no reason,"
in life, his life-long study, translated to paper, followed.
the people who have all ready discovered Bukowski's work, this
film's a devilish delight filled with personal interviews with
famous friends of his, like "The Keith Richards of Actors"
Harry Dean Stanton, Sean Penn, Bono, wife Linda Bukowski, with
plenty of Bukowski's prose graphically floating around on the
screen, to indulge the mind. A less in-the-know audience, however,
will need to grant the film its faux pas of filmatic elegance,
since novice director, John Dullaghan, obviously an avid fan,
doesn't want to lose one frame of his subject. As a result the
film can be often slow and indulgent. Know that for those willing
to permit Dullaghan his fancy, you'll find a fascinating wildly
unique individual in Bukowski with an intense talent worthy of
the time commitment (113 minutes). And the
film doesn't have the production savvy of say a, The Kid Stays
in the Picture, but if you're familiar with Bukowski you know
it really really shouldn't.
recommendation: A vat of wine and some rolled smokes.
Here's a pinch of Bukowski's
'Young in New Orleans'
sitting up in my bed
the lights out,
hearing the outside
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
as I heard the rats
moving about the
I preferred them
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be