The late Charles Bukowski's 1975 semiautobiographical novel comes to the screen with a few major adjustments — including an update from World War II-era America to contemporary L.A. and the casting of eternally handsome Matt Dillon as Bukowski's pockmarked, potato-faced alter ego, Hank Chinaski. Most of the drinking, smoking and sex, however, are left intact, so if you dig Bukowski, pull up a stool. Chinaski (Dillon) is the factotum of the title: a hard-drinking aspiring writer who bounces from one odd job to another, where he lasts only as long as it takes for a man to get fired for drinking on the job, coming in hung over or not coming in at all. Hank's stint at an ice-making plant comes to an abrupt end when his manager finds Hank's delivery truck parked outside Kelly's Pub and its driver sipping a beer inside. Hank's attempt to get a job with a cab company is foiled when a background check turns up 20 prior arrests, 18 for drunk and disorderly conduct and two for driving while intoxicated. After a few days at a pickle factory, Hank walks off the job and into a dive bar, where he meets Jan (Lili Taylor, looking like she's been spending every off-hour at the gym), a barfly who shares Hank's love of the demon alcohol and invites him to move in with her three days later. While working at a bicycle-supplies warehouse, Hank hooks up with Manny (Fisher Stevens), who also has an enthusiasm for ponies and joins Hank on a mad daily dash to the track in time for the day's final race. When Hank starts accumulating a little extra capital, he finally begins to feel equal to the fat cats who've been getting rich off his sweat for much of his life, but this lucky streak ends when, once again, Hank is fired. Hank may be too drunk to hold down a job for more than a few days, but he's still able to churn out three or four short stories a week, which he diligently sends off to (in a nod to Bukowski's champion and real-life publisher) John Martin at the esteemed Black Sparrow Press. In return, Hank receives polite, encouraging rejection letters. Piggish, boorish and yet oddly charming in a pathos-ridden sort of way, Bukowski's voice is unmistakable, and luckily, enough of it comes through in director Bent Hamer and cowriter Jim Stark's script to make the film more than just a dreary hour and a half spent in the company of an insufferably irresponsible drunk. It is, however, fragmented and episodic, and many of Bukowski's best bits are oddly truncated. What makes any of it work is Dillon's attention to the subtleties of the man's speech and mannerisms, which turns what might have been a casting disaster into a remarkably satisfying portrayal. Not convinced? Check out BUKOWSKI: BORN INTO THIS (2004), and marvel at Dillon's ever-developing talent. --Ken Fox
