FACTOTUM

Main Entry: fac·to·tum
Pronunciation: fak-toh-tuhm
Function: noun
Etymology: New Latin, literally, do everything, from Latin fac (imperative of facere do) + totum everything
1 : a person having many diverse activities or responsibilities
2 : a general servant

Ahhhhh... I see. I kinda wished someone had told me the definition of "factotum" before. It's not like it would have changed my impression of the movie, or given me a "that's it!" moment during the film... but it would have kept me from distractedly wondering (while watching it), what the heck the title of the movie meant. So it's not a quantum theory. Or a numerical value with lots of zeros (though, in a way, that would have worked for this movie). Matt Dillon's Henry "Hank" Chinaski is (a?) factotum.

Dillon, soaked in booze from the first frame to the last, plays Hank Chinaski—aka booze-soaked writer Charles Bukowski's alter-ego. Hank, a self-proclaimed writer, carries with him small notepads to scribble in at diners, or slaves over a yellow steno pad in his rent-by-the-week cheap apartment. He smokes a lot. He drinks a lot. He somehow effortlessly picks up women—at bars of course—and lasts an average of one day at most of his jobs. See Hank deliver ice; see Hank work in a pickle factory; see Hank polish the nose of a very large statue. Through Hank's eyes, these jobs aren't worth his time... in fact, even if he doesn't do a lick of work during the shift, he feels the need to demand pay after getting fired, simply because his boss took away perfectly good hours from his day, and he should be compensated (boy, I've felt like that before!).

Not a heck of a lot happens in Factotum other than drinking, jobs, and women. There is no big story arc since, well, Hank's life doesn't really culminate in anything much. But the ride somehow stays interesting for two reasons. First, for a movie about a writer, the film is quite witty and deadpan droll. I've seen movies about writers where you leave the theater thinking, "Well, I sure wouldn't buy this person's novel!" And the second redeeming quality is the acting. Not only does Dillon create a character that is both pathetic and reasonably entertaining, he makes a sad sack wastoid into a kind of likable guy. Interesting supporting characters come and go, like Fisher Stevens as a temporary pal with whom Hank plays the horses, Marisa Tomei as one of Hank's boozy flings, and Didier Flamand as Pierre, a rich old fella who feels kindly towards bar floozies. Lily Taylor as Hank's longest-term lover, Jan, hangs around the longest... long enough for you—and them—to realize they are not a very compatible pair.

But I will tell you one thing. If Bukowski does anything well, it's his conveyance of booze's crippling effects. His characters, like Hank and Jan, are so lethargic, pukey, blotchy, and ripe (you can practically smell them) that the last thing you feel like doing after watching one of his adaptations is to go out and have a drink.