Every now and then, we encounter a film where the very act of simply starting the conversation is a challenge. Owen Kline’s directorial debut, Funny Pages, certainly matches the description, being a work of singular vision that defies logic, and instead goes in pursuit of something much deeper – and figuring out precisely what it was trying to say is part of the experience. Kline puts together a film that feels like it is positively bursting with the most beautifully chaotic, delightfully perverse energy we’ve seen in years, being an example of pushing boundaries in a way that is both shocking and constructive, which is not something that we have seen done in contemporary independent cinema for quite some time. The story of an ambitious young high school dropout that is trying to make a future for himself as a comic book artist in a world where such endeavours are seen as not only misguided, but outright foolish, the film interrogates many complex themes, all of them concealed behind a carefully guarded facade of offbeat absurdism that would make any devotee of surrealism feel excited at the prospect of a new visionary emerging from relative obscurity. Funny Pages feels like the introduction of a major talent, someone who is able to temper the tone in a way that not even many professional filmmakers are capable of doing, and who can weave together a compulsively intriguing story from seemingly the most simple sources. History is going to be very kind to Funny Pages and those involved in its creation, because not only does it give Kline the platform to realize his wildly ambitious vision, but also signals the start of another movement of independent films that manage to plumb the depths of pure repulsion and socially-mediated terror, finding something endearing amidst all the madness, which is something we have not seen in quite as vivid detail since the peak of underground independent cinema.

One of the more succinct ways to describe Funny Pages and Kline’s approach to the material would be by looking at it briefly from the perspective of those artists who came before him and very likely influenced his creative process. He inherits the same wonderfully off-the-wall perversity that gave the likes of John Waters and Todd Solondz the status as possibly the great artistic agents provocateurs in the history of English-language cinema, and while he certainly has quite a way to go before actually proving to be a likely heir to their legacy (since we are only judging on a single film compared to their respective bodies of work), Funny Pages proves that he is certainly well on the way to achieving some degree of success in terms of gleeful depravity that is executed with both earnestness and genuine fondness for the images appearing on screen. Kline definitely shows very little hesitation in leaping between bold ideas, and this unconventional coming-of-age film feels like it is formed from a place of genuine fondness. This is the key component behind the radical success of the film. Like his thematic ancestors, Kline is actively working to show that behind the madness, there is an abundance of heart – and it’s difficult to walk away from Funny Pages and not feel a sense of warmth, even though we had just witnessed some of the more abstract examples of social and moral corruption produced in recent years. Nothing about the film is necessarily controversial, with the director choosing to make use of some unexpectedly disturbing imagery that is more unsettling than it is in poor taste, and in the process creates a film that is bursting with soulfulness, proving to have far more nuance than initially expected.

Funny Pages certainly works best when we look at it as a film that has numerous purposes. As we’ve stated, this is a coming-of-age story about a young man’s search for meaning in a world that has supposedly lost all sense of sanity. However, it is also a resounding call-to-arms for artists everywhere, a piece of steadfast representation that celebrates an industry that is wildly popular on its own, but is not always accepted beyond its core audience. No film has been able to capture the impact of the comic book industry like this since Terry Zwigoff’s influential Crumb, whose subject is certainly an inspiration to the main character here, even if inadvertently. This is a film primarily inspired by art, and one that is actively seeking new methods to explore the importance of self-expression in a way that is familiar but also bespoke in its own way. If we can get beyond the genuinely unnerving sense of humour that seems to be there as a way to hide the more tender, softhearted compassion that simmers beneath the surface, we find that this film is quite endearing on a very interesting level, especially in how it was crafted by someone with a genuine fondness for the material, or rather the bold ideas that it represents. There’s a beauty to the grotesque imagery and awkward situations in which these characters find themselves, and it all can be drawn back to the central theme, which is essentially a means to show the incredible power of art. Despite the strange tone, Funny Pages is nothing more than a story of a young man so passionate about his artistry, he will do anything to realize his life’s purpose, even if it means placing himself in increasingly hostile situations. It celebrates art as something more than just creation, but an element of life that is absolutely essential for those born into the desire to put pen to paper and create entire worlds with just a few tools.

The elements in which Funny Pages works the best are those that point towards the darker recesses of humanity, but which Kline frames with the same joyfulness as anything else in the film. This manifests in the characterization, with nearly every individual we encounter in this film being grotesque in some way, whether physically or psychologically. The director has a clear interest in scaring us, and his transformation of these actors into people that barely resemble anyone we encounter in everyday life (but yet are still evocative of stock archetypes, just carefully perverted in a way that makes them far more interesting) gives the film an unsettling tone, from which he can both terrify and amuse us, since he knows that he has a strong story and just needed to populate it with memorable characters. There is not a weak performance to be found anywhere in Funny Pages – the protagonist is played by Daniel Zolghadri, who proves to be an exceptional young talent, especially in being able to navigate the often challenging material presented to him by the director, turning out a performance that is both stoic and outrageously funny. Each interaction between the character of Robert and the range of other people he encounters (many of whom are played by journeyman character actors like Matthew Maher, Michael Townsend Wright and Maria Dizzia, as well as an unforgettable appearance from acclaimed playwright Stephen Adly Guirgis as the art teacher whose death sets the tone for the film) adds to the brutalist humour that informs a lot of the film. The fact that every actor here played their characters as if they were in a sobering drama only makes Funny Pages more hilarious, since Kline is able to fashion these performances to fit the awkward, off-kilter tone that makes the film so compelling, a technique that could have been fatal without the right vision informing the process.

There are few films that earn the status of being an acquired taste quite as earnestly as Funny Pages, a film that knows how to shock the viewer without crossing the line of decency. It is not necessarily a matter of avoiding controversy entirely – the film is certainly extraordinarily unnerving and inspires a deep amount of despair in the audience – but rather learning how to constructively court it without losing its heart. A film that actively takes its time to get to a coherent point, essentially being a series of episodic moments that seem disparate at first before converging into a more succinct, straightforward narrative once we come to learn of the intentions behind the story, Funny Pages is a remarkable peculiarity, the kind we don’t come across very often. It’s highly unlikely this will be embraced quite as widely as other recent independent comedies – after all, this is a film built on the sensation of tension, paranoia and outright repulsion, none of which are particularly popular amongst general viewers – but even if it attains the status of a cult film (which is still selling it slightly too short, since it is much more ambitious and well-crafted than it initially appears), there is going to be a lot of value behind the film. The film may not have its head screwed on correctly, but its heart is certainly in the right place, and its tough to not feel deeply enamoured with this story, which has the rare skill to be capable of making us simultaneously laugh and recoil in horror, a technique that has never been better utilized than in this off-the-wall dark comedy that possesses a true sense of soulfulness.