The point is, even a screwball like Crumb had more workaday wisdom to get me through the night than most of what the rest of the culture was offering–or still has to offer, for that matter.

By turns hilarious and grim.

The movie isn't a testimonial or a valentine. It's unpredictable and galvanizing: an empathetic portrait of the artist that also unveils a trenchant view of an American family's dashed illusions.

Zwigoff's film rarely feels exploitative, and the fascination of Crumb and his family should not disguise the director's skill and sensitivity in marshalling his material.