I’ve just seen “Crumb,” Zwigoff’s record of art
rising from a father, raging Marine
who’d break small sons’ collarbones while their hearts
shriveled to dried fruit as amphetamines
crazed their mother, leaving them no fortress
to fall back on. Charles Jr. turned recluse,
then to suicide. Maxon, the youngest,
fondled women, charred childhood his excuse,
then sat on nails for penance while tossing
a bullet in his hands; now sells paintings
in San Fran. Robert found fame by crossing
mainstream to underground comics, feinting
love at every chance. All three sons, obsessed
with sex, used their art to scalpel their chests.
Roger Armbrust
May 14, 2007
