Just watched the movie, and enjoyed it a lot.
Harvey Pekar's comic books never summed up my own life, but the depression is familiar. Anyone who lives around me knows that I may appear jolly and lovable when I am out and about, but that's my act (that was my act - but I still find it useful).
Let's face it more people live that way. Not the truthfulness, but the small and helpless life. I don't have any desire to save the world, I don't kid myself I (or anyone) could. All anyone can do is contribute in some small way. My friend Mick always dreamed of writing his way out of the corner, but (sadly) it never happened. He contributed in so many ways, but that next level of recognition escaped him. We can't all be a Bukowski. Macho, sensitive, alcoholic, violent - this stuff can still sell, even if it isn't politically correct.
It's harder to make art out of timid, hopeless losers and nerds. So it was nice to see it can be done.
And the truth is that under the gruff attitude there is a nice enough guy. (I'll leave you to decide if I mean him or me...)