The key moment in Factotum, the film based on Charles Bukowski’s novel of the same name, is when the central character, Henry Chinaski, is fired from his latest menial job for being drunken and shiftless. His boss explains how badly Chinaski has let him down. But Chinaski is unapologetic. “I’ve given you my time,” he retorts. “It’s all I’ve got to give. It’s all any man has.”

That the director-writer-producer Bent Hamer has taken this line faithfully from the book shows he understands that Bukowski was not simply a clownish drunk, as he is too often perceived, but a proudly independent man who railed against the drudgery of working-class life.

Poorly paid manual jobs were Bukowski’s fate well into middle-age, when he quit the one he hated most, as a postal worker, to become a full-time writer. Before he died of cancer in 1994, when he was 73, more than 45 books of Bukowski’s poetry and prose were published, and he became relatively well-off.

He also left behind masses of unpublished poems that appear regularly in “new” compilations. There is some barrel scraping here, it must be said, but the fact that these books continue to come out demonstrates the level of interest in this singular American writer.

While there are many books of Bukowski’s poetry there are only six novels, of which Factotum was the second. The book appeared in 1975, when Bukowski was starting to become known outside the underground press in Los Angeles. Like much of his best work it harks back to his early life, specifically when he was in his twenties, drifting around America doing tedious and ridiculous jobs such as being the coconut man in a biscuit factory.

Rather than pursue a career and amass wealth and possessions, Bukowski hid away from the world in cheap rooms where he would drink, listen to classical music on the radio, and write about himself (in the persona of Chinaski) and his fellow man. The subject matter caused him pain, but also made him laugh, and his books are all very funny.

Scarred by a miserable childhood and disfigured by an extreme case of acne Bukowski was shy of women, although he lusted after them, and he was 27 before he fell into bed with the love of his life, a barfly named Jane Cooney Baker. She had such a beer belly that Bukowski thought at first she might be pregnant.

Their affair — loving, drink-sodden and violent — became part of the narrative stock of Bukowski’s writing life. He never tired of recycling such stories as the time he saw a neighbour leap to his death. Bukowski insisted that Jane come and see the pile of guts on the pavement below. Bukowski always laughed when he told how the hungover Jane “puked and puked”.

Jane is here in the movie, represented by the characters Jan and Laura (Lili Taylor and Marisa Tomei). Chinaski comes in the form of Matt Dillon, whose handsome physiognomy would seem to disqualify him from the role. In fact, Dillon delivers a convincing portrayal of Chinaski/Bukowski, capturing the writer’s slow, thoughtful way of speech, his physical mannerisms, pathos and sardonic wit. With the aid of a beard and a little weight Dillon even looks like Bukowski in middle age.

This Factotum is set in the present day, rather than the 1940s, but it is true to the spirit of the book. In fact, Hamer’s film is the best yet made from Bukowski’s stories. It is greatly superior to Tales of Ordinary Madness (1981) and Barfly (1987), the latter with Mickey Rourke as a humourless, pugnacious Chinaski.

Howard Sounes is the author of Charles Bukowski: Locked in the Arms of a Crazy Life, published by Rebel Inc

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