Paul Giamatti's most persistent artistic trope is that peculiar anomie that he carries around on his hunched shoulders like a backpack full of rotting fruit.
And it was in full evidence yesterday in midtown Manhattan, as he plodded down the street, brow knitted, scowling as our guy tried to get him to say hello -- or anything -- to the camera. "I don't want to be filmed," moaned Giamatti, despite our lensman's best efforts to engage him.
Somewhere, Harvey Pekar is smiling. Or, rather, frowning.