The Punisher, the latest in an assembly line of tepid Hollywood adaptations of otherwise respectable Marvel comic book series, stars Thomas Jane (who?) as the ruthless vigilante and John Travolta (who else?) as a sinister, chatty villain.

The release of the redundant exercise begs two questions:

1. What's the worst-ever movie based on a comic book?

2. What's the best-ever movie based on a comic book?

The answer to the first question is the film-which-must-not-be-named (hint: It featured Batman in roller blades) and the answer to the second, in my opinion, is 2003's American Splendor.

Splendor tells the true story of Harvey Pekar, the Cleveland file clerk who achieved renown by authoring a 20-year comic book series chronicling his ordinary life.

In telling Pekar's story, filmmaking spouses Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Berman have created an entirely new art form.

Their cameras roam freely between a comic book visual style and a somber-hued cinematic one, resulting in a one-of-a-kind comic/film hybrid that's breathtaking to behold.

Dramatizations of events from Pekar's life are spliced together with documentary footage of the real Pekar and his real friends and family while they are on the set of the American Splendor movie shoot.

For something so postmodern, Splendor is refreshingly irony-free.

Pekar's particular genius lies in his ability to grasp simple artistic truths.

As pessimistic as he tends to be, he doesn't seek out people to satirize.

He writes about his own everyday struggles, which match those of the modern, working class American: loneliness, insecurity, boredom.

If you're the kind of person who knows firsthand what it's like to live inside these emotions, you'll love American Splendor.

Pulcini and Berman have taken the unique poetic simplicity of Pekar's comics and transmitted that artistry to their movie with the help of some perfectly murky, neo-realist camerawork, an unshakably catchy, light jazz soundtrack and strong, compassionate performances from every actor in the cast.

None are more impressive than Paul Giamatti, who plays Pekar in the dramatized segments.

Giamatti's sincere portrayal of the writer just seems to get better each time I watch it. He was faced with one of the most thankless acting gigs in recent memory: having to share screen time with the guy you're playing, thus openly inviting unfair scrutiny.

But his performance transcends mere mimicry.

Wisely, Giamatti portrays the comic-book character Harvey Pekar instead of the real Pekar, and this strange dichotomy of representations lends itself to a brilliant scene late in the film. As Giamatti soliloquies about Pekar's crisis of identity, he walks in and out of artificial, often crudely drawn backdrops -- a profound visual complement to the monologue and the film in general.

American Splendor is the comic book movie that favors emotions over explosions and human beings over superheroes.

It may not be action-packed, but it's bound to leave a more lasting impression on you than another John Travolta super-villain ever could.