Sleepwalker's odd life makes a likable film

Sleepwalker's odd life makes a likable film


Much of Mike Birbiglia's waking life in "Sleepwalk With Me" is a nightmare.

Nothing seems to go right for the comedian, or his alter ego, a character named Matt Pandamiglio.

But the film, based on Birbiglia's stand-up act and off-Broadway show, is a dream for fans of offbeat, well-written and subtly acted projects.

The partly autobiographical tale has an appealingly low-key style that is alternately funny and melancholy and informed by Birbiglia's casual delivery. Birbiglia directs himself and his sharp ensemble cast deftly, fusing a non-linear narrative with comedy routines and voice-over narration that includes directly addressing the audience. This blend of formats suits Birbiglia's style and the weird subject matter ideally.

In addition to chronicling his arrested development, love of pizza and distaste for marriage, Birbiglia tackles the challenges of a career in comedy and probes the contours of evasion and dishonesty. These elements are almost as intriguing as the crazy stuff Pandamiglio does while snoozing.

Birbiglia's extreme sleepwalking saga first surfaced on "This American Life," Ira Glass' public-radio show, and the film was cowritten and produced by Glass.

Pandamiglio works as a bartender in a comedy club, and his stand-up gigs are few. When they do occur, they're sparsely attended and poorly compensated. Abby (Lauren Ambrose), his longtime girlfriend, yearns for a wedding, but Pandamiglio couldn't be further from sharing that dream. His parents nag him about his lack of success.

In the midst of these problems, he becomes a somnambulist. In a slumbering state, he leaps about his bedroom and later jumps out a hotel window.

Because of what he later learns is REM sleep behavior disorder, Pandamiglio crawls out of bed and begins attacking a clothes hamper, yelling: "There's a jackal in the room!"

Later, he wins first place at the Dustbuster Olympics in one of several cleverly conceived dream sequences. When he sleepwalks into a friend's shower fully dressed and gets drenched, the friend tells him: "You're not supposed to actually act them out like that. They're like movies. You just sort of watch them."

Glass' script and Birbiglia's offhand style, bolstered by sharp self-awareness, render the experiences drolly humorous, but Birbiglia also makes us painfully aware that this malady is a dangerous proposition.