Read Howard Hampton on Terry Zwigoff'sWe’re predisposed to love some films because they speak to our sensibilities—they wear our hearts (or our discontents) on their sleeves. Others catch us unawares in a whirlwind of surprise and glee. Clear-cut yet fabulously mutable, Ghost World did both things, fulfilling many high hopes and expectations while at least half its pleasure lies in the craggy, melancholy detours Terry Zwigoff takes getting us there—adding unexpected twists to already twisted material. Audiences in 2001 had never seen such a tonally jousting, pinwheel immersion in late-adolescent ennui, and it struck a quotidian, satiric-poetic underground-comix chord—and nerve. Honoring Daniel Clowes’s poker-faced, weird-out comic book while folding Zwigoff’s own neurotic baggage into the mix, Ghost World made desperation not only morbidly funny but also cheekily enigmatic, moving, and sort of heroic, in a Sisyphus-goes-to-the-convenience-store way.