Dealing with My Francophobia and -philia (Part 2 of 4)

Several signs converged to prompt me to cut off my research regarding James Franco's directorial ventures. The first was my father telling me how much he loved Oz: The Great and Powerful, which he reminded me, starred "my boyfriend" James Franco. The second was the hullaballoo surrounding Franco's flirtation with a barely legal fan. I give credit to that lady. When I was seventeen if Dave Grohl offered me a ticket to Pound Town, my bags would be packed and my folks would have seen nothing but a trail of dust following my lusty ass. But that is neither here nor there.

Finding Franco: Directing Edition

Franco's directing is much like his writing - full of concepts without any sense of "giving a shit" for emotional depth. I only watched The Broken Tower (2011), Sal (2011), Interior. Leather. Bar (2013), As I Lay Dying (2013), and his short film Feast of Stephen (2009). They were films that were relatively accessible and covered a variety of topics, most of which center on how much James Franco knows about stuff that we may not know about as if to say

Already, his films are intellectually masturbatory, an attempt to offer new insight into people we presumably have never heard of, books we've never read OR a completely different perspective on how either can be represented through the magic of CINEMA

It can be somewhat easy to become lost in scenes. Broken Tower is beautifully shot and there are images that easily stand on their own (plus Franco and Michael Sheen make-out. My dream journal has once again been hacked!). As I Lay Dying nicely represents the grime and sweat of Faulkner (so I've heard). The problem is Franco has a hard on for experimenting with techniques which turn neat ideas into eye-rolling "give me a breaks". 

In focusing too hard on being different he forgets the point of his narratives, which are often tragic and require empathy from the audience. Sal is about the last day of Sal Mineo's life, but we aren't permitted to know anything about him, because this period is filmed predominantly in close-ups. Surely, there's something arguably poetic about this, the idea that no matter how close we get we never TRULY KNOW him. I strongly doubt that was the goal. 

The film remains artificial, as do the majority of Franco's narratives, with character motivations unclear, incomplete plots, and relationships in a state of "so what? who cares?". In Broken Tower the narrative is pieced together through moments that seem to be significant for Franco, but aren't developed in ways that elaborate on why we should care or add to the emotional complexities of its subject, Hart Crane. While beautifully photographed, it hardly matters as nothing goes deeper than the image itself. The Kuleshov Effect can only do so much to convey a story. 

As I Lay Dying employs the the split screen the whole goddamn time. The split-screen can be great in forcing the viewers to choose between competing viewpoints which leads to further contemplation regarding what it is we are experiencing and why. Doing it throughout the entire thing allows for no stability, which is fine to some extent, but in a narrative about death, family, abuse, rape, abandonment, and poverty - stylization actually detracts from representing these emotive elements. There are some directors who can tug the ol' heart strings while being fancy with editing or mise-en-scene (Gus Van Sant, Wes Anderson, Nicolas Winding Refn, Terrence Malick, Martin Scorsese - I guess list a favorite here). I'm not sure if this is an issue of style = art - that you can't make something comprehensible that is referential AND meaningful. It's all about the aesthetic, creating something that's visually interesting, but this work offers nothing of value or significance. It's like eating ice cream for every meal. It's great at first, but leaves you cramping and pooping for days - this is perhaps the best way to describe the experience of watching a Franco film. 

Perhaps reliance on style is the sign of an insecure filmmaker, one who is afraid a film without gimmicks would belie a sense of genuine emotion that if criticized would become too hurtful and personal. Much like his literature, there is a refusal to commit and put himself out there for fear of being rejected and laughed out of both art and commercial worlds. With his current trajectory he can rely on arguments that A) the audience doesn't get his wavelengths (and if he keeps targeting 17 year old girls who don't know better, then he's absolutely right) B) His failure is part of a larger life piece he's working on that audiences still don't understand or C) trick question: there is no argument, just a shrug of the shoulders with that Cheshire grin and a moment waiting for panties to drop. Well, Carlos, nice try, but it's not going to work this time. 

But for those of you who are interested in seeing what's trolling around in my brain, I made this for you: 

THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON FRANCO