Because that James Franco post from last night probably didn't make sense to anybody other than myself, I suppose I should explain where it came from and also, as a consequence, revisit an old gimmick of this here blizzog: the Irrational Hatred file.
Apparently, I like to discuss my irrational hatred during the Olympics, as the two previous entries were Anton Apollo Ohno and Michael Phelps. You probably don't remember them and I most certainly wouldn't, had I not irrationally hated them, but they were gold medal winning Americans with douchiness and arrogance to spare, respectively.
Maybe it's my recent infatuation with Charlie Sheen's epic WINNING meditations that has me reenergized to delve back into this (remember kids, Charlie Sheen says that you have to love violently and hate violently: there's no in between.) but I feel like last night's Oscars was probably the tipping point for this post about my irrational hatred for James Franco.
Yes, folks. James Franco.
I can hear you already: "James Franco? How can you hate James Franco? I love James Franco. James Franco's so, like, cool and, did you see him at the Oscars? James Franco looked like he was high and, like, James Franco seems really nice and like... James Franco James Franco James Franco..."
Well, I'm sorry, but I do hate him. And since you're here and still reading, I might as well tell you why.
For going on a good year, it feels like I have been unable to escape the endless barrage of stories painting James Franco as a renaissance man. Maybe it was just a coordinated effort by his people to get him the Oscars gig, but it felt like every magazine I opened or website I visited had some version of the same story going on Franco.
It goes something like this:
James Franco is not a man: he is a swirling storm of creativity that converts oxygen into art. James Franco is a renaissance man. James Franco doesn't sleep. James Franco is an actor and a fiction writer, who has found the time go back to school and complete a handful of graduate programs in New York. He's got an art collection opening in Berlin and he's probably an astronaut or, if not that, at least a classically-trained 12-string guitar player and a red seal chef and solar energy lobbyist and animal trainer."
I go to nytimes.com for some news and BOOM, James Franco header about how he's attending graduate school and writing a collection of short stories while also acting. He's GQ's Man of the Year because he's so... awesome. He's in the Gazette, the Mirror, the Hour... all the stories say the same thing.
James Franco is playing Alan Ginsberg. James Franco is a writer. James Franco is a renaissance man. James Franco invented chess and churns his own butter.
Well, so what? He's playing Alan Ginsberg in a movie; it doesn't mean he's Alan Ginsberg (someone who I don't irrationally hate, for the record.) I read one of his short stories, which was published in a glowing blog post I masochistically read. The story wasn't bad or anything. It was alright. I mean, it didn't suck, but it's not like I could tell you what the story was about six months later. Something about photographs and a girl and bad memories?
I think that's what I'm trying to get at with James Franco: does the fact that he is merely doing a lot necessitate the kind of acclaim he is receiving?
I mean, I've seen a few of his movies and it's not like I think he's a bad actor. I actually thought he played a pretty good spurned, loner best friend in Spiderman... and I didn't revolt against the 90-some-odd-minute James Franco soliloquy that was 127 Hours (which I again masochistically put myself through.) But the kicker is that people just LOVE James Franco and they absolutely SWOON OVER James Franco and when I ask why that is, it's always... "he was funny in Pineapple Express as that stoner."
I feel this comment - which I trolled out from an latimes.com blog about the Oscars - sums up the pro-Franco sentiment perfectly:
A beautiful soul indeed. Thanks Linda...
People love him, but they don't really know why. Maybe my irrational hatred is necessary for the universe, in order to balance out all of that irrational Franco love out there?
With James Franco, are we confusing ambition and potential with achievement here? If so, why do I feel like there's something empty (and almost immoral) about celebrating that?
I didn't watch much of the Oscars really last night - other than to see that bat-shit crazy supporting actress broad from the Fighter go out-of-body during her acceptance speech and also to pray that Kirk Douglas didn't die during his monologue - but the brief glimpses I caught of co-host James Franco had me again questioning what all the hype is about. Sure, he was sort of funny and looked sort of comfortable up there, but I just didn't get it... Was anyone captivated or taking aback by his presence? (Other than good old Linda, of course.)
I think if anything, people should be applauding the talents of James Franco's PR staff for making us all love JAMES FRANCO, when really, he hasn't done all that much to warrant it. Has he? Am I missing something? I feel if Charlie Sheen had James Franco's publicist, we'd all be spewing GNARLYISMS and loving/hating each other violently.
So there, that's my opinion. There's my beef. That's why I irrationally hate James Franco. It's nothing personal (and remember, this is IRRATIONAL hate, people) but it's just something I had to explain, once and for all.
Note: The reason I irrationally hate him could also be due to the fact that he has that inexhaustible reserve of energy that I can't comprehend and because he isn't limiting himself to just one domain. Note for Note: I am a lazy c-word. And irrational hate is easy. Three times a Note: Ironic then perhaps that I would devote an hour to writing/poorly researching a post devoted to irrationally hating someone I haven't met. Fourth Note: I haven't yet decided whether I irrationally hate James Franco with violence. Sorry, Charlie.