I Watch James Franco Suck Dick

Paul and I were attending the LA Film Fest a few weeks ago in downtown. It’s a fairly big do here in town. But it’s a funny thing; considering that this is the epicenter of film in the English speaking world, you’d think that the event would be a lot more glamorous. Yet, it always feels a tad underwhelming.

The hot fests to premiere your film at are Sundance, Cannes, Toronto, Venice and even South by Southwest has more caché. LAFF is instead left with a kind of ragtag bunch of cinema bits and pieces to help it pad out its ten days.

To be honest, I rarely see a film at the Fest, instead, the talks are where it’s at. This is the best fest to go and see people speak who are the giants of the industry. Great writers, directors, actors flock to the fest because they can basically drive from their houses.

This year one of the hot tickets was to “A Night with James Franco”, and so Paul and I snatched up a pair and headed out to see what the man had to say. And in true Hollywood style it wasn’t till we took our seats in the cinema that I turned to Paul and said, “Do you have any idea what this is about tonight?” Who cares? It’s James Franco.

The man who presented the Oscars off his tree, gets up in drag for magazine covers and then goes to his American Lit class at Yale to get a PhD is a man I’d happily while away an hour or two with.

However, this is where it pays to do your homework.

The event of the evening is to watch his passion project, The Broken Tower. He plays Hart Crane, a struggling poet and the author of the poem that gave title to the film. It’s all shot in black and white in a 1930’s New York, Paris and Mexico. It was probably made for half a million or less.

A couple of minutes in, when you realize that there’s going to be no stock standard character set up, adventure by numbers, slo-mo explosions or anything remotely akin to the films you’re so used to watching, you squirm in your seat as you fight this strange tasting dish.

Then once you settle into it, it’s not too bad. Odd cinematography, strange storytelling style but actually, all up, OK. Get into it a little more and find that there are things about this film you’re enjoying, and you start to feel clever.Very clever indeed.

Oh, I’m sitting here in the audience of a private screening of James Franco’s art film and I completely get it. And you begin to pity the masses who lined up for hours to get in to the Green Lantern premiere. I’m a true cinephile, yes I am. More popcorn please.

Then then whole thing took a rather weird turn. The character of Hart Crane struggles with his homosexuality as it’s frowned upon in 1930’s America. The irony that not a lot has changed in 2011’s America is kind of hilarious.

At least I’d be laughing about it except that suddenly in the film, James is locking tongues with a guy that he’s picked up. I mean, they are going for gold. To the point where even I’m getting a little uncomfortable.

Then there is a zip.

Then James’ head disappears out of shot.

Then James is performing fellatio on what turns out to be a rather sizable male member. Full screen, no punches pulled. There he is, going up and down and up and down.

I am so stunned that I actually poke Paul, as if to say, “Are you seeing this?” Paul looks back as if to say, “Am I blind?”

Thank goodness we are all in the dark, because I’m sure most of the audience blushed. I don’t remember what happened in the next few moments of the film. All I could think about was who in the audience really wants to leave but doesn’t want to look uncool, who is pretending that they aren’t fazed, who is seeing two guys go at it for the first time?

The film winds its artistic way through another hour or so including one scene where Hart Crane reads a poem aloud to an audience for ten minutes.

Finally the credits roll, because in an art film you never can see the end coming, the lights come on, James comes out and there is only one thing that everyone is thinking.

The night is thrown open for Q&As with the audience. This should be interesting, I thought. And it was.

One person asked about the poet, another about the budgets, another about the cinematography, another about the locations, another about the other actors. In short, no one asked what everyone was thinking about.

Then one person asks about the scene where he does the ten minute reading of the poem and why that was there.

James thinks about this for a moment, then leans forward into his microphone.

James: You know, before the premiere tonight, I was sure there were two scenes I’d be asked about. That scene and the one with the blowjob.

The whole audience laughs, grateful that the ice has finally been broken. Then they go quiet very quickly. Hang on, were we supposed to laugh then?

James then goes on to talk about that poem scene in detail and why it’s in there. And in fairness, I like the film more when I hear him speak about it. He’s very self-effacing, tells people that he doesn’t understand most of what this guy wrote and he’s trying to get his PhD in this stuff. Everyone felt relieved that they weren’t supposed to get it.

And equally relieved that the blowjob thing had been brought up because someone’s going to ask now. Right? Nope.

Even when there was time for just one last question, someone used it to talk about the lighting.

So there it is, in a country that is so obsessed about the sexuality of every single person in public view, a twenty-foot James Franco sucks a seven-foot dick on-screen, invites a group of people to ask him why, and no one has the balls to do it.

Not even me.

 

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One Response to I Watch James Franco Suck Dick

  1. Pingback: James Franco nude (fake) | Excellent Top Gay Porn Blog

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