Movie Review: Not Exactly Your Grandmother's Gatsby

Critics' reviews for Baz Luhrmann's interpretation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's culturally and generationally transcendent masterpiece, The Great Gatsby, have been mixed, to be coy. If I could shout anything from the rooftops in response to seeing this film, it'd be this: the common denominator for enjoying this movie is Luhrmann. If you come into it expecting to see, not only an American classic, but a Luhrmann film, in all its gaudy, festive glory, you should walk out of the theater having enjoyed yourself.

However, if you want to see the book played out before you exactly the way Fitzgerald wrote it, be warned. After all, this is the same guy who dressed Harold Perrineau in drag as a Black Mercutio. What were you really expecting?

Movie poster for Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby

If anything, Luhrmann is allowed to take liberties with the story because, at this point in time, who hasn't either read the book (even if it was only because you had to in high school) or seen one of the films? We all know the story well: the central themes of opulence, the American Dream, the decadence and restlessness of the Jazz Age. The callousness of love and the lengths we would go to in order to hold onto it, no matter how far away it is. And we are reminded that it can seem impossibly far away, even if it's just across the bay. 

Still, knowing how the story ends allows us to feel everything so much more profoundly. All of Gatsby's boyish optimism about his future with Daisy is heartbreaking because we want to believe it with him, as we did when we first encountered the story, but we know the tragedy that awaits him for wanting so badly things he simply wasn't "born with," as Tom Buchanan puts it. But our knowledge of the material, and the high pedestal on which we place Gatsby, can also be a downfall for a director who has to impress a cynical audience. We know what we're looking for in each of the roles and Luhrmann's way of introducing his reincarnated characters seems to be a grand reveal that drags on a bit long or comes off a bit too forced. For example, Daisy's first appearance is only her hand and the sound of her childlike giggles. You see a body part here and there as she is slowly uncoiled among a room of excessively billowing white curtains, until she is finally uncovered, emerging like an angel from the sea of milky white. Except, it doesn't really end up having that impact. It's more, "Get to the point, already! We know it's Carey Mulligan."

Now, it wouldn't be a true Baz Luhrmann film if it didn't have two things: an audacious, scene-stealing soundtrack and an outrageous party scene. Give Luhrmann a party scene and he becomes a kid in a candy store. "It's like an amusement park!" Nick beams wondrously at his first Gatsby party. And an amusement park it is. Luhrmann's ability to create a party scene in which everyone appears to be on acid is no new feat. Creating an ambiance of the craziest party you've ever been to is a trademark of his most famous films (again, Harold Perrineau, white wig, shimmery ensemble). But it's unfortunately not enough to make the first half of this movie any less draggy than it ended up (no pun intended, there was no cross-dressing in this film). 

The second half, I will say, surprisingly stuck pretty closely to the book and the 1974 film. And that's where it takes the cake. Although I thoroughly enjoyed Robert Redford as Gatsby and loved hating Mia Farrow as Daisy, that movie (146 minutes long) seemed to go on forever. This one (143 minutes long), while the scenes could have been shorter, was at least entertaining to look at. And to listen to. With all the hype and controversy surrounding the film's soundtrack, it's safe to say that it was hard not to notice all the modern music these 20s characters were dancing to (at one point, a group of African Americans pass by the central characters in a car being driven by a White man, while they sip champagne and blast Jay-Z's "Izzo (H.O.V.A.)"). 

But with that being said, most of the songs barely appeared for more than a passing moment. I was able to make out the opening lyrics of Florence + the Machine's dramatic ballad "Over the Love" before it left as quickly as it came. I also heard a glimpse of the barely recognizable Beyonce cover of "Back in Black" before that, too, faded away in a flash. At the end of it all, it was Jay-Z and Lana Del Rey who were the clear centerpieces of the film. Jay-Z's "$100 Bill," "No Church in the Wild," "Who Gon Stop Me" and "Izzo (H.O.V.A.)" appeared in the film/trailer. 

But Luhrmann makes it clear that Del Rey's "Young and Beautiful," which he co-wrote with her, is the real star here. The song surfaces, ever changing, several times throughout Daisy and Gatsby's encounters and really reminds you of the beautiful synergy between film and music. Sometimes, certain films are elevated by their scores and soundtracks. Similarly, certain songs are more powerful in the context of a scene. This is the case for "Young and Beautiful." While it's another musical triumph for Del Rey, on its own, it doesn't reach the crescendo, the grand finale, that you want it to. In the context of Gatsby and Daisy reuniting for the first time in years and staring ravenously into each other's eyes, it's enough to give you goosebumps. It works perfectly as the theme song of Daisy's life, and her sorrowful, passionate, if not vapid, relationship with Gatsby.

DiCaprio as Gatsby, anxiously awaiting a reunion with Daisy (Mulligan)

While I may have (and perhaps still kind of do) have my reservations about the modernized soundtrack (I would have liked to hear an Eight to the Bar song), it speaks to my earlier reference that the story of Gatsby is intergenerational. It works as well in 2013 as it did in the 20s, 40s and 70s. And it's even more so exemplified in people like Jay-Z, who can easily be considered a hip-hop Gatsby. He went from poverty to extreme wealth, prestige and being married to one of the most beautiful and powerful women on the planet (who, interestingly enough, comes from money...see what I did there?). The soundtrack is an interpretation itself of how we interpret a universal theme all these years later from a pastiche of our favorite artists across multiple genres of music. 

And of course, the film could have completely flopped if not for proper casting. Leonardo DiCaprio recalls his earlier boyishness as Gatsby, making you fall for him all over again in a way you haven't since Jack Dawson. Tobey Maguire is a perfect wallflower as the observant and perceptive Nick Carraway. Newcomer Elizabeth Debicki is stunning, yet understated, as bystander Jordan. Carey Mulligan makes for a Daisy that is more difficult to hate as she doesn't appear as vain and materialistic (probably more a result of the writing), but fairy-ish and aloof nonetheless. Joel Edgerton is deliciously virile and wicked as Tom Buchanan. And some nice surprises appear, such as Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan as Meyer Wolfsheim. 

I could go on, but I've already given you a mouthful to chew on while you contemplate how you'll feel about the remastered Gatsby. It's not perfect, and I certainly WOULD NOT recommend seeing it in 3D, but all in all, give it a fair and honest try, go in with a complete open mind and remember: it's definitely not your grandmother's Gatsby.

kNOw Justice, kNOw Peace

Oh, I was going to get to this sooner or later. I held my tongue when Lupe came out with "Bitch Bad," a song that was supposed to hold a mirror up to Black society and preach about the abomination it's turning into, but was instead met with "Oh, shut up, Lupe." I didn't say a damn thing about the ignorant backlash regarding "Hunger Games" star Amandla Stenberg (a mulatta) playing the part of Rue, who readers had (mistakenly) thought was a precious White girl. Enough is quite enough.

Amandla Stenberg

Before you proceed, please heed this caveat and abstain from getting the idea that I am lumping any race into one category. When I say Whites, I am speaking of a very specific group of White people: those who perpetuate intolerance and/or ignorance. Back to your scheduled program.

On Sunday, Jamie Foxx was presented with the 2013 Generation Award at the 2013 MTV Movie Awards (which I don't go out of my way to catch anymore). As he walked onstage, he gave the cameras, and the world, a clear shot of his t-shirt: an homage to Trayvon Martin and the victims of the Sandy Hook shooting. Above a big portrait of Martin were the words "kNOw Justice" and below the photo the words "kNOw Peace." Surrounding Martin's massive portrait were smaller photos of the children who perished at Sandy Hook. 

The backlash was immediate and unfiltered. People (specifically, White people) on Twitter were pissed. How dare he wear a controversial Black face so proudly near his heart? What nerve he had to make Martin's face bigger than the innocent (mostly White) children. The audacity that he can't just let it go, that he's standing in solidarity with an important face of the Black struggle, the Black injustice, the Black truth.

Jamie Foxx at the 2013 MTV Movie Awards

Because that's always been a problem, right? It's seen as unity and comradeship when Asians help their fellow Asians, when Hispanics look out for their fellow Hispanics and when Whites support their White brothers and sisters. But when Blacks have each other's backs, we're being exclusive. We're racist. It's a problem. It's scary. That's why we've always been divided, isn't it? They love seeing us fight each other. They bring out their popcorn and enjoy the show, the gaping fissure they've created that causes tension, even hatred, among Blacks. The second we start getting along and banding together, we must be stopped. Stopped before we become too powerful. Before our voices are heard and the truth rings free, out in the open.

Some of the tweets that were publicized in reaction to Foxx's statement t-shirt were just ignorant and others were downright hateful and meant to be degrading. It doesn't surprise me that racial tensions are at an all-time high. In fact, according to a Huffington Post article I read a while back, the percentage of White racists today is higher than it was right before Obama was elected into office. Now, don't get me wrong, we've come a long way. And I have tons of White friends who couldn't care less about race. But in this day and age, we should be a little further along than we are collectively.

Then again, we are in the age of the Internet. Where people are free to say as they please. I believe what these people do is put out this vitriol under the cloak of anonymity just to ruffle feathers, just because they can. But they spend so much time doing so, they really begin to get sucked into the contempt they put out; they become the hate they create. Perhaps so much so, that they begin to live the atrocity that they had previously preached only for a reaction.

Most of the tweets that were highlighted in the article referred to Martin as a "thug," a "nigger" and a "criminal" who got what he deserved and was rightfully wasted from this world so that he could no longer carry out crimes that CLEARLY all Black men exclusively are bound to commit. They even called Foxx a racist who "wouldn't be wearing that shirt if Trayvon Martin were white." Again, standing up for each other is "racist." Would Jamie Foxx have worn that shirt if Trayvon Martin had been White? Honestly, probably not. Not because he's a racist, but because of the cultural significance the Trayvon Martin case had in America.

Just some of the Twitter backlash in response to
Foxx's shirt (Photo courtesy of Public Shaming Tumblr)

Black culture is riddled with adages made popular by 90s hip-hop like "fuck the police" and "the White man's always trying to keep the brothers down." Of course, many people have chosen to turn a blind eye to the injustices done to African Americans both through individual racism and systematic racism. These ideas have been brushed off as conspiracy theories and excuses made by the Black community to justify their servile standing in society. Imagine the guilt that would befall White people if they had to admit that the system was really designed so that Black people have to work ten times harder just to have a remote chance at the American dream. It's comfortable to live in ignorance. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. 

If we didn't flip the channel every time a poor child in tattered clothing in a third world country showed up on the TV screen, we'd be forced to think about the things we take for granted everyday. We'd have no choice but to rot inside at the thought of living our hedonistic, gluttonous, ostentatious lifestyles. So it's comfortable not to know. Because there's a certain discomfort that arises, a guilt, if you will, when our actions don't match our beliefs. This feeling of unease is cognitive dissonance. In order to alleviate this vexation, we pretend we don't know so that we don't have to readjust the way we live to match what we actually do know to be the right thing. 

Trayvon Martin wasn't harming anyone. Nor did he have any intent to harm anyone. What he may or may not have done at any point before that night had nothing to do with the fact that he was merely walking down the street minding his own business. What happened could have been avoided had George Zimmerman followed police instructions and stayed put. The consequences of his actions exposed on a national scale what Black people had been saying all along: we're targeted simply for being Black and in the wrong place. In a place we are not welcome.

Yet still, while most of America conceded that his murder was undeniably wrong, certain people sought any reason to demonize Martin. They dug up any dirt they could to assuage the guilt of witnessing the slaughter of a teenage boy who was armed with nothing but a few snacks. Rather than calling him a "guy," "young man" or a "person," they refer to him as "thug," "nigger," "criminal." Anything that takes away his humanity and replaces it with bestiality. And they wonder why Black people get so riled up about this.

One of my favorite books is Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, about a Black man trying to find his way in a society that consistently degrades him until he is forced to become a recluse and live outside the law. From that book comes one of my favorite lines: "To whom can I  be responsible, and why should I be, when you refuse to see me?" A perfect example of what sociologists refer to as the labeling theory. If you tell someone they are something enough, eventually, they will believe it and become the very thing you've labeled them as. You tell a woman she's ugly enough, no matter how scientifically beautiful she actually is, she will begin to see ugly every time she looks at herself. 

This is what Black people have succumbed to. So long have we been told we're not good enough, we're not worthy, we're not beautiful, we can't make it, being brutish is in our nature, that we actually start to believe it. Many of us either stop trying, dumb ourselves down, act out violently or start trying to live up to White standards of perfection. For example, Nicki Minaj, who fancies herself a "Barbie" and models her look after a European aesthetic (blond hair, blue contacts, light make-up, etc.). So essentially, White people paint a picture of who they think we are, we subconsciously live up to it, and they're provided with more ammunition to say "I told you so." It's like asking someone repeatedly to slap you in the face and then getting upset when they actually do it.

Great quote from a very wise man (Photo courtesy of
Interracial Dating Facebook)

When is it going to be okay for us to stick up for each other? We've been pitted against one another for so long because they fear that when we stand together, we will become a force. We will be powerful beyond measure. But we've bought into it. Light skin vs. dark skin, Black Americans vs. Africans vs. Haitians, upper class vs. lower class. We divide ourselves up into any category we can squeeze ourselves into. It has to be okay for us to come together. It's not a matter of gathering an army so that we can take over, but so that we can merely stand next to our brothers and sisters of all races and ethnicities in equality without any struggles for power and superiority.

I wish I could relay that message to these Internet gangsters. These people who feel so safe behind the veil of a computer screen that they can so easily spit quick, reckless, spontaneous bits of venom that spread like wildfire and become immortalized in the vast abyss of the World Wide Web. But I know many of them are far too proud, too resistant, too set in their ways to listen to reason. But I want them to know anyway, that we will continue to wear these bold displays of support for all of our brethren who have been wronged, be they Black, White, Asian, Green, Red or Blue. If there is no justice, there will be no peace. And until we know justice, we cannot know peace.

Now Playing... Gin Wigmore

Let me start off by saying that I have a thing for these soulful, sultry, raspy, whiskey and cigarettes voices. I appreciate a beautiful girl with a beautiful mind and voice to match. Gin Wigmore is one of these underrated artists. Granted, she's a star in her native New Zealand, but America has yet to discover her brilliance. But they probably wouldn't care anyway. America likes what it likes and there's a certain formula here that makes you a star. Hopefully, we can stop obsessing over the predictable and give stars like Gin Wigmore a chance to shine.

"Too Late for Lovers" is a single off her orgasm of a debut album, Holy Smoke. The CD went quadruple platinum in NZ (note: platinum in ZK is selling 15,000 copies). A little bit of background: Wigmore won the US International Songwriting Competition in 2004 for her song "Hallelujah," which she wrote in memory of her father. She was the youngest and only unsigned writer in the history of the competition. Holy smoke.




"All I see are angels. I am no angel."

"127 Hours" Movie Review

I apologize for the lateness of this. I saw this film and wrote this review well over a month ago and just realized I had never published it. But just to keep some content flowing, and to help out those who are in need of a good film to watch, and to celebrate the Golden Globe nods (and snubs) for this film.

127 Hours: A-

Danny Boyle is something of a genius. The Slumdog Millionaire director managed to make a full-length film out of one man being pinned to a wall for five days. The film 127 Hours is based on the true story of hiker Aron Ralston, whose arm gets pinned in between a boulder and the wall of a cliff, rendering him trapped for five days with a very limited supply of food and water. The film shows off Boyle’s intricate signature of bright colors, varying angles, stunning racing visuals, and his love for AR Rahman.

In the picture, based on Ralston’s book, Between a Rock and a Hard Place, Ralston (portrayed by the intense, unavoidably lovable James Franco) takes a journey through Blue John Canyon near Moab, Utah in April 2003. With a ballsy spirit, he decides to tell absolutely no one where he is going. In a heart-stopping moment, Ralston comes across a loose part of the cliff, which sends him barreling down the cave…and the rock right on top of him. We watch Ralston keep himself surprisingly calm as he tries several ways to free his crushed arm, including chipping away at it with a dull knife to no avail.

Boyle creates a fabulous sense of being there as we observe a man breaking down before our eyes, forced to drink his own urine, record a visual obituary and, eventually, cut off his own arm to free himself. The gut-wrenching moments when Ralston’s water spills, when he’s forced to break his own bones and pop his veins, and the subtle sigh of relief when he is finally free ,will surely stay with you for a long time. The film will leave you appreciating little things you take for granted such as water, food, sunlight, even the ability to masturbate. It opens for wide release on November 19, 2010. Warning: this movie is NOT for the squeamish.

"Black Swan" Review

Black Swan: A

After countless views of the trailer for Darren Aronofsky's psychological doppelganger thriller "Black Swan," it's easy to think of this movie as a lustful thriller accompanied by a beautiful performance by the Natalie Portman (which, by the way, she trained and worked her ass off for to look like a real ballerina). All this is completely true, but all must be warned that it actually gets kind of gory. Had I watched this movie alone I probably wouldn't have noticed, but with a theater full of gasping, moaning and overall freaking out people, I can conclude that it might gross you out at times.

But isn't Darren Aronofsky great at that? He made a masterpiece out of "The Wrestler" using the same first-person pain-inducing techniques. With his handheld camera, ascending orchestra, brutal close-ups and swift motions, Aronofsky catapults you into the unraveling mind of Nina Sayers (Portman), a dedicated, shy, twentysomething ballet dancer who still lives with her mother, sleeps with dozens of stuffed animals and falls asleep to the sounds of a music box. You feel it every time she tears a piece of skin, suffers a hangnail, and endures whatever other bloody laceration or frightening encounter that may or may not have actually happened.

Nina starts out normal enough, but once she's made prima ballerina of "Swan Lake," she becomes obsessed with perfection, as she must be able to play both the white swan and the seductive black swan. She perfectly encapsulates the demurity of the white swan, but she cannot relinquish control enough to convincingly play the black swan. Newcomer Lily (Mila Kunis, with whom I now desire to enter into a relationship) is the epitome of the bewitching black swan, and is made her alternate by artistic director of the Ballet Company, Thomas (seductively played by the dashing, delicious Vincent Cassel that France has the pleasure of seeing as a leading man rather than the constant villain that America is exposed to).

Nina's intimidation of Lily and fear of being cast aside as former Swan Queen Beth (Winona Ryder) was drives her insane as she slowly sheds her innocent image and unleashes a darker side that sees her fighting her rival, her mother (Barbara Hershey channeling Piper Laurie in "Carrie") and herself.

The movie can be interpreted as not only the struggle for greatness in one's art, but also a narrative on the brutal nature with which Hollywood starlets are easily replaced with the next best thing and cast aside. Possibly one of the most carefully casted movies, it seems these roles were written for Portman and Ryder, the hard-working good-girl and the aging superstar who has had her time, respectively.

"Swan" may leave some wanting more, but the beauty of creating a masterpiece that speaks for itself is never having to explain anything. There are hints to Nina's self-destructive past and the ending will absolutely leave you wondering, but there couldn't have been a better way to end such a movie. Yes, it's a bit ridiculous at times, but approached from an artistic standpoint, it's a delightful, if not tragic, production and a sure Oscar contender.

(By the way, I'm not a professional critic by any means.)

Feeling Good

        It's so ironic that this song is what I'm posting for the first time in almost a month considering this is the worst day I've had in a very long time. BUT when my days are bad, my dark side rages and it's manifested in art like this. This is not the video I wanted to post. The actual video to this song is SICK and twisted and so I love it, and I encourage you to watch it on YouTube, but the song is really good too. This song is known for being difficult to cover. Many have tried, many have failed, Michael Buble did wonderful and, of course, Ms. Nina Simone was the ultimate. But this cover is different. I've been sleeping on Muse for a long time but I may actually pay closer attention to them now. It only take something like this to get my attention. This is probably the most original cover I've ever heard of this song, and it's incredibly sexy. Enough blabber. Sit in your dark room, close your eyes, turn this up, and listen. Repeat if necessary.

Now Playing...Hooverphonic

I'm crazy about this song. It's called "Mad About You", by Belgian pop/rock group Hooverphonic. The trippiness and dramatic organization of this song almost makes me feel like I'm in some surreal forbidden love story, and I want the whole world to know about it! The song is from 2000, but we definitely need some music like this in the mainstream. The video's a bit creepy, but that's just how I like it.





"Trouble is my middle name, but in the end I'm not too bad. Can someone tell me if it's wrong to be so mad about you?" If I thought it was anything less than cherry, I wouldn't suggest it.

Young Black Hollywood

     As many of you might have heard, seeing as it is kind of old news, Vanity Fair's March issue featured what they referred to as the stars of "New Hollywood." The cover featured nine beautiful actresses supposedly on the rise, but there was only one problem...it seems they took the word "fair" quite seriously.

     You see, it just so happened that all nine of those gorgeous ingenues were white. They represented the ideal physical beauty that Hollywood is known to perpetuate: young, fresh-faced, fair-skinned, and thin. Actresses Abbie Cornish, Kristen Stewart, Carey Mulligan, Amanda Seyfried, Rebecca Hall, Mia Wasikowska, Emma Stone, Evan Rachel Wood, and Anna Kendrick were apparently the only ones that Vanity Fair could think of. Some of these actresses I completely understand. Kirsten Stewart is everywhere, Carey Mulligan was exceptional in "An Education," Amanda Seyfried has made quite a name for herself, and Evan Rachel Wood is never too far away from America's conscious.

     But the magazine neglected rising stars like Gabourey Sidibe of "Precious" and Zoe Saldana when conjuring up their list. As I was reflecting upon this in disappointment, I wondered how long it would take for a major magazine to strike back with a cover full of ethnic, diverse women.

     Well, in August, someone finally decided to strike back. Publicist Arian Simone came out with her own, exclusively digital publication called "Fearless Magazine." On the premiere cover are eight of the most insignificant actresses in Hollywood.

     I know that may seem harsh, but they could have done wayyyy better. Lauren London, Monique Coleman, Tia Mowry, Tiffany Hines, Naturi Naughton, Kyla Pratt, Jennifer Freeman, and Chyna Layne are the eight black actresses gracing this cover, and only a couple of them are actually relevant. Many of you may remember Jennifer Freeman from the hit sitcom "My Wife and Kids," and most recently for abusing her NBA husband. I haven't seen Kyla Pratt in years, nor has Lauren London appeared in a film since giving birth to Lil Wayne's baby...you get the point. The point is...we failed to make a point with this retaliation.


  Who do you think should have been on Vanity Fair's cover?

Fantasia Barrino Continued...

     I apologize for the hiatus on my blog. As you may know, I am a college student and this week I served as a volunteer on campus to help welcome in the new freshman. So occasionally, I will be too overwhelmed with school and work responsibilities to update. But I'll try to get to it as much as I can.

     The reason I am doing this post is because my very first post was a comparison on how Fantasia Barrino and Alicia Keys, both allegedly in affairs with married men, were each treated by the media. In the post, based on an article I read on theroot.com, I mentioned how their skin color could possibly be one of the reasons Fantasia was treated much more harshly than Alicia. This article was a real debate-starter and got the wheels turning in my mind as well.

     Fantasia has just recently revealed in an interview with Vibe magazine that she believes the reason she was treated differently was because of her skin tone and ethnic features. In the interview, she takes it a step further, saying she believes her skin tone, ethnic features, and short hair also got her excluded from red carpet coverage spreads in popular magazines.

     In my opinion, Fantasia took something that the black media was saying in her defense and ran with it as far as she could. Now, while I do believe her skin tone played a part, it is very unlikely that was the whole reason she was treated differently from the Alicia Keys and Angelina Jolies. Fantasia claims that it was difficult being on American Idol, where everyone was "barbied out," as she she says.

     But she forgets to mention that she won the competition. Despite being a teen single mother, dark-skinned, and having a full nose and full lips, the American audience still voted her the winner. With all the pressure and embarrassment following her suicide attempt, I think Fantasia is now trying to play the victim card. And, in my opinion, all this press and all these interviews are putting her back in the spotlight conveniently close to the release of her album.

     Going back to American Idol, she is held to different standards than celebrities not affiliated with that name. And not only that, but her scandal, unlike the others, involved the possible existence of a sex tape. People want to know that the person they rooted for and voted for is not a sex-tape-making, shameless homewrecker. Alicia Keys got into this business on her own accord, and Angelina Jolie already had a reputation as a rebel. The American public feel like Fantasia was made into a star only with their support.

     Fantasia can use the race card as much as she wants, but there are many other factors involved that she overlooked in her haste to defend herself. And if there's one thing that annoys me, it's when people don't own up and try to play the victim instead. What do you think about the situation?
   

Discovering Franco

     I recently came across a brilliant piece of work by New York Magazine. One of the writers, Sam Anderson, wrote an intriguing, complex profile of actor James Franco. Franco is known for the insanely good looks that led him to be the face of Gucci's most recent ad campaign as well as his roles in films such as "Spiderman" and "Pineapple Express" (shout out to all my fellow "Freaks and Geeks" lovers!). In 2008, Franco impressed the world when he decided to attend graduate school at NYU, but that quickly diminshed when a risible picture of him asleep in a lecture class began circulating the internet. The world let out a big scoff, followed by arrogant cries of, "I knew it." Franco, they assumed, got a free pass because of his looks and his name. They shook their heads and brushed him off as a burnout, much like his "Freaks and Geeks" character, Daniel Desario.

     In this profile, Franco acknowledges constantly being compared to the characters he has played. From being called a homosexual for his roles in films such as "Milk" and "Howl" to being called a pothead because of his roles in "Freaks and Geeks" and "Pineapple Express", Franco is consistently misunderstood and perpetually mysterious.

     But what the world doesn't know about him is that the picture of him sleeping was not, in fact, in one of his classes, but a lecture he wanted to sit in on after an entire day of classes and work because he wanted to hear the speaker.

     Classmates, professors, and friends alike insist that Franco is one of the most hardworking people. Currently, the Renaissance man is enrolled in three different colleges, bouncing around New York just to make all of his classes, flying around the world to continue his acting, and taking on several other projects. And, much to the surprise of the world, he does not smoke, drink, or do drugs.

     In fact, he could not even possibly find the time to do so. Franco appears to be, in the most bizarre way, a kind of Superman who can take on many things at once with extreme focus. And a man who is proudly heterosexual, but not afraid to be called a homosexual and pose connfidently for the cover of Out magazine. Franco has gone from being just a pretty face to being taken seriously as an actor, scholar, and all-around artist.

   From the most mystifying gestures (see, in profile: The Wink) to the violent and obscene art show he participates in, and even the sad, sweet, humorous reaction four-year-old Franco had upon hearing about the death of a family friend, Anderson exposes Franco boldly while never really being able to solve the mystery. Nevertheless, it's a fascinating read (albeit an 8-page one), and serves as a magnificent example of what a profile should be to all aspiring journalists......and Franco lovers. =)


(Photo Courtesy of Ann.)