James Franco is hard to figure out. He plays a lazy stoner in flicks like “Pineapple Express,” but uses his downtime to work toward various graduate degrees. He’s posed in drag for Candy Magazine and convincingly portrayed Harvey Milk’s lover, but has a girlfriend of six years. He loves the Twilight books — requested (and was refused) a role in the films — and isn’t a 14-year- old girl. On “General Hospital” last summer, Franco played an artist that took his craft so seriously he killed people for it. Fittingly, the character’s name is “Franco.” And with the recent release of Oscar-contender “127 Hours,” James Franco’s confus- ing behavior has been grabbing even more headlines.
Back in September 2010, in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, Franco said that he mastur- bates up to four or five times a day. Firstly, what kind of workaholic has that much fucking time? Secondly, the interview about his self-pleasure habits coincided with the release of “127 Hours” — a movie revolving around self-mutilation. Once again, the actor is making strides to avoid public definition.
As if to drive the point home, in December, the New York Times released 14 silent films titled “14 Actors Acting,” in which Franco was featured. While most of the shorts involved melodramatic characteriza- tions (a crying Tilda Swinton and a screaming Jennifer Lawrence), Franco was filmed French-kissing a mirrored image of himself. Either director Solve Sundsbo has a sense of humor, or Franco is screwing with us — and history indicates that the latter is the likelier option.
But no move has been more controversial than his decision to host the Oscars this year with Anne Hathaway. In addition to being one of the youngest hosts of all time, Franco admitted on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” that he took on the role to avoid obsessing over the possibility of win- ning his first Oscar (no host has ever taken home the gold man). He essen- tially took himself out of the equation after months of training for a grueling and harrowing role — dodging the assumption that actors take on char-
acters in hopes of Oscar gold.
Though the trend is evident to anyone who’s followed the UCLA grad’s career, the bigger question is to what purpose he continues to promote such confusion. Other than the obvious (it keeps him in the pub- lic eye), a quick scan of the actor’s resume reads like a hodgepodge of some of the most interesting and dynamic roles in cinema — a freak (or maybe a geek?), “Spiderman”’s brooding Harry Osborn and now a cocksure rock climber. Franco has managed what few actors achieve: He’s escaped the dreaded typecast, keeping his own personality an amorphous mass of conflicting stereotypes.
The man’s struck upon a winning formula — as the interviews continue to roll in and James Franco’s figure becomes further convoluted through the dregs of pop culture rumor, new facets are added to his public persona. At this rate, he’s guaranteed one of two paths: a fulfilling and varied career in cinema, or life as a bipolar schizophrenic. I’m betting on the former.