Unnecessarily Embarrassingly Bad: James Franco's "Child of God"

Felt like people will say positive things about James Franco because of this movie, but I think those things will be unwarranted. The film itself is okay, particularly the middle.

The entire time up to until Franco showed up, I kept thinking, "I don't want to see James Franco. I don't want James Franco to actually be in this." Felt the same thing, really, when James Franco did show up, because his appearance was so small that it was honestly banal, unnecessary, and stupid.

Felt as though someone told James Franco about this "fucked up," "dark," "morbid," "twisted" novel, which made James Franco think, "Woah. I want to shock audiences with feces, necrophilia, cross-dressing, and human face-mask wearing a la 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'." But Franco's film was NOT as dark/morbid/twisted as it was trying to be.

Felt weird by people who laughed or snickered whenever Lester spoke to his stuffed animals. Yes, it would be funny if you or I spoke to stuffed animals, since you and I live in the city and can connect with literally anyone. But it was not funny for Haze's character to speak to stuffed animals; on the contrary, his doing so spoke volumes about the necessity of companionship against loneliness.

Also, felt it was very clear-cut that Lester was mentally retarded, making the story much more heartbreaking because it was set in a time and place where other people didn't understand that.

Felt as though this could have been made much darker than it was; could have been made to be actually shocking and, thus, actually worth seeing as a movie instead of reading as a book. For example: Do Not burn a teddy bear lying face down in the coals of a fire to visually symbolize the fact that Lester's beloved girl-corpse is burning to ashes--show it, James Fracno, you fucking coward! If one of James Franco's purposes for making the the film was a desire to 'shock audience' with a 'dark and twisted' story, then he failed. The story is, in fact, dark and twisted, but that has nothing to do with James Franco or the film he co-wrote, directed, and appeared in; that is, the novel's complex darkness comes from Cormac McCarthy's story. A mere glance at the Wikipedia Page for the novel will show just how much more enriching the text is compared to the film.

Felt, at the very beginning of the film, that it was clumsily handled and, upon further reflection, felt that the ending was very clumsily handled as well. Before the film, there was a brief hoopla given by the New York Film Critics-blah-blah-blah spokesman, during which he called the film "complex" and James Franco as "talented." Shortly after the start of the movie, I thought, "It (the film) would have been better/tighter/neater if James Franco wasn't trying to do/be literally all of these different things at once (actor, poet, writer, director, producer, etc.)." Thought, "Maybe if James Franco weren't doing so many different things all the time, maybe if he focused his energy on one project and really tackled that one project, he might actually produce something quite good and then (and only then) may he possibly be worthy of the label 'talented'." Doing a million things at once is not talent: it just means you're taking drugs that make you manically scatterbrained. Talent is the ability to say and express something beautiful and heartfelt through dedicated hard work and James Franco simply spreads himself too thin to be genuinely talented.

This was an okay movie, so I would recommend seeing it, but DO NOT, as I did, pay $14 to see it. I nearly jumped when the snotty ticket seller at The Music Box told me the price. Since I was with friends, I coughed up the money, but had I known the price beforehand, I wouldn't have paid that much to see anything James Franco was involved in. Since James Franco was the "director," I knew the film would suck in certain regards because James Franco was attached to it. My god, every poster and trailer prominently displays James Franco's name and face as a character of note in the film, but really: "James Franco" is highly mentioned as an important actor in the film because James Franco couldn't see enough "James Franco" on the promotional materials, what with James Franco being the film's director, co-writer, and (probably) a producer of some sort. And who knows: maybe the "talented" James Franco did more than just that: I'm talkin' he applied the makeup and stitched the costumes himself because James Franco is. So. God. Damn. Talented!

Speaking of talent: Scott Haze. And I sincerely mean real talent. Haze was phenomenal in the film, diving deeply into the character of Lester Ballard, although maybe the real talent was working so closely with James Franco. Aside from the story, which would be better enjoyed via reading the Cormac McCarthy novel, this film's real saving grace is Scott Haze's performance.

In the first part/chapter of the film, there is narration and text.
First: The narration sounded as though several people were speaking, as though it was not the same person, which I thought was a smart choice because the story was being set up in the form of small town gossip, so it made sense for there to be numerous persons speaking. But after the film, outside, my friend and her roommate both commented on the narration, saying it was unnecessary, which I inferred to mean they hadn't noticed the different voices, which made me wonder: were there different voices, which would have been a smart choice, or just one voice who was narrating terribly? I had thought the former, but maybe it was actually the latter, which would have been bad and another factor of the "clumsy" handling of the film.
Second: There were times when text appeared on the screen, which I assumed were actual passages from Cormac McCarthy's novel, which at first seemed interesting and I thought was done in an O.K. fashion. But here's what really sucked about it: text appeared on the screen literally only two (2) times. If one is going to put text in a film, particularly quotes from the novel itself, then there should be numerous instances of text appearing on the screen, not just two. Two just makes the use of text all the more unnecessary. What made it worse was, while the first textual passage was rather intriguing, the second textual passage was literally so dumb. The second passage was nothing more than saying that the sheriff walked through a door to stand on the porch outside. And then the film literally showed Tim Blake Nelson walk through a door to stand on the porch outside. Had the film been better handled, an interesting stylistic choice might have been to cut from the text (i.e. - the simple stage direction) to Tim Blake Nelson already standing on the porch, lighting up a cigarette. Don't show us what you just told us; pick one or the other, for Christ's sake! As a good artist friend of mine maintains: don't tell AND show all at once. And I'm not talking about all text; indeed, another form of technical text that appeared in the film was "I:, II:, III:" which segmented the film into three 'chapters'. I liked this, thinking that the 'chapter'-text segments were properly placed, so I suppose the film editor did a good job with that.

But Scott Haze gave a phenomenal performance.  Tim Blake Nelson did a good job too. I remember really thinking his face looked haggard, which I felt was done on purpose (i.e. - makeup) for his character. He did a good job, but two of the lines he delivered were, I thought, truly terrible. Upon hearing them, I had the impression that they had been penned by Mr. Talented! The first was just a clumsy line near the beginning, when Tim Blake Nelson's character asks what malignant plans Lester has lain out to do. I can't remember it properly, nor can I remember the second line at all, but it was so bad I literally cringed (I mean it: I literally, physically cringed from intellectual discomfort from that second line when I heard it) and then I was aware of my ass in an uncomfortable seat and I shifted uncomfortably because there was only just enough room for my legs before they banged into the chair in front of me and I have blocked the quote from my memory it was so fucking bad! Again, this second terrible quote from the sheriff seemed to have been the spawn of James Franco's wannabe writer desire.

Okay, so as I said, it's an okay movie, but I wouldn't pay high theater prices to see it if I were you and, actually, now that I think of it: Just read the novel instead, as I plan to do.

BLACK CLOUD by Juliet Escoria

I was fortunate to hear Juliet Escoria read "Trouble and Troubledness" at a July 11th reading called Maritial Problems, hosted by Rachel Bell, in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood. I remember really liking the story she read, especially the parts where the narrator cuts herself, because those moments where written and read so vividly they stuck in my mind. I also liked the part where she had sex with two boys at the same time because they were dating her two friends and her two friends were mean to her. Another thing I liked was that the story was segmented into sections marked by roman numerals. I like the structural implications of doing things like that in written art forms. This may be one reason why I really like Stephen King: Just about all of his novels are segmented into "Parts," "Chapters," and sections. After the reading ended, I saw Escoria selling a copy of her book to Nathan Masserang and I decided to buy a copy, too. So I thanked her for her reading and asked to buy a copy and so bought a copy of BLACK CLOUD (Civil Coping Mechanisms, 2014).
Later that night, while I stood on the platform of the State/Lake Red Line stop, I read the back cover's promotional review statements. I recognized names like "Beach Sloth," "Mira Gonzalez," "Electric Literature," "San Diego." I enjoyed the promotional review statements, finding Sloth's to be the most enticing: "brutal, honest, dark, and incredibly real." Perhaps that's why it was placed as the last of the reviews, so people would finish reading the promotional review statements feeling excited and pumped for Juliet Escoria. I must say, it had that effect on me, so when I entered the Red Line and sat down, I eagerly began reading BLACK CLOUD.
I think, first, I really appreciated the fact that each story was further made into a separate and individual thing by the pictures and theme-guiding phrases that accompany each story. I think every picture-word combo is probably related to the companion videos which are the stories being read (by the author, i think), but, having not seen them, I'm not sure. I've only read the book.
Remember being surprised by "Fuck California," like when you drive past a car crash on the highway, it came and went so quickly I reeled, but in an exciting, albeit dark, way. Confusion's "The Other Kind of Magic" really blew me away. I thought it was so accurate, so true to life. I have friends who go through similar situations and I feel as though the casual way in which twenty-first century affairs occur has never been as accurately portrayed as in Escoria's skilled hands. Not only that, but I felt a connection to the main character in this story, particularly when Escoria wrote, "and because you're bad at lying, you stare out the window," which is something I do because I'm also bad at lying. I took out my pen on the Red Line and underlined that sentence. "Reduction" made me sad near the end, given the way the man in the story reacted to learning about the woman's miscarriage. Felt bad, sad, guilty, disgust that men react so pigheadedly towards women and that women put up with it or are forced to put up with it and I wish it weren't so, which I think Escoria was trying to point out: Women, don't put up with shitty men.
Guilt's "Heroin Story" was both funny and poignant, light and dark, insightful and shallow, which is, of course, the entire point, wherein the narrator of that story is self-involved, further proving Escoria's superior mastery of effectively assuming different tones of voice throughout the stories. All of the main characters may seem to be the same in each of these twelve stories (unhappy, troubled, messed-up young women), but each main character is distinctly different, an individual woman with separate flaws, separate strengths, and wholly human. Whoever edited the arrangement of the stories should be commended for selecting "The Sharpest Part of Her" as the next story. This was the last story I read on the Red Line before I arrived at the Morse stop. I remember thinking how incredibly real and mundanely fucked up the abuse seemed. Brilliantly written such that the narrator, while wise and resigned, balances for us the love and hate, sympathy and caution, her childhood self experienced growing up under the rule of a drug addicted and mentally unstable mother. After I read this story, I went back to the preceding picture-and-a-word page and wrote "truly moving" next to DISGUST W/R/T the story's final sentences.

*****

The next day, July 12, I made my way to Pilsen to fulfill an obligation before going to a reading located somewhere off the Brown Line. My beginning travels consisted of riding the Red Line to State/Lake where I transferred to the Pink Line(!) for 18th. I remember reading "Glass, Distilled" and thinking, 'wtf?' re: reading the feeding of mice to fish while strangers sat on the train around me; they had no idea what I was reading and I felt that they would find it disturbing if they did know what I was reading, but I liked the story and I liked it all the more for the fact that people would probably be alienated from me if they knew what sort of things I was reading. Sick. Vivid. But also deeply interconnected and is an example of Escoria's beautifully elliptical thematic style. "Hurricane Season" was quite good. I liked the clearcut realization the narrator has while seeing the man desiring her as much as he used to love alcohol. I remember thinking the ending was abrupt, but I liked that, reading it as an intentional technique to show the finality of the narrator's choice to walk away.
Shortly after graduating university, mid-May 2011, I read Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story "The Yellow Wallpaper" while in a waiting room. As I sat there, I'm sure the receptionists thought I was odd because if, like me, you really get sucked into stories and experience feelings and sensations by the words on the page, you'll get sucked into "The Yellow Wallpaper." Which is what happened to me: the further I got into the story, the more I associated with the main character and felt fear & terror & suspense & paranoia and experienced physiological changes (increased heart rate, quicker breathing, widening eyes) that made me feel like my mind was crazy. Juliet Escoria's "Mental Illness on a Weekday" had the same effect on me. It is quite short (perhaps it and some or all of the other stores are flash fiction?), but Escoria's keen writing produced within me similar results: I began associating with the narrator and I have felt feelings as is described by the narrator, though not for prolonged periods of time. The piece culminates frighteningly and excitedly into a rallying poem that demands all people give into their manic impulses so as to free themselves. I also remember underlining and really liking the line, "I want to kiss you on the cheek and punch your quiet mouth." I think it is a beautiful line for a beautiful story.
"I Do Not Question It" was fuller; more history for the narrator to explain to us, making it a good followup story to "Mental Illness on a Weekday." After the rapidity of both "Mental Illness on a Weekday" and "Hurricane Season," the story of Powerlessness gave me something bigger to hold on to, to care about for a longer amount of time. I really liked the advice and lines, "'Stop thinking,' he would tell me, so I stopped. It worked. It's harder than it sounds but it's easier than you might think." I liked the progression of the words in these lines and the sentiments which they contain. It is similar to how I sometimes write things. I also like it because I often over-think situations/everything, so I was able to connect with these lines. "Grunion Run" startled me, both for the sudden fate of the characters in the story and for the sudden way Escoria brought about their fate, hiding it from us until the final possible moment. I was pleasantly shocked and wrote "holy shit!" next to the Self-Loathing picture. Upon a second reading 3 days later, I noticed foreshadowing/thematic words peppered throughout. Pleasant enough to read at first, their weight and importance doesn't become known until the ending opens up beneath you. Escoria's softly thematic words are used so skillfully that her stories demand/necessitate a second reading. Envy's "Here Is a Ghost Story" is a prime example of a story that thematically and choice-of-diction-ly employs an elliptical structure. Little bits from here and there throughout the story are recycled in the story's dream ending. I liked that while the dead fiance is dead, she is not really dead; in the mind of the narrator, she still lives and breathes and taunts.
After Pilsen and aboard a Brown Line for Paulina, I quickly read the last story, "Trouble and Troubledness," which Escoria had read the night before. I liked it even more while reading it because I was familiar with the story. I took out my pen to bracket and star a paragraph that I remembered very clearly from the night before; the paragraph where the narrator bites down on the plastic head of a razor to get the blade out and then cuts her arm quite deeply. I also remembered/loved the parts where a boyfriend chases her around the house with a knife and the part where she really gets into crop circles and aliens. I remembered loving the final lines of VII, so I underlined them: "sometimes you just want to make something on yourself that will never go away, something you shaped, something that will be there forever: a sign for someone else to find." Another thing I liked about this story was that it is a perfect story to end with; for, while the narrator is telling us her dark past, she scatters hints that she is better now and stronger and free of addictions, which ultimately gives this story, and the book, a happy ending of sorts, which I find is fitting for the book as a whole.
There are bad places and dark themes in Juliet Escoria's BLACK CLOUD, but there are also glimmers of hope, of happiness, of redemption. Often they are presented in such offhand ways that the silver lining for the characters in this book can be easily overlooked. But those silver linings are there, provided sometimes as beautiful insights spun off almost as afterthoughts amidst the heartbreak and broken lives of the characters. Juliet Escoria's BLACK CLOUD, while available for free as videos online, is, as a physical book, absolutely worth it; it is worth reading, worth sharing with others, worth your time and money and deeply invested attention.