From daytime soaps to Hollywood blockbusters, twentysomething actor James Franco is everywhere these days. Women have crowned him the newest celebrity sex symbol. Homosexuals imagine him to be a “fellow traveler.” The man himself is an enigma, exuding a cool confidence in his tabloid interviews while heaping out feminine quantities of emotion on the big screen. Yet the most surprising fact about Mr. Franco, as any experienced cinema journalist will readily note, is that someone with such limited acting abilities has made it so far.
As more and more young people become engrossed in this man’s work, Mr. Franco’s inexplicable success and underlying message need to be addressed for anxious families across the nation. The mystery of this actor’s sudden appearance in American culture is partly explained by the controversial roles he has played. Besides his inclusion in the film series Spiderman, he is most well known for portraying Allen Ginsberg, the homosexual Jewish poet and founder of the North American Man Boy Love Association (NAMBLA). He won awards for appearing in Milk, a Hollywood blockbuster that details the life of 1970s homosexual socialist activist Harvey Milk. He also played a central role in the youth-oriented comedy Pineapple Express, an incredibly ill-advised movie that glorifies teen drug addiction. From this straightforward evidence, it’s not difficult to see that there is a decidely anti-Christian, extreme liberal tone to this man’s work.
On screen, there is something surprisingly disappointing about James Franco’s acting. He seems purely out of his depth with monologues, muddling his words and speaking with a sort of lispy faux-English speech impediment. His eyes regularly float out of focus, as if he’s trying to remember his lines or is hoping some off stage helper will whisper them to him. At times, he gazes confusedly straight into the camera. Heavy, awkward pauses plague him. They seem to last minutes and one wonders how many times Mr. Franco’s sequences had to be refilmed and edited to make him look somewhat coherent.
Physically, he lacks any quality of wholesomeness or moral beauty. Instead, he is wispy and effete, languid and unwashed. He often speaks with his hands and his fingers are exceptional for their delicacy. His frail frame is usually covered with dark, threadbare clothing that looks as if it has been plucked from the bottom of a Salvation Army bin. One imagines his flesh to have a briny smell– a hint of French cologne layered over a miasma of cigarettes and greasy French fries. Sadly, this anemic look has not kept Franco from appearing bare-chested regularly in public. The paparazzi (and the teen girls who follow gossip blogs) love it.
Again, all of this begs the question, why is James Franco here? Not only is he homely and untalented, he has a notorious past as a perfume thief and college dropout. Yet somehow the Hollywood liberal power elite has foisted him upon us and expects us to wholly swallow his product. It is clear from the roles he plays that Mr. Franco is promoting a sodomite atheist agenda. He chooses characters that celebrate the privileged homosexual, the ivy tower intellectual, the voracious libertine feasting on the detritus of a once great nation. This extremist activism fits in perfectly with the larger liberal agenda that rules Hollywood today. One wonders if early in his life Franco made a “deal with the devil” to promote radicalism in exchange for a film career. It’s not hard to piece together a scene where this waif of a man was picked up on Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip by Hollywood’s velvet mafia media kingpins cruising for new meat in their white limousines. (There have also been rumors, which I will not gratify here, that Franco was secretly “gay married” to actor John Travolta for a time.)
What America needs is hearty, freckle-faced heroes, boys who are guileless and full of hope. Instead the liberal media gives us Franco, looking as if he’s just masturbated himself awake and is aching for that first bong hit. Whatever happened to the broad-shouldered Michael Landons of the past? The young Christopher Reeve with those stunning blue eyes? A perfectly toned Charlton Heston whose perfectly toned voice exuded virility and moral vision? When you compare Franco’s cheaply manufactured cool to one of America’s most underappreciated actors, James Garner, there is no comparison. Jim Rockford was a master of cool, a brilliant natural.
America needs to say no more to the hateful James Franco anti-Christian propoganda machine. His embrace of the radical homosexual agenda is dangerous. The attempt to make him a role model for today’s teens is offensive and wrong. He has become a sex symbol for the weak and dejected, girls confused by a media culture that has turned rebellion into a savvy marketing ploy. For homosexual men, Franco seems to be on a personal crusade to bring back the beatnik style of the 1950s, complete with its carnal ambiguity and drug abuse. This scatterbrained intellectual featherweight is little more than a cliché of bad clichés, a half slice of a man, an atheist libertine who doesn’t even appear cognizant of the roles that he’s playing.
In the end, we must all be faithful to God’s word on this subject, as expressed so powerfully in Exodus:
You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments. –Exodus 20:3-6