That One Time James Franco was my Teacher
A few months after graduating college, I was accepted into a studio class taught by James Franco. Yes, Harry Osborn from Spiderman/Sal from Pineapple Express/Seth Rogen’s buddy. You can imagine my family and friends’ reactions: James Franco?! No way! Can I go with you to class?! Don’t be like that 17 year old from New York.
That last one was low, but it was no surprise. James is consistently in the limelight.
The class, the purpose of which was to tell stories of the different stages of a relationship, whether a one-night stand or a new or a fizzling romance,was also documented for James’ behind-the-scenes web series. Students were paired into 10 different groups, consisting of two actors, one writer,and one director. I was one of the 10 writers.
So, what was James Franco like in person? Sometimes, I didn’t even know if he was stoned or not because he rambled on and on. He would make these over-the-top facial gestures prior to giving us creative feedback. It was like even he was unsure of what to say to us. But it was understandable that he was busy and tired; teaching three classes back-to-back (a total of nine hours of school) would take a toll on anyone. Also, this was around the time when The Interview got axed from theaters and James was supposedly sick from the stress.
He usually stumbled into class on the dot and went straight to his seat, looking like he was disrupted from an overnight, insomniac painting session. His usual attire was a t-shirt, rolled-up pants, and black Keds slip ons with paint splatter on them. This one time, he even fell asleep during one of the student film screenings.
That was the thing with James — you never knew what the hell he was thinking about or how he would react.
I was a bit starstruck upon meeting him. I had always respected his work and dedication, especially when he had branched out into different areas of art and filmmaking. The guy is always working. He even worked during the Halloween party that he had invited the class to, having us as background extras for Zeroville, which he shaved his head for.
James was sort of like my college film professors. I ran ideas by him, which he was always in sync with. Yet, discussions were not as “normal”. But he did always have feedback on our group’s film, Black Mantis, a story about a trauma survivor who seeks justice from her attacker.
The most interesting feedback that he gave our group was his elaboration to my pitch of character A burning character B with a cigarette. (Originally, our film was an S&M storyline.) “She should call him, ‘My little leopard,’ while pushing the cigarette into his skin,” he said.
We loved it, but I think it scared the class. You could tell that James dug it because of his grin, the one where you’re unsure if he wants to laugh or not.
James referred us as, “porn horror”, due to creative differences within our group, where half of us wanted more sex and violence in the film, while others did not. Supposedly, he had sympathy for us, especially when a team member quit reshoots.
Everyone relaxed when our films premiered at the Downtown Independent a few months later. Plus, a lot of us were drunk. James was jetlagged and kept to himself, until the after party died down. He congratulated us and even told me that he loved our film. I was tipsy and said something like, “Thanks, man.”
The class was an interesting experience. It pushed me out of my comfort zone and taught me to compromise when there are creative differences, which is common with filmmaking. James kept to his word of giving back to up-and-coming filmmakers and I thank him for that.
Originally published on flocku.com
