His riotous new film, The Disaster Artist, is one of the best in a fascinating but patchy career. So how did this notorious workaholic with a fear of failure learn to laugh at himself?
James Franco, the stoner’s comedian inside a workaholic arthouse auteur trapped in a Hollywood leading man’s body, is a bewildering enough prospect as an actor, but that’s nothing compared with what he is as an interviewee. As I walk into his hotel room in San Sebastián, Spain, where he is at the film festival showing his latest effort, The Disaster Artist, which he directed and stars in, I wonder which side I’ll get today. (Please, God, not the pretentious-auteur one.) After all, what to expect of a man who, in one year, made eight movies including Eat Pray Love; the pretty good Allen Ginsberg biopic, Howl; the completely meh comedy, Date Night; the endurance movie,
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James Franco, the stoner’s comedian inside a workaholic arthouse auteur trapped in a Hollywood leading man’s body, is a bewildering enough prospect as an actor, but that’s nothing compared with what he is as an interviewee. As I walk into his hotel room in San Sebastián, Spain, where he is at the film festival showing his latest effort, The Disaster Artist, which he directed and stars in, I wonder which side I’ll get today. (Please, God, not the pretentious-auteur one.) After all, what to expect of a man who, in one year, made eight movies including Eat Pray Love; the pretty good Allen Ginsberg biopic, Howl; the completely meh comedy, Date Night; the endurance movie,
