As we head into the weekend on the wings of James Franco‘s Live with Kelly and Michael Mea Culpa, FishbowlNY wanted to highlight a favorite bit of media reaction to all this. In case you missed.
Picking up on the suggestion by colleagues that the actor’s Instagram contretemps has some very convenient resonance with Franco’s upcoming theatrical release Palo Alto, Slate assistant editor Katy Waldman posits the equivalent of Dear God… no:
If Franco’s Instagram flirtation is performance, it is deeply, deeply tired. Can celebrities ever really achieve authenticity? Is all the world a stage? What is the value/cost of testing the edges of romantic convention, in a knowing way, for art? What is art? Who am I? God, JF, you were so much more tolerable as the poufy-lipped nothingvillain in Spider-Man.
As a public media service, we will attempt to answer Waldman’s string of rhetoricals above. In order, we believe the correct answers are:
Neligible/Slightly Less Neglible;
Whatever James Franco Says It Is;
Just Another Journalist in Alien’s World.