Day Five is a High Five/ Review One

Here I sit. It is 1:02 a.m. France time. In the Lobby I sit. All around me, I see me cannes commrades, sitting with Mac or Dell laptops in their laps, one ear bud in, as they type away, listening to music, chatting and working on our first assignment-- which is due tomorrow (a film review of anything we have seen). Well, technically, I suppose it is do today, seeing as it is 1 a.m. I, too, am guilt of the ear bud trick. Except I have both buds in. Total block. Whether with one or two ear buds, we are all completely entranced in our writings, our music, and our own thoughts. This, truly, is a moment of silence and concentration among friends. Something that may, hopefully, never be forgotten. New friends, sharing old habits, in comfort.

My review is on "Howl," a great movie about the poet Allen Ginsebrg, as played by James Franco. All the gals here ( on the study abroad-- I can't speak for the "here" as in France as a whole, though I suspect it may be a similar sentiment) LOVE James Franco. Like, you say the name, they swoon. I don't exactly get it. But I don't exactly not get it either.

Anyway, in this film, he was amazing, as France typically is in indie films (as opposed to mainstream films, when he tends to lock knees and weaken up).

My review is in poem form, as the film was about a poet and recited several of his work "Howl and Other Poems." As follows:
Review 1: Howl
By Anna Ferguson

“Howl”
Director(s): Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman
Starring: James Franco, Bob Balaban, David Strathairn, Jon Hamm, Jon Prescott, Mary-Louise Parker, Todd Rotondi
Rated: N/A
Running Time: 90 min.
Grade: A+

Editor’s note: The following review was written in poem form to reflect the stylings of the film “Howl,” based on the trials of censorship and debate about the definition of obscenity surrounding Allen Ginsberg publication, “Howl and Other Poems.”

A poet who represented
Inspired
A generation.
An actor whose roles
Have done equally
As much.
The matching of casting
Direction
Score and writing
From guttural
Space
All come together
Cohesive
Elegant and moving
Like a Baptist sermon on
Sunday.
The form: a piece
Called “Howl.”
The place: a space
Called Cannes. 2010.
Poetry in motion
Rings throughout
Being both literal
Both figurative
Told through
Interview, court case records and published
Works.
Airy yet tight
Loose yet controlled.
Offering sentiments often know yet so
Often never told.
This work that inspired a generation
Of freethinkers and hipsters.
This film that will hopefully
Do the same.
“Howl” embodies a transformation.
A generation lost after
War and corruption.
How it mirrors the generation of today.
Searching, wandering, confused,
Inundated with options and opportunities
Yet limited by the social markings
Of yes-men and proprieties.
Black and white and color
And animation set to various
Interpretation.
A mingling of forms,
None favored.
Reenacting the trails
That put Allen Ginsberg on
The literary, creative map.
Now grouped with greats
With his inspirations
With names like Kurack
But prior to,
Never know by the masses.
Neither pretty neither ugly
But often using the language
Of the vulgar.
Spewing words like cock, cunt and scattered sperm.
Blow, blew and fuck.
A vocabulary obscene
Made beautiful.
An anger forthright
Made justified
Fortified.
Made for audiences select,
Those who enjoy the off-kilter,
The outside the box,
The smoke and dreams, the smoke and joint.
Dueling directors Rob Epstein/ Jeffrey Friedman are able to capture
The time
The emotion, the angst, the longing
That gripped the post-war youngsters.
Current darling James Franco,
Holds audience in his soft hands
Gazing at us through those
Thick, lovingly turtle-rimmed
Glasses,
Not just being but
Becoming
The poet Himself.
A supporting cast with mere glimpses
Of dialogue and script
Are long-lived in memory,
If short lived
On screen.
Names big and glittering with
Expectations.
Like Mary Louise Parker, Jeff Daniels
David Strathairn, Jon Prescott
All abide by the actors code
Never showing anything
But character
Never breaking code
Not for a moment.
Above all we love
Our Don Draper.
Also known as Jon Hamm.
Who is God’s vision
Of how a suited man
Should act, look, move.
Bold, strong-fisted, demanding,
Commanding attention with a mere gaze
With a mere string of words
With a mere moment on in the limelight.
What beauty is this thing
Of a “howl,”
Of a historical retelling of then
And today.
Asking the questions we so often forget
But must be wary to always remember.
What is this thing we call freedom?
Who are these people we call different?
What is this statue we call art?
Who labels it
Who recognizes it
Who chastises it.
Breathing life and vitality
Inflating inspiration and a calling
Howl and team remind audience
To always remind themselves
What they mean and expect from this
Thing
They lake to call
We love to visit
Known by the label of
The Movies.


That may be contrived. But I admit I am proud of what I wrote.

This was Day 5 of the festival. I saw 6 movies. I saw 6 1/2 yesterday. What a jumble. The best from yesterday day were "Howl," "Twelve", (rich white kids on drugs= bad combo), "Gasland" ( documentary about oil drilling, not farting) and "Swinging with the Finkels" (swinging the act, not dancing; sorry Mom).

Today's best were "The Illusionist" (by the director of the great "Triplets of Belleville"), "Bang Bang Club" about photojournalist in South Africa during Apartheid battles; (after which we had a pow-pow with the producer-- very cool) and The Romantics" (which may not have been that good, but it was about antsy quarter- lifers getting married, to which I can relate).

I spent about an hour at the American Pavillon with John David after my final movie, just getting a beer (Stella Artios :(- the only option), watching big yachts in the sea and waiting for the 10:10pm train. Turns out, he, as well as a few other of the kids are, are super cool. I am finally having the great time I thought I would have. Somehow, that balance of alone movie time and group social time has reached a perfect setting. This is truly, rally, very much so, a great group of travel companions. Even the annoying kids are fun. We just all, you know, get along. This is either a) camp for cine-philes, or b) rehab for a crazy past year of stress. Either way, it's nice. Though I admit during every film, I hit a moment when I miss Michael and my Athens life. I guess that means my life is what it needs to be right now. How refreshing to feel that loveliness.

Still no big red carpet premier for me. I just don't care that much. BUt that's not to say there have been no celeb run-ins since that first screening when I saw a baker's dozen or so. I saw Emily Blunt eating lunch yesterday, and also saw Mary J. Blige waling dow the street. I also also almost got hot by an "official" car on it's way to a red carpet premier last night. In the backseat? Woody Allen. Had I been hit, that would have been a golden ticket to every party during my stay. But alas. I was not hit. My legs are still in tact, but my golden ticket drifted off. There is always a trade off, I suppose.

My sister has pointed out that I have still not posted any pictures, meaning I could just be typing all this from my house. But I'm not. I am in France. I just have yet to find my camera chord. It is here somewhere. I promise- picture are coming at some point. I am gone all day-- 9am to 11pm-- and getting anything done in the resident lobby (the only place where there is Internet here) is a hassle. But yes, pictures are coming. I have self-imposed a deadline of Tuesday.

OK-- it is almost 2am here. Meaning-- I am off to bed. 'Night!