I'm not going to see 127 Hours ... ever. Thus there is not much for me to say in a write up.
I love James Franco. I do. I'm all for his absolutely insane amount of random jobs and I salute his insomnia -- welcome to the club, Jim. But I simply can't go to the movie where you cut your arm off with a pen-knife. I don't care how cool it's filmed. I don't care how life affirming it ends up being. It's a no.
In the Oscar Roundtable issue of Newsweek, Franco claimed to have no notable sex scenes in film -- no one said "What about the one in 127 Hours?" Thus, I'm even less inclined. If there's some amazing shot of Mr. Franco's beauty, some scene of romance, some flashback of sexy buried amongst the sea of images Franco wades through while pinned in the crease -- I'm sure I'll read about it or see it on Gawker, Pink Is the New Blog, Towleroad, or one of the other high-level journals I read regularly.
I wish you the best. I expect no wins. I shall go on pretending you don't exist. My knowledge of you will be limited to your Gerry-style trailer and your Lego re-enactment.
Full stop.
Now that I've covered the pictures it's time to bang through the categories.
- Matthew J. McCue
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