Multi-hyphenate renaissance man James Franco has finally delivered the goods with this great, grisly Cormac McCarthy adaptation
James Franco is the fan-tailed peacock of the festival circuit, seemingly always on hand when there's a party to be attended, an exhibition to open or a happening to make happen. Last year he came to Venice to show off his art, while on this occasion his self-satisfied smile can be seen beaming down from a series of advertising hoardings hung all over town. Almost as an aside, Franco has a film in contention for the Golden Lion. Child of God is a shocking tale of backwoods lunacy and one man's descent into hell. Perhaps the most shocking thing about it is that it's really rather good.
Adapted (pretty faithfully) from an early Cormac McCarthy novel, Child of God showcases a jaw-dropping turn from Scott Haze as Lester Ballard, a feral pariah who rails at his oppressors and shits in the woods and whose constant gurning and grunting suggests he's straining at a stool even when he isn't. But poor Lester is lonely. His shack is cold and he could use some company. The stuffed animals that he wins at the county fair are fine in their way, but they aren't quite enough. Then one day, out walking, he finds a beautiful young woman lying dead in her car. Lester hauls her back home and then makes her his bride.
True, Franco's approach to this material can be over-decorated, and his line in stripped-down movie primitivism can feel suspiciously florid at times. He cuts out sections of McCarthy's prose and pastes the letters five-foot-high on the screen. He throws in nameless, faceless sections of voice-over ("I seen him shoot a spider out of a web on a big old oak") and provides handy subtitles to iron out the Tennessee dialect. The acting, too, is an awful mixed bag. And yet, still, his film runs wild through the woods in a way that few others manage. It's carried along by its sheer bold, unruly exuberance.
Could it be that Franco has now become a victim of his own gadfly nature, his pesky reputation as a jack of all trades? He has now reached the point where everything he does, every move that he makes, risks being viewed as a gesture or a silly little game. But Child of God has merit and should be judged on its own terms. If this director were half as clever as he thinks he is, he would take his name off the credits and give his critics a taste test. Tell them the picture is the work of an unschooled, first-time film-maker, born and raised in Tennessee. Many, I'm betting, would be easily convinced. They'd lap it up, smack their lips and ask for more.
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