This issue of Esquire also contains a fascinating profile of Newt Gingrich, by the way, which reveals the former Speaker to be exactly what he always seemed to be: a man keeping himself from totally unraveling by sheer force of will. I say that because despite the fact that Gingrich is a lying, manipulative, swindling opportunist, he still comes across as more likable than James Franco.
This James Franco profile (written by Tom Chiarella), which is half about how much Esquire wants to fuck James Franco and half about how bad they feel about wanting to do it, contains an opening anecdote in which James Franco briefly offers his analysis of Twilight. (James Franco is reading Twilight because he wants to write "a children's book" someday, and obviously S. Meyer is the first place one would go for inspiration. Will someone mail James Franco a copy of The Giving Tree or something? On second thought, don't bother.) This is what he has to say:
"It's crazy how much sexual tension there is," he says. "It just builds and builds. I mean it never stops. It's sort of explosive by the end. Crazy. Like they'll blow up with it. And of course, they don't." He shrugs then, a good shrug, because he is selling nothing with it. "Which is the point too, I guess."
Well said James Franco. Published author James Franco. We hate on S. Meyer around here sometimes, I know, and for the most part it is entirely deserved. Never Forget Quil Ateara. But I'm glad that every once in a while the James Francos of the world give an interview to put everything back in perspective. S. Meyer is not running around the Lourve with a penis on her face, after all. ("That we know of."-Christy Little)