James Franco on Gay Sex, Doing Cher Drag, and Not Doing Lindsay Lohan

By: Les Fabian Brathwaite
6.10.2014

Published author and noted Renaissance man James Franco wrote a short story for Vice about a sexless late-night rendezvous with Lindsay Lohan, interlaced with anecdotes about Gus Van Sant's queer classic My Own Private Idaho and observations about the "Pussy Posse" days of young Leonardo DiCaprio. We also learn the reason behind Franco's lackluster performance at the Oscars: someone took away the poor boy's Cher drag performance. Get ready for the gayest thing you'll read all day.

Okay, so back to the story. Franco writes that he was staying at the Chateu Marmont -- "where the stars stay" -- when who should drunkenly knock on his hotel room one night, but a "fictional Hollywood girl" named "Lindsay Lohan":

She said, “Open the door, you bookworm punk blogger faggot.”

After rebuffing her, this troubled starlet named Lindsay Lohan calls up Franco. He tells Lindsay he won't sleep with her, but he will read her a bedtime story. She then tells him a story about partying with Meryl Streep's daughters, some Oxycontin, and the Mean Girls-type shade she threw at Bungalow 8. All the while, Franco's Gucci billboard ad is staring at him from across the street.

Along the way, Franco recounts some interesting tidbits from Gus Van Sant's 1993 indie gem, My Own Private Idaho about a gay hustler, starring River Phoenix and Keeanu Reeves:

Lukas Haas had a gay sex scene in Gus’s film [Last Days]. It was with Scott Green, the guy who talks about having to fuck a guy with a big cock in the Chinese-café scene in My Own Private Idaho. His monologue was probably based on at least some reality; he had helped River Phoenix do research for his young-hustler role in the same film. Which reminds me of a story Gus later told me about River in Portland, during preproduction. River was pulled over by the cops for wearing jeans with a hole in the front so big that his dick hung out.

[...]

And oh yeah, after doing Milk, Gus drove me around Portland, giving me the “Idaho tour,” including the street in the heart of Downtown where the real hustlers had stood, a street called “Camp” because it had been a squatter camp back in the 30s and the name was passed on to the young hustlers of the 70s and 80s without their really knowing its origins. He showed me the condemned building that Keanu and River stay in with the rest of the homeless kids, which is now a restaurant, and also a run-down motel where the production stayed during the first week of shooting, the week they shot the “This road looks like a fucked-up face” scene and Keanu was ready to quit the film because he wasn’t feeling good about his performance (it turned out to be one of his all-time best) and River came into Keanu’s little hotel room, drunk from being in the bar with Udo Kier, and jumped on Keanu’s bed and pretended to be the Incredible Hulk, to make Keanu lighten up.

I guess the point of this whole story is the excesses and ravages of fame: his own larger-than-life image on a Billboard, LiLo's perpetual public decline, River's tragic end and Leo the Buddha-like center of the malestrom. But honestly, the biggest takeaway here is you don't fuck with James Franco's drag:

 

This was the same weekend as the Oscars, the ones that I hosted, and behind the scenes of that show, that wonderful show, Terry Richardson shot photos; and we had this plan to do a book together with photos (him) and poems (me) about the Oscars, and the Chateau and Lindsay Lohan, and we were going to come back to the hotel and do a shoot with Lindsay, who seemed to be doing better at that point but maybe wasn’t actually. But I was so unhappy about the Oscars because they had cut my Cher sequence—I was supposed to sing the song from Burlesque, “You Haven’t Seen the Last of Me,” dressed as Cher—that I didn’t meet with Lindsay for the photos. Later she leaked a false story to the press that Terry was shooting a sex book with her and me.


We are all worse off for not seeing that.

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