Howl

Howl (2010)-Directed by Rob Epstein and Jeffery Friedman; written by Rob Epstein and Jeffery Friedman; starring James Franco, David Strathairn, John Hamm, Bob Balaban, Mary Louise Parker; director of photography, Edward Lachman; animated by Eric Drooker; edited by Jake Pushinsky; music by Carter Burwell; produced by Rob Epstein and Jeffery Friedman; released by Werc Werk Works; running time 90 minutes

Allen Ginsberg, the prolific poet of the Beat Generation, made a landmark contribution to American cultural history with the publishing of “Howl.” The obscenities and homoerotic diction the poem contained caused a controversy so large that a court case that molded the legal outlook on censorship and an entire new genre of literature resulted. In the film of the same name based on real events, Allen Ginsberg and “Howl” transcend history—they, along with Ginsberg’s troubled journey, intertwine in a visually and emotionally captivating narrative.

The first feature film by lauded documentarians Rob Epstein and Jeffery Friedman, “Howl” doesn’t depart completely from the filmmakers’ area of expertise. Much like their documentaries “The Celluloid Closet” and “Common Threads: Stories from the Quilt,” “Howl” deals primarily with the plight and treatment of homosexuals in American society. As an openly gay author during the 1950s, a period of history when society frowned upon such a preference, Ginsberg used his poetry as an outlet for his emotions as an oppressed and confused man who believed he did nothing wrong.

The most informative parts of the film come in the form of an interview between Ginsberg (James Franco) and an off-screen director whose camera and sound recorder roll as Ginsberg tells his story. The eccentric, saturated images enhance the distinct documentary feel. In the interview, set in 1957, Ginsberg recalls his time as an undergrad at Columbia University, when he fell in love with the later-famous author Jack Kerouac and took to poetry as a means of gaining Kerouac’s respect and attention. What started as an instinctual display of affection became an impulsive and subconscious purge of emotions for Ginsberg, and he began to devote his time to writing.

Poetry consumed Ginsberg then, but it did not sustain him. After college, he struggled to maintain a job at the Associated Press while living in a small apartment filled with junkies and thieves. In order to avoid being implicated in the crime of one thief, Ginsberg escaped to a nearby mental institution where he spent eight months in the company of another writer, Carl Solomon. In the institution, Ginsberg struggled with his identity as a homosexual and his opinions of reality but found solace and companionship in Solomon. He notes in the interview that Solomon’s seemingly unnecessary shock treatments reminded him of his mother’s psychological decay, lobotomy, and ultimate death.

The film implies that these experiences affected Ginsberg and “Howl” in the most powerful way. Epstein and Friedman juxtapose Ginsberg’s retrospective interview with black and white scenes that reenact Ginsberg’s memories. And while the lack of color in some scenes does little for the film, it adds emotional resonance to others. A starchy yet particularly poignant shot of Solomon receiving shock treatments seems to verify the raw sadness which Franco, as Ginsberg, aptly expresses in his narration. Cross-country voyages, lovers found and unrequited and bleak self-examination make sizeable contributions to the portrayal of Ginsberg and his subsequent authorship as well.

Without a convincing embodiment of the real-life figure by James Franco, “Howl” would not succeed as a biopic or a championing of Ginsberg’s poetry. For the most part, Franco does justice to Ginsberg—he does best in the interview and the flashback scenes, especially the tender moments between Ginsberg and his life partner. His least effective scenes, some of the most crucial to the film, come during the readings and voiceovers of “Howl.” His drawn out tones detract from the poetry and make it occasionally difficult to endure.

Ginsberg’s black and white flashbacks to a 1955 poetry reading of “Howl” suddenly transform into colorful, abstract and sensual animation that tracks Ginsberg’s lanky and geometric alter-ego through the New York streets. The images appear awkwardly edited initially, but their repetition and conscious placement later on create an alternative sphere in which poetry appropriately exists. An enigma which even Ginsberg at times cannot understand, “Howl” fits best into these scenes. The poem and the film depart from reality in the same way that captivating literature allows the reader’s mind to stray.

The animation, often overtly sexual, also reflects why the poem offended some readers. Blatant genitalia and phallic images arise in unison with Ginsberg’s explicit wording that describes them and the casual sexual activity of many of the people he encountered in his youth. When Ginsberg’s visage replaces these abstractions and flashbacks, the interviewer asks him about the court case that the people of California waged against the publisher of “Howl” for this content. He simply thanks them for his poem’s fame, though, while separate courtroom scenes explain the rest.

Vivid, intense and at times frustrating, the courtroom scenes compose some of the most effective parts of “Howl.” The prosecutor Ralph McIntosh (David Strathairn) and the defense attorney Jake Ehrlich (John Hamm) call to the stand various intellectuals and critics who comment on the literary merit of “Howl.” While seemingly typecast given his role in “Mad Men” set in the same era, Hamm performs with poise and fervor that help us root for Ginsberg and his work even when it seems questionable or pointless to do so. Similarly, Hamm’s performance complements the awe-inspiring ignorance with which McIntosh and other figures, including Gail Potter (a comical and brief Mary-Louise Parker), approach the poem.

And while even the audience might liken themselves to those readers opposed to the publication or content of “Howl,” McIntosh’s defense and Ginsberg’s reflections appeal to the viewer as strongly as they do to the judge, who ultimately decides in Ginsberg’s favor. We, like the judge, are led to conclude that censorship conflicts with the right to speech. We are also led to conclude that, while a work of literature may not follow a specific form or set of standards, it may still break artistic ground.