The film is too sincere an expression of admiration for this poet's work to feel pretentious, but it's like a music video for the poems, often literal in its biographical readings.
Either Franco thinks his every creative whim doesn't stink, and we should be delighted to sample all his artistic endeavors, or he's a selfless, mentoring, caring teacher.
The uniformity of its languorous, lens-flared visuals may wear on all but the most ardent Terrence Malick devotees, many of whom, I suspect, are also grad students.
This dreamlike film, directed by twelve graduate students from New York University, fails to make celebrated American poet C.K. Williams much more than a mildly interesting daydream. Despite its top acting talent, it even inspires a deeper sleep.
Franco makes a lot of art, both good and bad. But no one provides a bolder example of the vanishing lines that used to separate movie stars, fringe artists, and working actors.
"The Color of Time," for all the experimentalism of its conception, falls some way short here, and ends up an irreproachably tasteful, easily digestible, but an unsurprising, undemanding watch.
The idea of students collaborating with a stable of famous actors is a wonderful story in itself, but to then treat the culmination of the exercise as more than a student thesis film does it a disservice.
