It’s almost hard to believe, but there was a time where James Franco wasn’t on a constant quest to examine the ins and outs of homosexuality in the motion-picture medium. He even managed to play James Dean without dealing in gay themes. It wasn’t until Franco played Scott Smith in 2008’s Milk that Franco’s career began to take a turn towards a kind of anthropological examination of gay cinema. Both in front of the camera (Howl; I Am Michael) and in particular behind the camera, where he’s made feature film projects examining gay art like the films Cruising and My Own Private Idaho; he’s made student films about masculinity; he even atoned for the James Dean movie by making a film about Sal Mineo. And while it’s been fascinating and often titillating to watch Franco immerse himself (so to speak) in gayness for the sake of his art, just as often it can come across as cultural tourism at best, opportunistic voyeurism at worst.
Now available to stream on Netflix, King Cobra explores the oft-seedy industry with a kind of exuberant abandon that never feels as morally didactic as you’re expecting. The power dynamics present in the Corrigan story are depicted with complexity; yes, this producer is older and a creeper, yes Corrigan is getting his, yes the seediness of the industry pushes everything underground, where criminals can operate. Franco’s character — and his boyfriend, played by Pretty Little Liars‘ Keegan Allen — feel the most like the characters Franco would gravitate to, obsessed with working out, masculinity, power, weapons. There’s a commentary in here, though it gets swallowed by the aggressiveness with which Franco manifests his character’s sexuality.
As focal-point Brent Corrigan, Garrett Clayton manages to look the part flawlessly. After seeing Clayton show his full range of ability as Link Larkin on NBC’s Hairspray Live, though, it’s hard not to imagine how much more interesting an actor like Zac Efron (who played Larkin in the Hairspray movie) would have been in the role. Underrated throughout is Christian Slater, who’s enjoying his Mr. Robot-infused career resurgence and comes through with a performance that plays into about half of your expectations while defying the other half.
At some point — at several points, in fact — it feels like King Cobra gets tired of fighting the tide and just jumps into its own salaciousness with both feet. It’s hard to blame them; nobody came to King Cobra looking for a sober reflection on sex work. But between the Scissor Sisters-scored montages and every overly loud James Franco sex scene …
… the whole thing begins to feel effortful. This is a sweaty film, in more ways than one.