Don't You Put Me on the Backburner: The Scene of my Embarrassment (Part II The Franco Experience)

In case you missed my last post, I was attempting to meet and politely stalk James Franco at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival.

Part I of the Mission: The Dry Run

We went to the Arlington the night before to scope out the scene. Annette Bening was getting an award for her brilliant performance in The Kids Are All Right. We watched her arrive with her dashing husband, Warren Beatty. The fans were stationed in a designated area across from the theatre. It was shaped kinda like a giant horseshoe. Inside the gates the photographers and videographers anxiously awaited the red carpet walk. I watched Annette greet her fans while my brother snapped a few photos. We were ready to hit the bar. We got all the information we were looking for. Hello, James Joyce bar how I have missed you.

Part II: The Stalking

We arrived outside the Arlington at about 6:00pm. The event (which we had tickets for) was supposed to start at 8:00pm. James was scheduled to arrive at 7:00pm. We were concerned that if we spent too much time waiting across the street, we would not get the prime seats we wanted for the award ceremony.

My brother and I scored a first-rate spot. We were in the front row behind the gate at exactly where the limo arrived the night before for the drop off. Now all we had to do was wait. At this point, there were only about 40 fans hanging around outside. We waited some more.

The crowd began to grow and grow. I looked around at the sea of people. Mostly women of all ages. We found out later that there were over 500 people waiting in the street. These fans had come prepared: mountains of posters, photos, and Pineapple Express DVD’s. I gripped my copy of Palo Alto tightly, hoping James would get the chance to sign it later. You couldn’t even see the end of the street anymore. It got later and later. Still we waited. Children waited on their parent’s shoulders. A group of really young girls held out a sign that read, “We are Legal.”

There were two false alarms where security cleared out an area for the car to enter and a car never came. It was now 8:15. The line to get into the event had vanished. We didn’t know if we should just give up and get seats or wait it out to catch a glimpse of him before he hit the carpet. Just when all hope seemed lost a black SUV pulls up through the gate. We see that James is in the passenger seat.

The crowd screams as he gets out of the car. He passes right by us. We all think he’s just going to go straight to the Red Carpet where tons of frustrated photographers are waiting. He points towards the beginning of the horseshoe shaped line and makes his way over to the barely legal girls. Everyone simultaneously figures out that he plans to walk the entire outside of the fan area. More screaming and squealing. I realize that I am the loudest. Frantically snapping pictures and video like a mad woman. Waving my book in the air and my black sharpie. I feel like a 13-year-old girl at a New Kids on the Block concert circa 1986.

He’s five feet from me I shriek at him to sign my book. He smiles and nods. I remain silent for the next 30 seconds. James is right in front of me. He signs my book and we exchange words. I regain my composure and take a few more extreme close-up pictures. We fight our way out of line and run into the theatre. The moment we break free from the crowd our spot is swallowed by 50 other crazy fans. We find some decent (not prime) seats and wait. It feels good to be sitting and away from the madness.