James Franco leads a a broad selection of modern comedy actors on a tour up Hollywood's ass.
It's extremely well-directed, with fantastic production values, and a cast with more plusses than minuses, and yet, that can't save it. Franco plays a dyspeptic Hollywood Forrest Gump, finding himself coincidentally involved with a series of the most important directors and film productions between 1970-1982, plus catching Patti Smith at CBGBs, in an aimless and episodic romance revolving around an actress played by Megan Fox, of all people. Arthouse pretensions sink the whole endeavor, and occasional touches of Charlie Kaufman-like throwaway unjustified weirdness, such as Franco philosophizing about "...a secret movie, hidden in every other movie ever made. Who made it? Who put it there?" just make it worse.
Too bad because the production and direction a great. I guess they forgot that if you're going to make a love love letter to movies, you have to save a little love for the people watching your movie, too.
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