An Open Letter to James Franco

Hey James, what’s up? It’s Bri. Um, Bri LeRose. From BC’s sketch comedy group Hello…Shovelhead! As you are probably extremely aware of by this point, we are in the midst of a SUPER VIRAL campaign to convince you to show up at our spring sketch comedy show, entitled “Marital Bunkbeds.” We’re gaining a lot of momentum here on campus, and we thought you should know about it. There are currently 120 people (at press time, numbers expanding exponentially) who have “liked” our efforts via facebook. That’s a lot, right? Also, there is a hashtag about it on Twitter. I don’t think anyone’s using it, but still. It exists. Social media can be hard, as I’m sure you know, because when you got a Twitter (RIP) everyone was like, “What’s with all these pictures of Franco sleeping with a bunch of cats? Is he using Microsoft Paint on these twitpics?” Personally, we totally got it. Performance art. Poking fun at new media. Not taking yourself too seriously. You know who’s great at not taking themselves too seriously? Sketch comedians. Just saying.  

 

 So, James. Here’s the deal. We are having our sketch comedy show the weekend you’re arriving on campus. We put in the room reqs way before you even decided to come. And we’ve been working really hard on this show: writing sketches all semester, filming a short film, eating healthier snacks and whatnot. I can say with all sincerity that writing and performing with a bunch of our best friends is the most fun and satisfying work any of us has ever done. It’s like our version of Saturday Night Live-have you heard of that program? (When are we going to get to see that doc of yours?) In February, we took our admiration/thievery of SNL to new heights, writing and performing an entire show in just one week. While we had hoped people would be impressed, I think they were mostly just confused. BC is a campus that’s generally a bit disinterested in amateur comedy for some strange reason, and we’ve never really had our “moment in the sun” to display our vast talents and good looks. Sure, we get about one thousand drunk people over the course of a show weekend, at various stages of consciousness, stumbling in and yelling their approval. But James, we want to feel validated in our passions. And appealing to a man of many passions (soap operas, re-cuts of Gus Van Sant movies, photoshopping pictures of yourselves with cats, really awesome short stories, etc.), you can help. 

 

Show up. Just for a second. You can introduce our movie, chop your arm off, wear a dress, or even put on a nice, well-worn denim jacket to relive your Freaks and Geeks days when you didn’t get the attention you deserved, but you made the best damn product you could, and you just tried to make your friends laugh in the process. 

 

James, we love you, and we’re not asking for much. We’ll even give you an honorary degree from Shovelhead University for your efforts—another one to add to the mantelpiece. So see you on Friday then? (Or Saturday too, I have a two-person couch in Edmond’s that you can sleep on for the weekend and our freshman has lots of money on his mealplan, in case you get hungry. Just saying.)