HOWL

by David Safier

I just watched a DVD of "HOWL," a film about Allen Ginsberg in the 1950s, his first reading of HOWL and the obscenity trial that followed. James Franco gives a marvelous, understated performance as Ginsberg (in the days he had a full head of hair), and the film is filled with recognizable actors who must have participated out of love, because they sure didn't make any money.

Every word spoken in the film was spoken by the participants, taken either from tapes or transcripts, so the film doesn't have a phony "I wonder if they really said that" docudrama feel.

The film is worth seeing for a fan of, or someone nostalgic for, the Beats — specifically Ginsberg, Kerouac and Cassidy.  For others, not so much.

SOME OF MY OWN MEMORIES OF BEAT/GINSBERG TIMES

I was a middle class high school kid in San Francisco in 1963-64 and loved to go hang out with my friends in North Beach. Our favorite destination was City Lights Bookstore, where poet and owner Lawrence Ferlinghetti was often behind the counter. We would head down the steep, narrow stairs to the cellar, pick up a copy of Howl or other City Lights publications, or sometimes some obscure novel or poetry collection, then sit there reading, feeling very, very cool. At nights sometimes we went to the no-alcohol coffee shops, ordered hot cider and listened to folk music. Also cool. The next year, Haight Ashbury eclipsed North Beach, but by then I was away at college.

Freshman year, 1965, a friend of mine and I decided to read HOWL at full volume one night in my dorm room. Some young women from the dorms across the way screamed, "Hey, shut up! We're trying to study!" So we went out to the unpeopled agriculture area of the campus and howled Ginsberg's poem at the night. Roosters crowed back at us. Very cool.

Junior year, 1967, I went to see Ginsberg when he read on campus. His longtime lover/companion Peter Orlovsky was with him on the stage, hair almost down to his waist, a rare sight even by 1967 (Guys wore their hair long, but not that long). The next day in lecture hall at the beginning of my Shakespeare class, Dr. Elton commented on the reading. He first said Orlovsky was "shocking and shameful" and went on to make disparaging comments about Ginsberg as a poet. From the third row, I slowly shook my head with a "God, what an fool!" smirk on my face. Elton looked at me and asked, "Do you like Allen Ginsberg?" I slowly nodded my head up and down, "Yes." He responded. "Well, I liked Tom Mix when I was a kid." The putdown was so superb, I was less insulted than amused and impressed. But now, all these years later, Dr. Elton, I feel vindicated by Ginsberg's continued literary reputation, and here I am, getting the last word.

Lit Crit Note: Amazingly, the poem Howl still has the power to shock and jar the listener, even in these R-Rated, you-can-say-anything-you-want days. The poem doesn't feel like a museum piece. It's still very much alive.