One's reaction to a film such as "Howl" is dependent upon whether or not one finds validity in the efforts of the Beat generation.
"Howl's" narrative is separated into four segments interspersed with one another: Ginsberg's initial reading of the poem in San Francisco, animation that interprets the content of the poem, the obscenity trial that ensued, and an interview with Ginsberg conducted by an anonymous interlocutor.
The scenes depicting the interview are the best, and the remainders somehow lack a necessary urgency to them. James Franco is surprisingly adept at portraying Ginsberg's mannerisms and affable demeanor, but at times it is difficult to bypass the notion that Franco is merely occupying the role of Ginsberg instead of actually emulating the poet. Despite the best efforts of the cast, the obscenity trial, which should be the catalyst of the film, appears almost negligible in the midst of the whirling scenes of Ginsberg. Capable actors like John Hamm, David Strathairn, and Jeff Daniels all feel slightly neglected in the scheme of the narrative. Strathairn's and Daniel's performances, notwithstanding their aptitude for this caliber of material, seem like abstracted caricatures of intolerance when proclaiming the poem obscene. Perhaps this is the intention of the film, though in the process it makes the prosecution look irresolute and comical, and the urgency that should be present is supplanted by the notion that the trial was innately preposterous and the verdict a foregone conclusion.
What then is the film's primary flaw? The actors, though reluctant at times, are sincere. The directors are evidently affected by Ginsberg's triumph and his corpus. The film is innately affable. Perhaps the flaw resides within the presupposition of the validity of the Beats. "Howl" proceeds like a testament to the unequivocal genius of the Beat generation. Why then are they so often neglected by the literati and academia? "Howl," perhaps inadvertently, resolves that query. The titular poem is crudely composed and almost entirely mawkish. Its verse displays little fluency and is an aesthetic olla podrida of counter culture, copulation, capitalism, and transience. "Howl" bolsters this notion of poetic vitality with utter fidelity, which is a source of the film's faults.
As Oscar Wilde once maintained, "All bad poetry is sincere." "Howl" is as sincere as its subject matter. Ginsberg was renowned for his magnanimousness and his great tenderness, which Franco plays with aplomb. His initial discomfort at exhibiting affection and his gradual transfiguration into a free spirited, love laden poet are performed admirably. Despite their errors, the scenes detailing the courtroom proceedings are possessed by that desire to abolish the intolerant and pompous strictures of propriety, censorship, and the pedantic elite. The film, however, simply cannot surmount its romantic idealism to display any sense of literary or idealistic cross examination. Nothing is impugned. Ginsberg's poetic veracity is sacrosanct, according to the film, which does not allow for much space to maneuver.