The Disaster Artist

I truly believe, in my heart of hearts and club of clubs, that each person should, at some point in life, sit down, relax, and view The Room.  I don’t care if the response is negative, positive, neither, both, or a hangover, the experience is important.

I didn’t always think this way:  Back in the day, during either my junior or senior year in college, Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim imprint ran the film all night once.  This would be my introduction to the film, tuning in to the channel, seeing some oddball live-action bullshit, getting perturbed that it wasn’t Aqua Teen Hunger Force or something, determining that my usual animated fare wouldn’t be coming back until the following evening, giving the movie a half chance, and surrendering, turning the TV off in the assumption that the whole thing was a joke, that the apparent poor quality of the programming was intentional and a product of Adult Swim’s own imagination and poor planning.

I mean, come on:  The camera looked like an awkward HD job that didn’t (at that time) indicate an actual movie, but rather a made-for TV affair.  The script and acting were atrocious.  I could barely understand the main character, thanks to his thick European accent.  Since I barely gave it any time, I had no idea of the plot, but I did technically check in on things a couple times, and nothing special seemed to be happening, apart from some vague, poorly-written melodrama (further entrenching my belief that the program was just a crappy joke (see as all of Adult Swim’s atrocious live-action trash)).  And why the hell was it called that?

Y’see, The Room is a strange film that follows Johnny as he deals with being passed over for a long-promised promotion at work and the infidelity of his longtime girlfriend with his alleged best friend.  Because the director/producer/writer/star, Tommy Wiseau, didn’t really know what he was doing, the earnest yet shoddily-constructed script comes across as bleakly comical, if for no other reason than the viewers’ mentally necessary feelings of schadenfreude.  But if, for some reason, your brain doesn’t register this reaction, the film just limps along, ignorant of its inherent crap-ness and seemingly oblivious to basically every facet of quality that the art form of film has developed within it over the past century-plus.

Years later, once I finally began getting my primary entertainment from the internet, I got into the whole internet reviewer scene, and got my first true introduction to Tommy Wiseau and his garbage masterpiece from outlets like Doug Walker’s Nostalgia Critic and Allison Pregler’s Obscurus Lupa Presents.  These videos gave me a new perspective on the piece, one geared toward watching the film as derision fodder, something to be enjoyed for its faults, not in spite of them.  Going in with this mindset, knowing full well that the end product was a heap of refuse, I rewatched the film in its entirety.  And I had a goddamn blast!  It was just hilarious, every misstep in production providing another modicum of joy.  I had to share it with my friends.  I had to own it.  I had to study it.

The aforementioned video from Ms. Pregler (and possibly another one, it’s hard for me to tell these days) clued me onto the existence of a book written by The Room‘s co-star, Greg Sestero.  The Disaster Artist chronicled not just the hilariously troubled making of the film, but also the weird and ultimately kinda heart-warming friendship between Sestero and Wiseau, as well as providing some much-needed backstory on the elusive and mysterious Tommy Wiseau.  It’s quite the read, the chapters alternating between film-making and friendship-building, and quite a bit of insight was gained because of it.

Shortly after I finished the book, I learned that the rights had been purchased to make it into its own film.  Since then, I’ve been awaiting the final result with more anticipatory excitement than pretty much any other production.  You don’t wanna know about the internal squee that was elicited by the first trailer I saw for it…

The film follows the same basic idea as the book, showing the behind-the-scenes troubles of The Room‘s production and how the friendship between Wiseau and Sestero developed.  Rather than rocking an almost Memento-style Jekyll-and-Hyde plot like the book did, the film goes full-on chronological narrative, which still works, but I dug the parallels drawn by the alternating chapters in the book.  James Franco directs, produces, and stars as Wiseau here, with his younger brother Dave serving as our Greg Sestero for the evening.  Both do well with their roles, James nailing the unintelligible melting pot of Wiseau’s accent and Dave anchoring the wackiness to a befuddled Earth.  I do feel that Dave was a bit too starry-eyed in his portrayal, but that may just be my interpretation of Sestero’s relative confidence from the book.  Buoying them is a solid cast teeming with unexpected cameos: Zac Efron as the actor who would portray the vicious Chris-R, Josh Hutcherson as the man/boy who would be Denny, Allison Brie as Sestero’s girlfriend at the time, Megan Mullally as Sestero’s suspicious mother, Sharon Stone as Sestero’s agent, and smaller appearances from Paul Scheer, Jason Mantzoukas, Melanie Griffith, Bob Odenkirk, Hannibal Buress, Randall Park, Casey Wilson, Bryan Cranston, and Judd Apatow (alongside a bevy of background appearances, including director David DeCoteau, comedian Erin Cummings, and Sestero himself).  The cast never feels gimmicky or out-of-place thanks to James Franco’s lack of lingering on them and a script that kept them all grounded and realistic (I’d expect nothing less from the guys who brought us (500) Days of Summer).

I will say that I was disappointed that certain tidbits were left out – like Wiseau’s insistence on filming with both a 35mm and digital camera because he really didn’t know the difference (this gets touched on, but is brushed aside without much comment) and the fact that an actor’s fall while filming the alleyway football scene was orchestrated via a push (and also said actor’s departure from the film, leading to his part being recast midway through, only to have both actors show up in the finished product) – but the recreations of scenes from The Room are spot on, a fact made all the more apparent thanks to a bit at the end showing side-by-side examples.  (Hell, just look at the color schemes of the posters above!)  There’s also the fact that none of the background provided in the book regarding Wiseau’s enigmatic origins (and his vampirically-leaning curtained-off area in their apartment, which is only briefly mentioned on film) is included, leaving the audience wanting while also making it seem like the man is even more a yeti than he really is.  I mean, even with the stuff the book gives us, I still don’t have a very clear picture of the wily madman.  Still, there’s more than enough fun to be had, and the personal story at the core is retained.

As an adaptation, a partial biopic, a behind-the-scenes exposé, and a stand-alone story, The Disaster Artist holds up completely.  It’s at various points touching, funny, frustrating, and illuminating, but there’s never a true sense of cynicism:  The trainwreck of a production is shown to be an almost ironically cherished work of effort, and the filmmakers here clearly have a love for the story and its source.  You never get the sense that there’s any mean spirits hanging around, allowing the film to blossom into this generation’s Ed Wood.  It’s a wild ride, indeed, and one that helps us understand why some goofy pile of cinematic failure from just under fifteen years ago remains such a staple of our collective entertainment canons.