There are two types of film lover in the world. There are those who have seen The Room (2003), and there are those who have not. For those who have yet to sample the legendary delight, The Room is a film written, directed, produced and starred in by Tommy Wiseau, a man of such mystery that nobody even knows where he is from or how old he is. After spending more than $5 million dollars of his own money on the project, The Room was released to widespread critical condemnation, earning the title of the ‘best worst movie ever made’. Before you go on with this review, I implore you to stop, go away, watch this horrific masterpiece (it really has to be seen to be believed), and swiftly return for this discussion of The Disaster Artist.
Based on the best selling memoir of Greg Sestero (played by Dave Franco), a friend of Wiseau and co-star in The Room, The Disaster Artist presents a behind the scenes look at the both the forming of his unlikely friendship with Wiseau (James Franco) and the subsequent road to repetitional ruin that was the making and release of the ill-fated, extraordinary, quite unbelievable central film.
I went in to the film expecting nothing more than a spoof type comedy about the haphazard conception of one of the worst feature films of all time, but I am so happy to report that I got much more out of The Disaster Artist than that. Not only is the picture funny, both in a call back sense and in an original sense, it also touches on emotions and themes much deeper and more poignant than I was expecting to experience. What on the surface is a quirky reimagining of the making of a terrible film, actually becomes an examination of things like male friendship, the American dream, ego and even mental illness if you want to dig a little deeper.
Although I do believe that The Disaster Artist works as a stand alone piece, there is absolutely no doubt that previous viewers and ‘fans’ of The Room will get a bigger kick out of proceedings. The filmmakers have done a very clever job of making the picture totally accessible with fresh eyes, yet at the same time presenting weathered veterans of the cult of Tommy Wiseau with something of a love letter to the original film and the original mystery of the man, with subtle but effective references serving almost as easter eggs for those who are savvy enough to pick up on them. I love a film that can go from hilarious to heartfelt in a single take, and The Disaster Artist does this on more than a handful of occasions to really poignant and memorable effect. I laughed a lot, and for reasons I haven’t quite managed to unpack for myself yet, I actually cried too. If that isn’t the sign of a great film, than I don’t know what is.
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