The best movie ever made about the worst movie ever made.

And one man’s worst performance becomes another man’s best performance.

Adept actor James Franco plays inept actor Tommy Wiseau in THE DISASTER ARTIST, a good film about the making of the bad film THE ROOM.

• In 2003, atrocious writer-director-actor Tommy Wiseau released THE ROOM, a poorly-written, artlessly-directed, badly-acted piece of crap, which nonetheless attained cult status due to Wiseau financing its continual advertising and screenings.
• In 2013, one of the stars of THE ROOM, Greg Sestero, wrote a book (co-author Tom Bissell) based on making that film: The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made.
• In 2017, Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber write a screenplay based on that book, and James Franco directs and stars in THE DISASTER ARTIST.

Franco casts himself as the ambiguously-foreign Tommy, diving deep into Method with jet-raven waterfall locks, prosthetics to create a lazy eye, a ripped body, and an accent that Tommy claims is from New Orleans (if by New Orleans he means Lithuania). Reportedly, Franco stayed in character while he was directing, which was a big laugh to his longtime acquaintances who were also cast-mates. (Franco brings Tommy Wiseau along to junkets on talk shows, and I find it hilarious how he only talks to Wiseau in the Wiseau accent, as if it’s a language.)

THE DISASTER ARTIST is told from the point of view of Greg Sestero (played by James’s brother, Dave Franco), Tommy’s best friend (who Tommy cast in THE ROOM as, uh, his best friend). We follow Tommy and Greg from their first meeting at an acting class in San Francisco, through their tribulations in Hollywood (where they move into Tommy’s Los Angeles apartment – just one of many around the world that he can mysteriously afford), to the set of Tommy’s self-financed film after finding no success in the movie business. It is on this last leg that their friendship will be tested, and I find it a decidedly cynical “Hollywood” denouement that they remain friends to this day in real life only due to the success of THE ROOM, however undeserved and unwitting that was.

Franco has gone Daniel Day Lewis in his portrayal of Tommy, from Tommy’s military-styled jackets, to his pocketed dockers held up by numerous belts, to Tommy’s lazy delivery and stunted vernacular, down to his ingratiating little chortle and his inability to throw a football! It’s the role of a lifetime for this talented actor, and the mimicry provides most of the comedy. Brother Dave, up to this point, hesitant to act with James due to trying to forge his own career, is eminently relatable as the bad actor who hooks up with a force of nature that shepherds him into the biz.

Seth Rogen is Sandy the script supervisor, Paul Scheer is Raphael the DP, Zac Efron plays the character Chris-R (notably the best actor in THE ROOM, with Efron probably the best actor of this bunch as well, in this five-minute cameo). June Diane Raphael plays Robin (the hottest chick in THE ROOM and the same here), while Ari Graynor plays Lisa (Tommy’s girlfriend in THE ROOM); Josh Hutcherson plays that floppy-haired weirdo Denny, and Jacki Weaver delivers Lisa’s mother’s lines with that suitable deadness, especially when talk turns to breast cancer. Which she definitely has.

The first half of THE DISASTER ARTIST is played for comedy. No one can quite figure what is up with this Tommy guy; as in real life, this movie does not reveal the mysteries behind his age, ethnicity or financial background; he obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing as a filmmaker (shooting in 35mm and digital simultaneously), but his checks get cashed and that’s all that matters (a bank teller tells Sandy that Tommy’s account is “a bottomless pit” – but I doubt any teller would be that unethical).

In the latter half, the movie loses its breezy tone. Whilst filming THE ROOM, Tommy succumbs to megalomania, blindly leading the more experienced cast and crew while ironically claiming he has a vision, cussing them out regularly, and obsessing over details that would prove inconsequential in the final product. We lose our sense of wanting Tommy to succeed despite his shortcomings. At many points, we wish he could be taught a lesson on how bad THE ROOM really is. Unfortunately, real life has superseded art, and through Tommy’s insistent paid screenings, THE ROOM has attained cult status, and made back its budget many times over, playing at midnight screenings around the world. And the fact THE DISASTER ARTIST exists has made any life lesson for Tommy moot. The time for THE ROOM to sink into the overflowing hellpit of failed Los Angeles projects has long past, and its infamy guarantees that Tommy will never realize what a tool he truly is.

In making a movie about THE ROOM, Franco and Co. actually shoot some scenes from THE ROOM (as filler for when the gang is watching the movie in the theater in the finale). And these scenes are uncannily recreated, terribly-produced and terribly-acted ROOM scenes; so much good work to reproduce so much bad work. It gets so meta that we expect to see ourselves onscreen, looking at ourselves onscreen, looking at ourselves onscreen…

One theme that James Franco makes apparent in DISASTER ARTIST is a theme Tommy Wiseau failed to purvey effectively in THE ROOM: betrayal. Franco as Tommy finds betrayal in everyone around him – from acting coaches who suggest he should be a Frankenstein-like villain, to Hollywood casting agents who laugh at his accent; from producers that he tries to cajole in restaurants (Judd Apatow cameo) to his own cast and crew. Tommy finds betrayal in the fact Greg moves in with his girlfriend (Alison Brie), as opposed to staying his roomie; betrayal in Greg stretching to other projects; betrayal in Greg calling him out on his age, ethnicity and financial background. Thus, from this film, we can now more fully sense that betrayal theme built into the original film this movie is about – of course, we say: in THE ROOM, Tommy’s girlfriend and best friend both BETRAY him by having an affair! We were too busy laughing and being slack-jawed in shock before.

There is a tragic background tale to Greg appearing with a beard in the first part of THE ROOM, and then clean-shaven for the conclusion. Tommy had the notion that Greg should shave in the second half of the movie due to being a best man at an upcoming wedding. And in real life, Greg was asked NOT to shave for a walk-on lumberjack role he scored by making a lucky contact with Bryan Cranston (playing himself) at a café. Greg asked Tommy for a day off to do the Cranston shoot. And this is where Franco’s Tommy attains his nadir of darkness, selfishness and con-man. Not only did Tommy veto Greg’s time off, he forced him to shave, almost like he was removing any chance for Greg to sneak off in the near future to do the Cranston gig, implying that a one-off gig with Cranston would lead nowhere, while Greg’s starring role in Tommy’s excellent film would rocket his career. And citing betrayal just to twist the knife. Greg, disconsolate for possibly destroying his career by blowing off Cranston, stays. And shaves. Whether he made the right choice or not is pure conjecture. It is at this nadir for Greg that Dave Franco’s performance, ironically, achieves its zenith. (It’s also ironic that Tommy would cite Greg as the betrayer when Tommy is actually the one betraying Greg from moving up.)

The only aspect I disagree with in THE DISASTER ARTIST is the way Franco portrays Tommy as a “dreamer struggling to make it.” That’s a fine point of view if you are a talented artist who is not recognized, and the frustration of your predicament causes you to go all-out with some grand scheme that is do-or-die. Now – take that whole previous sentence, apply it to Tommy Wiseau, and remove the words “talented artist.”

Even the talking heads that open the film (including Ike Barinholtz, Kevin Smith, Keegan-Michael Key, J.J. Abrams and Kristin Bell) promote the wrong message: that Tommy’s struggles as a downtrodden artist paid off. “…the sheer ambition…” “A combination of fearlessness and confusing self-belief…” They’re not saying, “It’s a shit movie – with an amazing turn of fate due to insidious marketing,” no, the content of their enthusiastic tributes leans toward the film being a passion project of great quality. And that is the wrong message in a world where people cannot discern facts from fake, where as many people support lack of quality as support craftsmanship and hard work; it’s the Howard Stern defense: ‘if it makes money, it’s gotta be good.’ So the very existence of this film, THE DISASTER ARTIST, muddies the waters about the actual level of quality of THE ROOM. That is, zero.

Let’s get that straight: there is NO QUALITY in THE ROOM. Zero quality, zero talent, zero craft, zero production value, zero understanding of filmmaking dialect. Yet it retains some kind of “worth,” for it is, in fact, maximum entertainment, due to that rubbernecker’s glee of trying to see a dismembered head in the street while driving past a horrific crash. And there is zero curiosity from Tommy Wiseau to educate himself in the craft. Meaning that over the past 14 years of THE ROOM’s existence, Tommy Wiseau has not created anything of quality to dispel the notion that he still doesn’t know what the fuck he is doing. He just keeps eating out on THE ROOM…

Yes, Tommy had ambition and a dream that wouldn’t die, and the balls to make something of his own, and all that stuff they keep telling us artists to cling to – but there’s one difference between Tommy and the majority of struggling artists with dreams to conquer the world, who take up residence in a Hollywood apartment that smells of pee – MONEY. However mysterious its source, Tommy had money to market his product. And when you market anything with enough verve, you get results. Look at the Snuggie, look at the Salad Shooter, look at the STAR WARS Prequels, hell, look at the dimwit, racist 45th president of the United States!

What also creeps through is the notion that due to THE ROOM’s inadvertent success, Tommy is a success as an artist. The fact that Tommy can accompany Franco on THE DISASTER ARTIST junkets and claim fame, however vicarious, seems to bolster that notion. But it is just a case of money – and money doesn’t make something of no quality attain inherent quality. Look at the Snuggie, look at the Salad Shooter, look at the STAR WARS Prequels, hell, look at the dimwit, racist 45th president of the United States!

So I’m not sure what the aim of THE DISASTER ARTIST is. In one respect, James Franco has crafted a reasonable comedy about a comedic figure in filmic history. In another sense, he is paying tribute to someone who simply had the money to continue the advertising push of something that should have died a grisly death in the crib. This is not a movie about a film deserving of tribute, like THE GODFATHER, UNFORGIVEN, or 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY.

This is about the making of THE ROOM. Which is definitely not a film deserving of accolades. It is naaaht.

END

For To Make Democratize in America.

In the grand tradition of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad visiting Columbia University in 2007 and denying the Holocaust, claiming Iran has no gays and lets women roam free with equal rights, so too is Wadiya’s dictator Hafez Aladeen, granted all courtesies when visiting the United Nations to extol the virtues of his oppressive Middle Eastern government, where the people think they’re free. Because if there’s one thing Middle Easterners know about Americans, it’s that they looove oppressive government where the people think they’re free.

Sacha Baron Cohen’s actual “films” (ALI G INDAHOUSE, TALLADEGA NIGHTS) have never been as biting as his recent “mockumentaries” (BORAT, BRUNO), and the trailers for THE DICTATOR portrayed it like a half-hearted stab at bottling his mockumentary lightning in a feature film. But writer-star Cohen smashes it out of the comedy park, smoothly sidestepping our expectations in this satire on the American perception of democracy. He really has a handle on how far to poke into the redneck chest.

Directed by longtime collaborator Larry Charles, THE DICTATOR finds General Aladeen (Cohen) of the fictional Republic of Wadiya, “invited” to the United States to testify before the United Nations on his secret nuclear weapons program. The American government affords him every courtesy, while biting their tongues at his dictatorship – though not biting them as hard as they should, as the U.S. liaison (John C. Reilly) advises Aladeen bluntly, “While you’re here, you should visit the Empire State Building before one of your sand-monkeys knocks it down.”

Meanwhile, Aladeen’s right-hand man Tamir (Ben Kingsley), bought off by U.S. billionaires, is plotting to assassinate Aladeen and install an Aladeen body-double who will bow to his agenda of making Wadiya a democracy. Tamir gets his chance to install the double when Aladeen is kidnapped by John C. Reilly, who shaves off Aladeen’s distinctive beard, leaving him stranded in America…

Earlier, we met Aladeen in his gold-plated bedchambers (after screwing Megan Fox for jewelry); a lonely man desperate to cuddle, his pathos manifested in his extensive wall of Polaroids, featuring shots of him with superstars he slept with: Halle Berry, Oprah, Ahnuld!… So even though he’s reprehensible, we actually sympathize with this misogynistic, murderous anti-American anti-hero – kidnapped in a strange land, a fish out of water (like CROCODILE DUNDEE, only oilier).

In an attempt to assimilate, Aladeen calls himself “Alison Burgers” and finds work in a New Age shop run by Zoey (an earthy, ‘pit-hairy Anna Faris with a boyish haircut), while he tries to find passage back to his beloved country. He runs across Nadal (Jason Mantzoukas, in a great understated performance), one of his many minions whom he had “executed” in Wadiya – discovering they all came to work in a restaurant in New York called The Death To Aladeen Restaurant. Ever faithful Nadal still wants Aladeen’s name placed alongside the great dictators, like Kim Jong-Il and Dick Cheney, so begins hatching a terrorist plot on New York.

Unfortunately, Aladeen is falling for Zoey (“When the thought of someone’s decapitated head upsets you – that is love”), and recants on his terrorist ways, to Nadal’s utmost disappointment. Aladeen nonetheless retains his dictatorial arrogance – every time Zoey starts talking New Age, he cuts her off with “Who cares?” He starts regimenting her pothead shop, skyrocketing profits and slapping the employees into shape – literally. A hippie employee (Kevin Corrigan) asks Aladeen “Who are you, Osama Bin Laden’s best friend?” to which Aladeen retorts, “He’s not my best friend, although he’s been staying in my guest house since they killed his double. You visit the bathroom after him, you’ll know the true meaning of the word terrorism.” Aladeen also secures for the shop an A-rating from the FDA by holding the inspector’s wife and child hostage (cameo by Garry Shandling as the inspector).

Other cameos: Edward Norton, Aasif Mandvi, Kathryn Hahn, Bobby Lee in a hilarious turn as a lecherous Chinese leader: “Tommy Lee Jones let me roll it in my fingers for $200,000.” Very funny to suddenly recognize all the source music in a foreign language: R.E.M.’s Everybody Hurts, Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, et al.

With all the 9-11 references and the lauding of dictatorship, we wonder how THE DICTATOR passed muster with the Gutless MPAA. We can feel the inevitable arc of redemption coming – and it’s going to dilute the comedy, we know it! But wait, Movie Maniacs! This movie is another reason why I constantly call the Gutless MPAA numb-brained. Aladeen doesn’t arc to redemption at all – it only seems that way.

Cohen artfully, insidiously, twists our sympathies to root for the wrong man. Consider: Tamir (Kingsley) wants to assassinate Aladeen, so that he can set up a constitution and democracy for Wadiya, and create trade agreements with America (which all Americans agree is a Good Thing – ousting a dictator, creating democracy and jobs). Aladeen’s double is being groomed by Tamir to deliver a speech declaring his country a democracy, so America should rightfully be rooting for him, no? But we find ourselves rooting for Aladeen to stop his double giving that speech! We invest our sympathies with the reprehensible dictator, who declares tyranny as divine and wants to return to his life of mistreating women, murdering people for small slights and screwing movie stars.

How they work that magic on our simple minds. The true meaning of artful.

And Aladeen’s ending speech? A twisted poke in the eye at American ideals, highlighting how Americans embrace the very poke that blinds them:

Why are you guys so anti-dictators? Imagine if America was a dictatorship. You could let 1-percent of the people have all the nation’s wealth, you could help your rich friends get richer by cutting their taxes, and bailing them out when they gamble and lose. You can ignore the needs of the poor for health care and education. Your media would appear free but would secretly be controlled by one person and his family. You could wiretap phones, you could torture foreign prisoners, you could have rigged elections, you could lie about why you go to war, you could fill your prisons with one particular racial group and no one would complain. You could use the media to scare the people into supporting policies that are against their interests. I know all this is hard for you Americans to imagine, but please try. I will tell you what democracy is: democracy is the worst. Endless talking and listening to every stupid opinion. And everybody’s vote counts, no matter how crippled or black or female they are.
— General Hafez Aladeen.

Aladeen sees Zoey and refers to her as he continues: “Democracy has hairy armpits…democracy kisses you because she wants to, not because her father is in the next room chained to a radiator with electrodes attached to his nipples. Democracy is flawed; it is not perfect, but democracy… I love you!” Now before you jump up and shout, ‘That’s the redemption!’ keep in mind his “recant” is simply done for Panty.

We know his calls for “real democracy and a real constitution” are not real because the closing scenes find him being his usual dictator self. Nothing has changed in Wadiya. Ironically – this is what he told us democracy IS: you can say one thing and do another; blatantly lie to the people. Which is what America’s government does. Therefore, General Hafez Aladeen is more “American” than any Democrat, Independent or Republican!

ALADEEN 2016!

END