THE DISASTER ARTIST (2017): Movie Review

Every generation has it’s own “best worst movie” or, a film so arbitrarily bad by the standards of the basic cinematic convention that the final product becomes something so entertaining it elevates itself as something timelessly entertainment. These are the midnight movies, features to be given repeated viewings with friends after a night of dangerous debauchery. The latest cinematic juggernaut of the “so-bad-it’s-amazing” film genre is The Room: magnum opus of the bizarre man of mystery known only as Tommy Wiseau, whose masterpiece is still being shown in cinemas to sold- out crowds 10+ years after its initial release in 2003. The infamous “drama” turned “comedy,” inspired The Room actor (and alleged “best friend” of TW himself), Greg Sestero to write a tell-all book on the production of the film which is now adapted into a film by comedic actor/filmmaker James Franco. The Disaster Artist is Franco’s cinematic love letter to The Room, and it’s strange creator as Franco’s taken not only the staring role as the enigmatic Tommy Wiseau but has also taken it upon himself to produce, and direct his adaptation as well. The end result is a comedic light hearted version of Greg Sestero’s best selling book on the struggles of independent filmmaking helmed by the world’s most unusually “artist,” ever captured on film.

At its core, The Disaster Artist’s plot plays out like something out of Mel Brooks’ The Producers (1967) with it being a work of entertainment about putting on a work of entertainment that seems destined to fail. But there’s also quite a bit of Tim Burton’s Ed Wood (1994) in this as well with the other half of the story being a biopic of an eccentric director with all the passion and drive of an Orson Welles without any of the talent or awareness. The film follows Dave Franco (the younger of the Franco brothers) as Greg, a young acting neophyte who teams up with a weird older man named Tommy to pursue their dreams of making it in Hollywood. James Franco’s portrayal of the eccentric Tommy Wiseau is every bit of entertaining and unnerving as the man is in real life; who, for the record, still refuses to reveal his age, country of origin, or source of wealth which he used to fund his personal vanity project. There’s no real way to describe the human quandary that is Tommy Wiseau but somehow Franco’s captured the essence of the “man” perfectly. Franco’s impersonation is about as spot on as any actor other than Tommy could’ve hoped to achieve and made for easily the best parts of The Disaster Artist. I found the rest of the film to be charming and inspirational enough to say that I enjoyed it, but admittedly I do believe I wouldn’t have appreciated it nearly as much if I was unfamiliar with The Room or the book responsible for Franco’s adaptation.

The Disaster Artist is the 20-somethingth film directed by the Pineapple Express/127 Hours actor, but if The Disaster Artist is anything like those other projects, then I can understand why they’re so obscure to the public eye. Nothing about The Disaster Artist’s “look” or direction comes off as anything other than “alright.” The cinematography is done in that standard “shaky documentary” style that only audiences with bigoted hatred towards tripods will enjoy. The “visuals” seem to be focused solely on the actors and their performances, which isn’t terrible by any means but is ultimately forgettable, and the editing is about as basic as a preteen in yoga pants. That’s the main problem with The Disaster Artist, with exceptions to James Franco’s Tommy Wiseau act the whole thing’s just adequate. The story itself is interesting enough to keep your attention for 90 minutes but for anyone that read the book that was going to be a given one way or another. In truth, I think I would’ve been more forgiving for Franco’s overall portrayal of the source material if he’d stuck to making a more accurate adaption. I know nobody appreciates a critic whining about the book being better than the movie, but what made Greg Sestero’s original manuscript so fascinating was its unabashed telling of the unadulterated truth; about Tommy, their relationship, and the bizarre nightmarish conditions to which The Room was made. The Disaster Artist film gets the inspirational “follow your dreams,” route that’s probably present in the book but fails to capture the unruly darkness that both vilifies and humanizes the strange Mr. Wiseau. It’s apparent that James Franco adores Tommy Wiseau and his cinematic creation but I can’t help but shake the feeling that Franco’s adoration is why the film feels so disingenuous. Though I certainly have more gripes than praises I’d still call The Disaster Artist entertaining and enjoyable. The story may be told through rose tinted lenses, but if that’s the films intention then I can’t fault it for being successful in that regard. I get the feeling that this is Franco’s way to try and share his love for such a terrible yet enjoyable work of accidental cinematic brilliance and for that I can’t hate him too hard. The Disaster Artist is a campy appreciation piece and works in that respect. For all The Room fans in the world, this will undoubtedly be a pleasant experience to watch, but for everyone else, watch the original first.

James Franco as the enigmatic Tommy Wiseau