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Film Review: The Disaster Artist

The Disaster Artist (2017; Directed by James Franco)

It would be best to open with an admission that I have not seen The Room, Tommy Wiseau’s curiously terrible, idiot-savant Badfilm cult classic, in its entirety. Youtube compilation videos of the 2003 catastrophically-failed melodrama highlighting the film’s awkwardly non-specific dialogue, whiplashing tonal shifts, unresolved plot twists, unexplained tuxedo-clad games of football catch, and meme-worthy overdramatic acting are about as deep as I can get into this inadvertent crap-terpiece, which has become a species of Rocky Horror Picture Show midnight-showing favourite for Very Online millennial ironists. Little I have seen makes me want to see more, to be frank, although it is entirely possible that the The Room might gain a certain oddball rhythm of brilliant awfulness when viewed complete.

Anyway, director/star James Franco’s The Disaster Artist tells you more than enough about Tommy Wiseau, The Room‘s eccentric director/producer/writer/star, and his misbegotten cultural-meme movie, while also telling you nothing much at all. It also tells you a lot about James Franco while also telling you nothing much at all; maybe, in the case of both artist and subject, there isn’t much worth telling. Franco is one of Hollywood’s most curious cases, forever a movie-star-in-embryo with matinee-idol looks and undeniable talent, but likewise possessed of a sense of above-it-all detachment that keeps him off the A-List. Franco also boasts open and earnest high-brow literary pretensions, publishing short fiction collections, teaching university courses about the poetry of film, and directing, producing, and starring in low-budget, barely-seen film adaptations of seminally serious Dead White Guy novels by William Faulkner, John Steinbeck, and Cormac McCarthy (who isn’t dead, yes, I know).

These latter passion projects, greeted at best with a dismissive shrugs by critics and seen by precisely no one, might serve to explain Franco’s interest in Tommy Wiseau and his peculiar form of cinematic infamy. In The Disaster Artist, Franco sees Wiseau as an unerringly hilarious character and at once a strange enigma and a psychological open-book. Spearheaded by Franco’s meticulous and eerie impersonation of Wiseau and contrasted with his younger brother Dave Franco’s straight-man Greg Sestero – Wiseau’s minor-actor friend and co-star who also co-wrote the memoir about the production of The Room on which The Disaster Artist is based – the film leans hard into the obvious humour of Wiseau’s quest to make this comically terrible movie, gently ribbing Hollywood inspirational-film themes and behind-the-scenes realities at the same time. But James Franco also quite clearly considers Tommy Wiseau a kindred spirit, and sees his journey as weirdly, genuinely inspiring as well as, it could be said, personally applicable to his own life and maybe to those of the audience, too.

In the film as in the book as in real life, Sestero meets Wiseau in an acting class in San Francisco. The handsome but nervous and self-conscious Sestero (an ex-model) is impressed by Wiseau’s total lack of vanity and by his performative abandon (he acts out the agonized Marlon Brando “Stella!” scene from A Streetcar Named Desire by one of his favourite authors, “The Tennessee Williams”). The two men become friends, roommates, and move to Los Angeles together to have a crack at Hollywood stardom. Sestero manages some minor roles (he was in Gattaca, Patch Adams, and the TV show Nash Bridges) but the peculiar Wiseau, with his long black hair and piratical sartorial sense, distracting and unplaceable accent (he claims to be from New Orleans, but no one believes him), and bizarre and awkwardly aggressive personality, gets nowhere.

Wiseau is independently wealthy (various explanations have been given for where his money came from, none of them ultimately satisfying) and hatches the idea of funding an independent movie that he will write, direct, and star in himself, with Sestero as his co-star. Although in real life Sestero’s role in The Room was intended to be behind-the-scenes only before he was convinced to replace the original actor playing the character of Mark after Wiseau fired him, in The Disaster Artist he is on board as a key collaborator from the start. The chaotic, contentious productions strains their relationship beyond the breaking point, however, as Wiseau frustrates and terrorizes the cast and crew (recognizable faces such as Seth Rogen, Josh Hutcherson, and Zac Efron are among them), demonstrates almost no useful or applicable working knowledge of filmmaking, and vindictively scuttles a potential big break of a role for Sestero by forcing him to shave his beard for a big climactic reveal in The Room that doesn’t make any sense.

In the end, of course, these sundered friends are brought together again by the unpredictable inverted success of The Room, which James Franco climactically shows confounding a premiere-night audience before winning them over as an audience-pleasing accidental comedy classic, its cult status clinched before the credits even roll. Franco, one fancies, sees in Wiseau and The Room a strange carnivalesque inversion of the kind of follow-your-dreams inspirational tropes that Hollywood has bandied about and persistently self-celebrated for decades. The Disaster Artist reproduces these conventions and thus lampoons them, always already with a coy meta self-awareness (the Oscar-nominated screenplay is by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber). For example, Wiseau’s lowest point in Tinseltown before launching into the making of The Room comes when he accosts a big-time producer in a restaurant who pitilessly shoots down his show-biz ambitions. The producer is played in cameo by Judd Apatow, the prominent producer-director of numerous Hollywood bro-comedies known for pushing the genre’s thematic boundaries and for nurturing emerging comedic talent, including both Franco brothers.

The more one delves into The Disaster Artist, the more meta-mirrors emerge. Greg Sestero’s girlfriend for a time is Amber, played by Dave Franco’s real-world wife Alison Brie. Wiseau openly resents her for coming between him and Sestero, and The Room‘s production increasingly becomes merely a mechanism for forcibly sustaining the two men’s friendship. Is this a reflection of envy on James Franco’s part for his younger brother’s relationship from a man with a checkered romantic and sexual history (including some sexual misconduct allegations that hypocritically clash with his public #MeToo solidarity)? It could be read as such, and is hinted at obliquely in dialogue that interprets The Room‘s focus on Wiseau’s alter-ego Johnny being betrayed by his fiancee Lisa (Ari Graynor plays Juliette Danielle, who played Lisa in The Room) as reflecting a past break-up in Wiseau’s life. The Wiseau/Sestero bromance also fits in cozily with past homosociality-centric Franco-headed comedies, particularly with Rogen (a producer on this film as well as an onscreen player), which suggests that the core theme of romantic betrayal in The Room actually reflects a growing distance between Wiseau and Sestero.

Beyond such nesting-doll tabloid-esque speculations, however, one can’t help but return to the interpretation that James Franco assumes the role of Tommy Wiseau because he feels in some way that, despite his general Hollywood success, he is Tommy Wiseau. Does Franco realize that his passionate toil on his literary adaptations just might outstrip his artistic capacity as a filmmaker, and that those more-than-a-little-pretentious works come across as unintentionally laughable as The Room? Does he even envy Wiseau, whose defining Z-grade work has achieved an enduring popularity (ironic or transgressive as its enthusiastic infamy may be) that eludes his own films? Or does he want to encourage thoughtful film consumers to think so, as another added layer of irony? If so, the fact that The Disaster Artist received more critical plaudits, awards, and popular success than anything else James Franco has directed adds another layer of irony to this particularly large onion. If The Room is a window into the supposedly mysterious life and identity of Tommy Wiseau, perhaps The Disaster Artist is equally a window into the self-constructed mystery around James Franco.

Categories: Film, Reviews
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