The Disaster Artist
People are, by and large, fuckwits. But who's the bigger fuckwit: the person who takes a bite of some food and says to his friend, "Gaw! This tastes like an AIDS monkey's ass! Here, try some." or the friend who takes a big, hemorrhoidy chomp?
2003's The Room is the movie version of the AIDS monkey ass-snack in the previous 'graph. It's not just bad. It's not so-bad-it's-good. It's barely a movie at all and totally unwatchable unless you're drunk, high or recently lobotomized. The self-funded vanity project by the talentless actor and somehow even more talentless writer, Tommy "Count Assula" Wiseau, should've had its two-week pity run in a single theater and been forgotten forever, but this being America people who obviously had entirely too much time on their hands decided it was meant ironically (it wasn't) and turned it into a midnight movie cult classic.
Now some other people with entirely too much time on their hands - as well as money to burn - have made a "making of" dramatization of the making of The Room called The Disaster Artist. Other than Wiseau and a handful of feckless, fuckless, hopeless film nerds, nobody noticed, and nobody cared.
Possible rapist and definite asshat James "That's Doctor Asshat To You" Franco produces, directs and stars as Wiseau in this ode to smegmosity. Franco's brother, Dave "'s Not Here Man," costars as Wiseau's quite possibly not-hetero lifemate and The Room accomplice, Greg Sestero. Because it's a day ending in "y," the oat to Franco's meal, the gin to his juice, the ball gag to his gimp suit, Seth "Fozzy" Rogen, also shows up to look all-too-naturally clueless.
The Disaster Artist is a movie that never should've been made about a movie that never should've been made.
March 16, 2018 Video release review rather than theatrical release review because . . . Oh, hi Mark.