The Room

Johnny, a man thanks to whom a bank makes lots of money, did not get his promotion but he's way too busy trying to be American by throwing footballs around at any given opportunity to really mind that. And he's also about to get married to Lisa who's in some computer business of some kind but she's having an affair with Mark, Johnny's best friend, who does not want to hurt Johnny but clearly can't help himself. Danny, Johnny and Lisa's young sexually confused neighbour who has problems of his own somewhat related to drugs and football fetching, doesn't suspect a thing although he's always hovering about and is also in love with Lisa but would rather watch Lisa and Johnny in bed when he's not fetching Johnny's balls. The only person who knows what is afoot between Johnny and Lisa is Lisa's mother who begs her daughter to come to her senses but in vain since no one listens to her and... she's dying... since she DEFINITELY has breast cancer (which is okay since "they're curing people everyday"). Confused? Well don't be...

And welcome to the wondrous world of "The Room". This is a world from the breathtaking lack of imagination of Tommy Wiseau, the least appealing man ever to walk this Earth; a world where people play football in tuxedo, have the same conversations again and again due to their 5 minutes memory, make babies by humping belly buttons in the middle of rose petals and finally enter and exit places without any other reason than to do just that.

Indeed, this is probably one of the worst film ever made but as opposed to any other cinematic turd, this one is hardly ever dull (except for the "sex" scenes maybe), the aimless plot driven through one stupidity to the other by the on-par grammar-school writing delivering gems galore ("I'm so happy I have you as my best friend and I love Lisa so much", "I'm tired. I'm wasted. I love you darling"), the final broth served by inept performances (for want of a better word) from its cast. This is truly the most inspired disaster ever committed to screen.

But what I find the most interesting about the "The Room" is its maker Tommy Wiseau. "The Room" is a window into his confused psyche because make no mistake folks: Tommy IS Johnny. And what are we told about Johnny? Well that "he's very caring about the people in his life", provides for his girlfriend, "is very sensitive", "doesn't drink", "has a very secure situation" and has nice pecs. Quite a catch wouldn't you say ladies? On paper possibly... Because everything about his persona seems phoney: his accent which is a mix of anyone's that ever walk this planet whom couldn't speak English, his over-sized suit, his dark, long and way too greasy hair, his geriatric body posture, his re-shaped and re-muddled face and, above all, his completely dry and humourless laughter (and not in a sarcastic way either). Such a penchant for dissimulation is downright creepy and I must admit, the physical repulsion he exerts on me is the stuff fascination is made of.

The fact that "The Room" has gathered such a cult following is no surprise. In the oh-so jaded times we're living in, celebrating the mediocre, talentless and pointless have become all the rage with the recipient of the mockery confusing infamy with fame. There is something both pathetic and a little unsettling about how Tommy Wiseau regards the cynical interests his movie has attracted for a genuine recognition of his talent.

Mind you, I suppose Mr Wiseau can take pride in the fact that "The Room" will go down in Cinema history. But as what?

Forget all the three-line raves this movie has received (which all seem to be suspiciously similar in tone). THE ROOM is one of those rare laugh-riots that is so fantastically inept as to border on genius. While most bad movies offer a handful of terrible scenes divided by stretches of just plain dull, writer-director-producer-star Tommy Wiseau's film offers one moment of disaster after another.

Whether it's the made-up-by-fifth-graders dialogue, the deer-in-headlights performances, or the positively icky sex scenes (love those smushed rose petals on the chubby girl's back), you'll be howling from start to finish.

This movie has already amassed a cult of people who know what to yell at the screen and when; for a movie that's being self-distributed, this rates as some kind of crap-movie miracle.

Keep an eye out for the pointless insert shots of San Francisco, which give the idea of time passing even when it doesn't: one party scene, for example, features eight of these cut-aways.

You really can't believe how terrible THE ROOM is, but at least it's entertaining, albeit in ways that the lazy-eyed, odd-bodied, English-mangling auteur never imagined. Not to be missed.

Possibly the most entertaining CRAP film of all time, beating out "From Justin to Kelly," and every movie starring Steven Segal. Note: you must be in the presence of a large heckling audience and/or under the influence to enjoy this movie. Although Tommy "What the hell am I saying?" Wiseau may be lauding his film as reminiscent of Tennessee Williams, the closest it comes to anything I've seen by Williams is that I had to get up to pee three times during it. Crap writing, Crap acting, Crap directing...but the movie as a whole? So deliciously crap that it can only be considered CRAPTASTIC!

Nobody seems to know where Tommy is from, although the consensus seems to be somewhere in Eastern Europe. So I have decided to consider his point of origin, Ridiculouslovania.

Have we been sending out the wrong signals? Is this really what Ridiculouslovanians think about us? I never stand three feet from my friends and toss a football. Never. Unless I am making fun of "THE ROOM."

I've never in my life been more entertained by a film that has absolutely NO redeeming qualities. Unintentionally inept characters engage in progressively bizarre and unnatural interactions which seem to peak at erratic and unexpected intervals. The awkwardness of the actors is framed by strange pauses, jarring scripts and incredibly bizarre production techniques - there are ample 'deer in the headlights' moments, in which you can feel genuine sympathy for these people who are obviously so caught up in Tommy's strange and dominating creative control that they've failed to see any better.

Other filmmakers play with similarly surreal concepts - David Lynch for example - but this film lacks anything resembling artistic refinement, insight or self awareness placing it far from comparison. It's kind of like watching a train crash in slow motion - random, incoherent, disastrous, accidental and ultimately painful. The sense of alienation emanating from this film places the audience extremely far from being able to relate to what's happening on screen, which leaves a lot of room for uncontrollable laughter given the right circumstances.

The camera work and production techniques would not be out of place in many daytime soap operas, nor would the script and plot, but there is an undefinable quality which separates this movie from the sense mediocrity often found in such shows and instead casts it deep into the abyss of tragically bad film making where it will be forever trapped along with Wiseau's artistic integrity. This really is a new frontier.

It is truly awful, but I cannot recommend it enough.

I can't think of anything good to say about this movie, other than I enjoyed every single second of it. It's actually so bad that it entertains effortlessly.