Autodidactic multi-hyphenate James Franco has directed a
startling number of feature films. Most of them are…okay. He’s shown potential,
but while none of his films are truly terrible, even the best aren’t much more
than middling. Instead of cranking out four or five mediocre literary
adaptations a year, I’ve argued I’d like to see him focus on making one really
good movie. And though his pace doesn’t appear to have waned one iota, with
The Disaster Artist, Franco may have made his first great
film.
The Disaster Artist, based on the memoir
of actor Greg Sestero, tells the behind-the-scenes story of The
Room, the latest greatest cult “worst movie of all time” phenomenon.
Much like Rocky Horror, audiences flock to midnight shows of
the 2003 disaster-piece and participate in ritual acts, including throwing
spoons, mid-screening.
Franco’s film tracks maniac fringe wingnut Tommy Wiseau,
played by the director, as he follows his dream to become a Hollywood star,
strikes up a close friendship with Sestero (Dave Franco), and mounts the unlikeliest
movie production you’ve ever imagined.
Part of what makes The Room so
fascinating, beyond the apparent complete ineptitude on the part of everyone
involved in the production, is Wiseau himself. Stone-faced and fueled by
boundless ego, he’s a bizarre outsider who, to this day, purposely shrouds himself
in mystery. He’s a being of near-myth, a kind of Tinseltown urban legend who
created a movie out of sheer will and deep pockets—though the source of his
finances also remains largely cryptic.
And James Franco, wearing heavy prosthetics, nails the man. He
has every stilted move, every awkward enunciation down pat and inhabits Tommy
like a second skin in a strange, off-kilter bravura performance. Much like his
directorial output, he’s often shown glimmers of greatness as an actor, though
his career has been wildly up and down. But playing Tommy Wiseau, he finally
feels whole.
Based on an outlandish true story populated by off-the-wall
characters, The Disaster Artist could easily have become a
raucous oddity, much like The Room itself. Don’t get me
wrong, it certainly is raucous and odd and non-stop hilarious. But it’s also moving
and heartfelt and heartbreaking. At it’s core, the film is about the
relationship between Tommy and Greg and two friends chasing their dreams.
Strained and strange, external pressures test their bond and drag them over the
coals, and through it all, their connection rings authentic and true. It’s this
emotional core than gives The Disaster Artist depth and
makes it more than another crazy story to gawk at.
Because James Franco is one of those Hollywood types, everyone
you see is someone you’ve seen before. Seth Rogen, Jacki Weaver, Paul Sheer,
Nathan Fielder, and countless others have minor parts. Zac Efron and Alison
Brie have small roles, and Josh Hutcherson’s wig is award-worthy on its own.
But even characters who show up and have a single line will ring bells in the
audience.
At times, The Disaster Artist leans too
heavily on the fan-service angle. For The Room devotees, all
of the high points are represented and recreated here. (“Oh hi, doggee,” “Oh hi,
Mark,” “I did not hit her, I did naaahhhht,” “You’re tearing me apart, Lisa!”)
Still, it’s an oddball love letter to movies, a fascinating crowd-pleaser, and a surprisingly sweet story of passion and friendship. [Grade:
B+]
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