The Disaster Artist

And How Prison Doesn't Automatically Build Character

It’s hard to say something original about “The Room”, the blindingly brilliant nervous breakdown of Tommy Wiseau he somehow shirtless wrestled into a workable two hour narrative. We’ve spent years acquainting and re-acquinting ourselves with Wiseau, the untamed madman of bad-movie lore as he comes up with peculiar, circular explanations as to what “The Room” is, what it means, why people see it as a one-of-a-kind movie experience. Why people laugh at him, or with him, or both.

For a while, people ignored the story of Greg Sestero, Wiseau’s wooden co-star in “The Room”, his heterosexual muse in this journey into mystery. Sestero wasn’t one to just let Wiseau claim all the accolades – he eventually wrote a book called “The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, The Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made”. This publication, a must for those invested in “The Room Cinematic Universe” (aka the RaCU), tells the previously unknown story of Wiseau and Sestero as two unknown actors living together who eventually decide to collaborate on a legitimate classic.

“The Disaster Artist”, directed by James Franco, starring James Franco, coasts largely on the infamy of the previous movie. Here, Franco and Franco meet, James playing Wiseau and Dave Franco as Sestero. The casting immediately suggests a two-side-of-the-same-coin gambit that the movie never fulfills, because Wiseau and Sestero are ultimately worlds apart from each other. To put a fine point on it, Sestero is a good-looking young guy striving for success. And Wiseau is a belligerent Martian of indeterminate age who believes the everyday challenges of Los Angeles are a clear affront to him. James Franco, unfortunately, cannot do the impossible: recreate the muscled, inexplicably grizzled, arbitrarily whimsical Wiseau. That being said, Wiseau is literally an impossible person.

While the conventionally-attractive Sestero tries to excel in his acting classes and nab a few juicy roles, Wiseau seems determined to reinvent the art form from the inside, in a method that seems less like nuanced and more about indulging his own whims. He despises craft and doesn’t take advice from anyone, which causes a rupture in his relationship with Greg. So when Sestero’s approach begins to work, Wiseau grows more jealous and moody. That is, until Sestero reads Wiseau’s script for “The Room”, where the part earmarked for Greg is a close buddy to Wiseau’s Tommy until he betrays him. An interesting story to read right before going to sleep in a room next to the screenwriter in question.

The second half of “The Disaster Artist” largely focuses on the making of “The Room”. There’s more than enough to fill a runtime, as we make our way through the conception of multiple bewildering scenes, witnessing both Wiseau’s creative process and the conflicts that result. James Franco at the time was very hot despite a number of controversies that had yet to go mainstream, so he was able to recruit a murderer’s row of actors. You know he’s got funny friends, so Seth Rogen popping in it’s a surprise, nor is the appearance of guys like Jason Mantozoukas and Paul Scheer. But Sharon Stone, Josh Hutcherson? Bryan Cranston and Judd Apatow deliver cameos. There are recognizable faces everywhere. Most of the people here aren’t playing to their strengths, they are just serving as cameos because these famous people happen to be massive fans of “The Room”. Reality even warps a little to allow for an appearance by Nathan Fielder.

What’s disappointing is that this movie lacks any value for someone not well-versed in “The Room”. It’s mostly a greatest-hits package of your favorite bad movie, but this time the faceless bully is Zac Efron. What value comes from goofy re-enactments, and dramatizations of backstage scuffles that in no way explain the choices made to create “The Room” (but go a long way towards revealing Wiseau to be a selfish, childish manipulator)? I had higher expectations, considering the book is less focused on the movie, and more on the contentious back-and-forth between roommates headed in opposite directions. The book is written by Sestero and as such he remains the main character, Wiseau merely a destructive force. When Sestero nails a lead role in a “Puppet Master” sequel, Wiseau cannot contain his hostility. Which, of course, swings back to a jovial flirtatiousness, a terrible combination for a housemate. The book, essentially, is a psychological tug-of-war between a naive young dude and a mysterious older idiot from parts unknown.

Oddly enough, Sestero’s written accounts recalled another book that was optioned for a movie, Neill Strauss’ nonfiction “The Game: Penetrating The Secret Society Of Pick-Up Artists”. This unforgettable expose starts off with Strauss, an unimposing journalist, infiltrating a group of self-styled “pick-up artists” and learning about their methods of seduction. At first an amused observer, Strauss ultimately comes to understand the ways of seduction and becomes the head of the Pick-Up Artist community, previously run by a goofy showman named Mystery (who went on to host a related series on VH1, because reality TV in the mid-00’s was far worse than it was today for some reason). Strauss eventually develops megalomaniacal tendencies that ensnare the whole group, and realizes that he’s become a misogynist tyrant. After ending on a happy note, with Strauss making a life with Hole guitarist Melissa Auf Der Maur, a sequel book reveals that he has become a self-loathing sex addict.

Franco was also briefly attached to “The Game” to be a film, though it never came to fruition – he would have played Mystery. But “The Game” and “The Disaster Artist” as books share DNA, both tales of male tyrants who live together and try to obsessively dominate each other as they build off of childish aspirations. Like “The Disaster Artist”, there is tension within “The Game”, where Mystery loses control of the group to Strauss, a conflict exacerbated when they all move into the same mansion together. I expected a similar sort of tension reflected in “The Disaster Artist”, but instead it seems more geared towards a celebration as to how inept a movie “The Room” actually is. As the core audience – someone who agrees with this thesis – I wish someone tried to do more with this material. As is, it’s just another revisit into the world of Tommy Wiseau.

I wanted to end this week with an acknowledgement of the messy politics of decarceration. Because it’s one of those topics of which you need to show care regarding those who agree with you. I was appalled recently to see Senator Cory Booker as the lone Democratic vote for Charles Kushner to confirm the man as ambassador to France. A quick glance reveals he is unqualified, but he is a Trump appointee – this was a given. This was a most curious stance from Booker, who believed Kushner, a corrupt member of a corrupt family, serving a corrupt administration, should earn another chance because, essentially, he was an ex-con.

Kushner served in federal prison, spending less than two years as a federal camp. Afterwards, he zealously advocated against incarceration, to the point where he was one of the loudest voices in support of the First Step Act, the most important federal prison legislation in decades. This is a powerful accomplishment for Kushner except that, like many in Washington, once the First Step Act was created, everyone stood back to admire their handiwork and never talk about criminal justice again. I do appreciate that Booker believes someone can rehabilitate themselves after federal prison. However, the biggest issue remains: Senator Booker, you’re using Kushner’s principled engagement regarding criminal justice to confirm him for a position that has absolutely nothing to do with criminal justice. Are you sure, as the only Democrat voting for Mr. Kushner, you have your priorities in order?