The Disaster Artist

A quite good take on the Worst Movie Ever

First, a caveat: If you’re obsessed with 2003’s hypnotically inept romantic drama The Room – and its mysterious, lank-haired auteur Tommy Wiseau – add two more stars to that rating. And if you’ve periodically checked out its screenings that have become ritualistic viewing experiences for die-hard dialogue-quoters, rest easy knowing that The Disaster Artist, a warmhearted comedy about The Room’s uneasy genesis, is very much for you.

If all the above is gobbledygook, though? Know that you’re in for a movie that flogs its fan service so vigorously it barely remembers to be anything more than a mildly weird story of friendship and betrayal. Maybe that’s all it needs to be. Dave Franco plays wannabe actor Greg Sestero (writer of the tell-all book on which this is based), a blandly handsome San Francisco suburbanite who falls in with the secretive, much-older Wiseau (James Franco). With Greg’s nervous mum in the rear-view mirror, they head for LA, to spend Tommy’s millions on an indie film of such terribleness, it sparks a fire of egos. This central relationship is undernourished, the Francos ending up with a film about loneliness and loyalty, a sweet takeaway but nothing more.

The bottom line
A quite good take on the Worst Movie Ever.


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