In 2003, a mysterious billboard popped up in Los Angeles, with a sinister headshot and a phone number, advertising a movie called “The Room.” Playing in one theater, the romantic melodrama written, directed, produced by and starring the inimitable Tommy Wiseau was a flop, until cult movie fans discovered possibly the best worst movie ever and made it a hit. Now the story of the making of that movie is itself a movie, “The Disaster Artist,” directed by and starring James Franco as Wiseau. And it’s entirely appropriate that this movie about a very bad movie is, in fact, very good.
“The Disaster Artist” is also very, very funny, intentionally so, about someone who never intended to be funny, who ended up embracing the sometimes loving, sometimes derisive laughter directed toward him and his film. Wiseau is just so unabashedly himself, without shame. In a kooky yet vulnerable performance, Franco gets right at the heart of what makes Wiseau a true hero — his sheer willingness to try — and that is what makes “The Disaster Artist” work.
Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber adapted the script from a memoir about the making of “The Room” written by Wiseau’s unlikely collaborator, Greg Sestero, played by Dave Franco. Their script emphasizes the friendship between Greg and Tommy, a duo of dreamers who are more alike than they might seem.
They meet in a San Francisco acting class, where the self-effacing and naive Greg is drawn to Tommy’s strange charisma and unfiltered fearlessness. With an accent of mysterious provenance (he claims to be from New Orleans but sounds like he’s from Transylvania), no discernible age and seemingly endless financial resources, Tommy never hesitates. He just does whatever pops into his head.