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?
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?