It is rare that the presence of an audience around me in a cinema excites me to any level, it is after all supposed to vanish as the film elevates me to higher dimensions of escapism. This was not so much the case with The Room; the best worst film ever made. Not that the film itself didn’t elevate me to unknown levels of something (of what I have to admit I am not sure), but the audience is what made this particular Saturday evening unforgettable. The film is so awfully unintentionally ridiculous that it is well worth a watch in any circumstance, but if the chance presents itself to see it in a cinema: TAKE IT! If for no other reason that you get to lob plastic spoons at the screen as often as you like (in reality you lob them at the people in front of you, but it is one of the social advantages of this film that they will simply love you for it). Before I go any further, let me just say that this film is not for those of a strong feminist constitution; and that is simply because you are a woman.
The plot is simple enough – man and woman are engaged (mostly because he provides her with financial security), woman cheats on man (because she is evil), man saves boy next door from a drug-dealer (it’s ok, he’s going to prison), and, amidst it all, people the man and woman don’t know are eating chocolate of each other in their apartment.
Tommy Wiseau is the man behind this unforeseen success, a man with a strong vision, an indefinable Eastern European accent, a degree from an unnamed acting academy, unparalleled face-muscle density and the entrepreneurship to sell unknown numbers of fake leather jackets to fund his vision. He directed, produced, and, most importantly, starred in this rapidly rising gem on the cult-film-heaven. His interpretation of Johnny, the loving fiancé of the bitchy (such language is necessary in this case) Lisa, is, in short, indescribable. If most adjectives in my description come in negative form it is because words would never do The Room justice. I will however do a brief attempt to describe some of the prolonged and ‘tasteful’ sex-scenes that inspired many contorted facial expressions among the audience (and on the screen for that matter), as well as a mass-walkout: It looked something along the lines of a close-up shot of the rear end of a horse running – in slow motion. Considering this, along with pointless scenic shots of San Fran, an incredibly unsexy adulteress, a very sexy best friend in double denim, a lot of boys having a lot of fun tossing a ball to one another wearing cycling gloves or tuxedos, as well as mother that proudly proclaims she has breast cancer without ever mentioning it again, it is no wonder the film has risen to great heights of viewer participation. Just be sure to memorise the lingo and be ready to shout any of the following at appropriate moments:
Spoon! Cancer! Who the f*** are you? Hi Denny! Bye Denny! Cause you’re a woman! Unfocus! Alcatraz! Sestosterone! I put my evil inside you! You are tearing me apart Lisa!
Meanwhile, in San Francisco…
This film will have to be seen to be understood. I can safely say this though; The Room has changed my life – for the better.
next time they play we better get hammered and go watch it again. it was something else
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