The Disaster Artist

At one point in this zany retelling of the worst film in the world, The Room by man of mystery Tommy Wiseau (James Franco, who also directs), a peeved script supervisor in the shape of Seth Rogen says something along the lines of: “Let’s go to a bar and erase all memory of today.” Which is a pretty accurate description of my post-match analysis of Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber’s screenplay which is itself based on the non-fiction book of the same name by Wiseau’s co-star Greg “Baby Face” Sestero (Dave Franco whose radiant smile more than lives up to his character’s nickname). To be clear, James Franco’s performance is a hoot: his accent a cross between Charlie Chan and Count Dracula; his physicality the bastard child of Ozzie Osbourne and a zombie from Night of the Living Dead; his age a movable feast identical to whoever is standing before him; and the financial backing for his six million dollar vanity project shrouded in mystery. And it’s obvious that he and his brothers Dave and Tom, not to mention a conveyor belt of A-listers in small cameo roles (Bryan Cranston, Judd Apatow and Zac Efron to name but three) are having a hoot. But for the audience, the hoot-o-meter rarely strays from titter to belly laugh.