The Disaster Artist (2017)

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James Franco directs himself, Dave Franco and Alison Brie in this recreation of the making of “the worst movie ever made,” The Room, and the strange relationship between its principals, Tommy Wiseau and Greg Sestero.

A hipster Ed Wood but with little of the heart. My fear going in wasn’t that I never wanted to watch The Room. The idea of being in a roomful of unproductive yuppies screeching with laughter at the end product of a group of people who had least tried to create some art repulses me. My fear was it would be merely a cynical spoof of their failed endeavour. The first hour almost won me over, the Francos clearly have a loyal affection for their true story counterparts. Some chuckles are elicited from their enthusiastic awfulness. But after that hour you realise the story has little humour away from the calculated schadenfreude and little drama away from a bit of salacious on-set gossip about elevated nobodies. When they devote an extra 10 minutes of runtime before the end credits to recreating scenes from the film they couldn’t fit into the narrative, you realise what this all is… expensive celebrity karaoke to a song you wouldn’t bother listening to by the original artist. Ed Wood didn’t just make you want to watch Glen Or Glenda?, it crystallised its overlooked decency and ambition, while The Disaster Artist is merely a dull film about a bad joke.

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