My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Back in July, I had discovered, upon its newly released film trailer, the upcoming film, Disaster Artist, and once again found myself obsessed with The Room, a film that still defies all rationale. My husband and I have laughed our way through The Room far too many times and instantly became excited (ecstatic even) to discover the newest installment for our ever-growing obsession. Having said that, I didn’t even know of the existence of the book, The Disaster Artist, and promised myself I would purchase it for my husband’s birthday knowing full well that I, too, (and selfishly so) would be able to read it as well.
I didn’t just read this book. I devoured it. Every page I fell further into the labyrinthian world of Tommy Wiseau, with no desire to escape the rabbit-hole I so willingly plunged myself into. I found myself both laughing and crying throughout; I found myself reflecting on the nature of our realities and the limitations of our unrealized dreams. All while knowing what I was supposed to be reading was none other than the making of the worst movie ever made.
But this story is so much more than that. So much bigger than that. It is a movie for, like Greg Sistero, those that genuinely love movies. It is a movie for, like Tommy Wiseau, those that genuinely love story-telling – however indecipherable. This is the story of a man – however horrible, uncompromising, unyielding, misogynistic, cruel, foul-tempered, selfish, and vain – who attempts to do what we all desire: achieve our dreams. Especially the kind that everyone keeps reminding you are impossible. What’s not to love about that?
And it is his (Tommy’s) Gatsbyesque persona that transcends this book into something more than just a behind the scenes tale. At its center is the American dream; the sometimes incomprehensible, forever indomitable existence of every dreamer.
I’d strongly encourage you to watch The Room prior to reading this book. And, if you are anything like me, continue to rewatch it while reading. It truly is a sight to behold and one that – like a fine Merlot that Tommy is convinced all women drink while gossiping with their friends – gets only better with time.