The Room is a Strange Place
Everybody has a back pocket story or two. You know the kind? The tales you pull out of your ass when trying to impress, or just entertain. I’ve divulged a couple of those cherished stories (on this very blog) over the years. I implore you to scroll a bit if you want to read about a physical altercation with a “pimp” on the Las Vegas strip or night spent with a close friend, two upset stomachs, a backed-up hotel tonight, and the culmination leading to several homeless people watching me shit in a public restroom. This story isn’t as grandiose, so I don’t want to over-hype it, but it does make me laugh every time I think about/ tell it and, I don’t know about you, I could use some laughter. Shall we proceed?
My brother and I have an unhealthy obsession with awful films. I’m not sure how it started, but we’ve always found a great deal of humor in horrible flicks. For as long as I can remember, he and I have gathered around a television set for hours watching countless “how on earth did someone create this?” movies. Our love of rancid cinema has extended to our close friends in the form of “So Bad, It’s Good” movie nights. We lure our loved ones in with the promise of as much booze, candy, and popcorn they can handle, and subject them to this perverse passion for terrible acting, cinematography, writing, lighting, set design, etc. We’re constantly in search of the next pile of trash to give an excuse to transform our living room into a shitty version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. There are some who long for the next Avengers and, while I will watch that, these bad movies speak more to my sensibilities.
In the mid-2000′s there were rumblings that a new champion had taken the crown for worst flick ever made. The internet was ablaze with this laughably bad, nonsensical movie that was only showing in Los Angeles. The movie was titled “The Room” and it was written, produced, and starring a man I’d never heard of before, Tommy Wiseau. Not one to torrent, I spent the next few evenings learning everything I could about this film. Each review, both those that were in on this being a god-awful blunder, and those that, seemingly, weren’t hip to the fact that this was largely considered the Citizen Kane of abhorrent films, made me salivate at the chance of getting my hands on this piece of substandard pop culture. While the reviews were enough for me to know this was a “must-see” it was the interviews with the man behind it all himself, Tommy Wiseau, that drove my desire to see this film. His cadence, accent, mannerisms, look, laughter.. everything about the man just leapt out as a truly original cat. I became just as intrigued about the man behind the film, as I did about the motion picture, itself.
Some time passes and I find myself at San Diego Comic Con, as I had many times before. For those of you uninitiated, think of San Diego Comic Con as the biggest nerd/ pop-culture orgy ever created. 120k+ plus descend upon Southern California to share their unadulterated love of movies, television, toys, and yes, comics. I went with someone who was newly christened my ex-girlfriend, thinking we could just work through things, as we’d each spent a great deal of money on the trip prior to the break up. This was a mistake. We were at each other’s throats more than a vampire at a hydra gathering. That is to say, any second away from her was more than welcomed. When she informed me that she wanted to take a nap, I used this time as a breath of fresh air (as fresh as can be in a sea of people who don’t treat personal hygiene as a top priority, that is). I hit the convention floor, in seek of an autograph of the creator of Invader Zim, Jhonen Vasquez. I’m weaving through the convention hall, when I see the man I’d become infatuated with... Tommy Wiseau. “Hey kid (I’m in my mid-late twenties at this point, mind you), you wanna buy a movie?” Without hesitation, I fired back “FUCK YEAH I DO!! How much?” This is when things got a little weird.. or Wiseau..
“For my biggest fan? Ten dollars.”, Mr. Wiseau said. “Biggest fan? He randomly stopped me, and I haven’t even seen this movie.”, I thought, but didn’t say a word, only reached for my wallet. I handed him a sweaty $10 bill, he goes to hand me the film, but reels back a second. “Do you want me to sign it?”, he asked. “Yes, please!!”, I fired back. Tommy pulled out a pin, started murmuring something, then signed my DVD. “Do you want GREH (he was saying “Greg”, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying through his accent) to sign it?” I didn’t know who “GREH” (I later found out this was Greg Sestero, another star of the film and inspiration for the movie) was, but sure, why not? As I awaited my newly autographed copy of my most anticipated movie of that year, Tommy chimed in again. “Would you like a soundtrack?”. “Um, how much?”, I cautiously treaded. “For my biggest fan? Are you kidding me? It free for you.” Genuinely creeped out, I said “Sure”. Tommy then turns and screams at a child no older than 7 to fetch me a soundtrack. The kid scurried off out of sight, leaving me with me with Tommy and “GREH”. A couple of minutes passed before the youngster returned, without soundtrack in hand. “WHERE IS THE SOUNDTRACK!?”, Tommy bellowed. “We’re all out.”, squeaked the kid. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS IN FRONT OF MY BIGGEST FAN!?!”, Wiseau roared, then turned and asked me, “I’m so sorry. Would you like a t-shirt?”. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to be any trouble.”, I said in genuine fear. “No trouble at all. GO GET HIM A SHIRT!!”, he screamed at the minor. “It’s really no problem at all for my biggest fan”, Tommy reiterated as he put me in a vice-like headlock. So there I am, in a Wiseau-headlock, standing next to “Greh”, when I notice something. There is a line of dozens of people, all holding copies of The Room, waiting to get their movies signed. In front of them, is a woman holding a sign that states “The Room: Front of the line”. Being a Comic-Con veteran, I realized these people were there to meet this man I stumbled across, had spent several minutes with, and was now awaiting a free shirt while in a wrestling hold by the man they were trying to meet. The daggers that were cast from the looks of those waiting in line would have killed me, if Tommy’s anaconda-like grip on my neck didn’t first. When the child reemerged, he handed me a shirt. I thanked the child, Tommy, “Greh”, and said my goodbyes. “Thanks for being my biggest fan. HAHAHAHAHA!!” I could hear Wiseau wail across the throng of nerds.
And there it is, my story of a strange encounter with a bizarre man who made one of Hollywood’s worst. I love The Room. I’m not entirely sure if I love it purely because of how bad it is, or have an affection for it due to the aforementioned meeting with the people who created it. Either way, it goes down as one of my favorite celebrity encounter moments and genuinely a film I watch more than those that make my “favorite film” list. It’s a movie I’ve subjected several friends victims to, and one that I can’t wait to put others through. That moment in time, and the flick itself, is a constant reminder, that even when life hands you lemons, you can always chuck them at somebody.
