Commonly accepted as one of the worst films ever, this one-man show tells the story of Johnny, an abnormally stiff character locked in a love triangle with his dull-as-dishwater fiancée Lisa, and best friend Mark. Despite sharing an apparently healthy sex life with Johnny, Lisa confides in her doting mother Claudette (or “stupid bitch”, as she calls her) that she is terribly bored with her husband-to-be and begins a lacklustre affair with Mark. As Johnny struggles at work, Lisa contemplates leaving him completely, even staging a birthday party for him to flaunt her relationship with Mark. Devastated, Johnny loses his temper... with destructive consequences.
Well... where does one start... The multi-talented man of the moment is Tommy Wiseau, a man with a face for Mt. Rushmore, who directed, wrote, produced and starred in this unforgettable creation. Wiseau’s screenplay, punctuated with incongruous “mmms” and “ohs”, attains new levels of awful with its complete ineptness. Subplots and minor characters appear and disappear, never leaving an impression on the main story. Even supposedly important lines such as “I definitely have breast cancer” go completely unacknowledged. The cast comprises actors not good enough for porn – proof of this comes courtesy of several tacky sex scenes, all accompanied by heavily-dated R&B. Then of course, there is Wiseau himself, an actor so unskilled that Arnold Schwarzenegger seems born to act by comparison. But of course, there is a perverse enjoyment in the god-awful, and in this respect The Room succeeds like no other film in history.