Review #1,307: 'Black Panther' (2018)

When Marvel first announced they would finally be giving their most popular African-based superhero a most overdue solo outing, audiences and critics alike clocked straight away just how important the film would be, not only in the superhero genre, but for mainstream film-making as a whole. In recent years, social media has raised huge question marks over an industry that had been, and still is, failing to honour both women and ethnic minorities in movies, with last year's Wonder Woman being the first superhero movie of note to tackle the issue head-on, delivering astonishing results in the process. Black Panther is not the first black superhero lead - see the likes of Spawn, Blade and Catwoman - but it is the first to truly celebrate African culture and specifically focus on the 'Black Experience'. The results are, again, truly astonishing.

Marvel has unleashed a game-changer, and one that is well on its way to becoming one of the highest-grossing movies of all time. But this was never really in doubt when they announced that Ryan Coogler, the enormously talented director behind Fruitvale Station and Creed, would be behind the camera, and expectations then soared as soon as the jaw-dropping trailer hit, which was our first real look at the vibrant and fantastical fictional African country of Wakanda. With Chadwick Boseman's T'Challa aka the Black Panther introduced two years ago in Captain American: Civil War, Coogler has been spared the need for origin story mechanics and has free reign to explore this previously unseen world. The big joke is that the rest of the world think of Wakanda as a third-world country full of goats and farmers, when in fact their technological advancements put everyone else to shame. Yet they choose to keep their major discovery - a crashed meteor carrying mystical substance vibranium - a secret for generations. After a brief read of African history, you can understand why.

So their country is a dazzling, futuristic sight, yet the Wakandans still honour the traditions of their ancestors. With their former king T'Chaka (John Kani) dead at the hands of Daniel Bruhl's Zemo, his son T'Challa has returned to Wakanda to receive his crown. He wants his old flame and active spy Nakia (Lupita Nyong'o) there for his big day, and his sister Shuri (Letitia Wright), a science boffin who trumps the likes of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner in terms of intelligence and innovation, teases her older brother. Despite an initial reluctance, T'Challa is a willing and capable leader, both politically and physically, able to defend any challengers without the aid of the enhance powers of the Black Panther. While the lack of having to watch the protagonist wrestle with their feelings as they step up to a bigger responsibility is certainly refreshing, the lack of any real arc for T'Challa is one of the very problems with Black Panther. With a supporting cast so vast and impressive, T'Challa often gets drowned out of his own story.

Still, the supporting cast, which includes the likes of Danai Gurira, Martin Freeman, Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker, Daniel Kaluuya, Andy Serkis and Winston Duke, certainly deliver. Wright near steals the film, and Duke, as rival tribe leader M'Baku, makes a big impression in a relatively short amount of time. But a Marvel film wouldn't be complete without a big bad, and Michael B. Jordan's Eric Killmonger is easily their most complex, imposing and sympathetic since Loki. To say more about his character would be giving away spoilers, but Coogler and co-writer Joe Robert Cole lay out his motivation and execution with real precision, and Jordan proves to be a thoroughly menacing presence. The cast, which is one of the best assembled in recent memory, help Cooger sculpt this fascinating world of progression and tradition, and even when the film can't help but indulge in a climax of CGI fisticuffs, you'll remain immersed because you'll care about the characters. Black Panther does something no other superhero has done before it - for me at least - and resonates long after the credits roll, proving timely in exploring the question of whether to build bridges or walls.


Directed by: Ryan Coogler
Starring: Chadwick Boseman, Lupita Nyong'o, Letitia Wright, Michael B. Jordan, Danai Gurira, Martin Freeman, Daniel Kaluuya, Winston Duke, Andy Serkis, Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,306: 'Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri' (2017)

Along an overgrown, disused highway somewhere outside Ebbing, Missouri, three formerly dilapidated billboards still bearing the torn remains of whatever advertisement was previously displayed there over a decade ago, have suddenly sprang back into life. Only the messages delivered aren't in the name of some big-name brand or local company, but they are the deliberately confrontational words of grieving, thoroughly pissed-off mother Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand). The first billboard reads 'Raped While Dying', followed by 'And Still No Arrests', and finally 'How Come, Chief Willoughby?' The opening scenes of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, which see Mildred negotiate a deal with businessman Red Welby (Caleb Landry Jones) and quickly install the provocative messages, set up a David-versus-Goliath story, in which a justice-seeking woman sets out to shame and spring into action the police department she feels has failed her following the brutal rape and murder of her daughter.

Yet, this being a film written and directed by Irish playwright Martin McDonagh, the kind of story suggested in the trailer is only the tip of a far more engaging and complex iceberg, and one that isn't afraid to take you to some incredibly dark places and urge you to accept the redemption of a truly repulsive character. The police department, led by family man and all-round likeable pillar of the community Chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson), take the billboards as a declaration of war, but Willoughby, being a sensible officer of the law, pays a visit to Mildred for some one-on-one time in the hope of resolving the matter peacefully. They chat almost like old friends, or former lovers who have stayed on good terms, but Mildred is unmovable in her quest. Even the revelation that Willoughby has terminal cancer and is close to death isn't enough for Mildred to think twice about her actions, and it turns out that she was already privy to this information before renting the boards. "They won't be as effective after you croak," she admits, almost like it's her way of apologising.

The role of Mildred was written specifically with McDormand in mind, and the result is her best performance since 1996's Fargo and will surely bring her second Oscar win come March. The first time we lay eyes on her she is marching into town like a gunslinger seeking revenge, dressed in blue overalls and sporting a tightly-wound bandanna. Despite the pleas of her teenage son Robbie (Lucas Hedges), who is bullied in school because of his mother's antics and performance on the local news station, as well as threats from the drunken, racist Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell), Mildred is unwavering in her strides for justice. Even her deplorable, wife-beating ex-husband Charlie (John Hawkes) voices his disapproval, but it all falls of deaf ears. Yet despite her questionable methods and finger-pointing at a police department who seem to have genuinely run into a dead end with the case, you stay with her until the end. I can't think of any other actress working today who could pull of a feat with such conviction, especially when dealing with a character who spends most of the movie keeping her real emotions close to her chest, or channelling them into rage.

McDonagh views small-town America as tightly-knit and full of big characters, a place where everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads like wildfire. In many ways, Three Billboards shares much in common with Calvary, the under-appreciated effort by the director's brother John Michael from 2014, and is structured almost like an ensemble piece. By bringing in a wealth of colourful supporting characters, played by the likes of Peter Dinklage, Abbie Cornish, Kerry Condon and Clarke Peters, as well as those already mentioned, McDonagh can explore themes of anger, bitterness, loss and loneliness on a far grander scale. While the wonderfully obscenity-laden script will keep you both laughing and wincing throughout the running-time, the film is at its most compelling when showing genuine compassion for the characters inhabiting the story. It refuses to judge anybody too harshly, even peeling back the layers of the most loathsome character in the story, the permanently hungover Dixon, who is played by a career-best Sam Rockwell. Three Billboards somehow manages to be both enormous fun and utterly heart-wrenching, and coming off the back of the underwhelming Seven Psychopaths, this is a huge stride in the right direction for the enormously talented McDonagh.


Directed by: Martin McDonagh
Starring: Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson, Sam Rockwell, Lucas Hedges, Abbie Cornish, Caleb Landry Jones, Peter Dinklage, John Hawkes, Clarke Peters
Country: UK/USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,305: 'Justice League' (2017)

So here it is. After four years and four movies of universe-building and origin stories, the heroes of Warner Bros.' DC Universe are finally brought together to face down a common foe and unite under the Justice League banner for the very first time on the big screen. Such an impressive roster of supers in a time when superhero mania is at its highest should have been a safe bet at the box-office, especially since Marvel's B-list characters like Ant-Man and Doctor Strange have been pulling in $500-600 million worldwide. How Justice League limped to just $700 million worldwide on the back of little to no fan anticipation speaks volumes about audience investment in this DC Universe. Patty Jenkins' Wonder Woman won back some faith, but returning director Zack Snyder has learned nothing from the criticism and backlash Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice received.

This is the same turgid, ugly and CGI-infested world started by Man of Steel, complete with one-note characters, headache-inducing fight scenes and plain bad storytelling. Yet, due to Snyder leaving the project in post-production as a result of tragic family circumstances, this makes up roughly half of the movie. The rest is purely Joss Whedon's input, after The Avengers' helmer was brought in to tighten up the film, re-write certain scenes, and take charge of the necessary re-shoots. Reports have surfaced recently that Snyder's rough cut was simply unwatchable, and sensing another critical panning, Warner Bros. simply cut their losses. Even the re-shoots were news worthy, as Henry Cavill, sporting an impressive moustache for his role in the upcoming Mission: Impossible - Fallout, was under contract to keep the facial hair, and so his upper lip would need to be altered with special effects. Naturally, the final film - which had a reported $300 million sunk into it - is a catastrophic mess.

Superman is dead, and the world has sunk into a state of despair. After taking down an alien scout during one of his crime-busting jaunts, the ageing Bruce Wayne, aka Batman (Ben Affleck), senses that a bigger threat is coming to Earth. A rich man in a stealthy suit won't be enough to tackle such an enemy, so he proceeds to round up his new friend Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), and hunt down those meta-humans glimpsed on Lex Luthor's laptop in Batman v Superman. There's Arthur Currie, aka Aquaman (Jason Momoa), the long-haired, tattooed Prince of Atlantis, Barry Allen aka The Flash (Ezra Miller), a motor-mouthed, incredibly annoying young man whose superpower is to run really, really fast, and finally Victor Stone, aka Cyborg (Ray Fisher), a half-human, half-machine hybrid who was created by his father with the help of a mysterious artefact called a Mother Box. There's two more boxes, and a giant alien warlord named Steppenwolf (voiced by Ciaran Hinds) hopes to snatch up all three.

You can work out almost on a moment-by-moment basis which segments were filmed by Snyder and which by Whedon. One second, were in the dour, unattractive world of Snyder's mind, where every character broods and walks in slow-motion. The next, we get quippy Batman and bright colours. Justice League became such a farce in post-production that I get the feeling the heads at Warner Bros. simply wanted rid of it, as this simply isn't the finished version of 300 million dollars worth of input. Steppenwolf's appearance changes from one scene to the next, and Cavill's moustache-removal is one of the most unnerving things I've seen on film. "We're not enough," claims Batman, and so Superman is dug up and brought back to life for the final act. Despite his weird CGI face, Cavill is actually one of the few pleasures of Justice League, as we finally get to see the hopeful, unstoppable Superman we have been waiting three movies to see. Sadly, his comeback is far too late to save the movie. For all its plot-holes, poorly-constructed action scenes and many other flaws, Justice League's biggest crime is that it is, inexplicably, just plain boring.


Directed by: Zack Snyder
Starring: Ben Affleck, Gal Gadot, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, Ezra Miller, Ray Fisher, Amy Adams, Jeremy Irons, Diane Lane, Connie Nielsen, Ciarán Hinds
Country: USA/UK/Canada

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,304: 'The Cloverfield Paradox' (2018)

If by some miracle Julius Onah's The Cloverfield Paradox is remembered in the years to come, it won't be for its qualities as a sci-fi actioner or its position in the intriguing and mysterious Cloverfield franchise, but for its rather ingenious marketing campaign. Audiences were aware of its existence under the name God Particle, but like the previous two entries in J.J. Abrams' monster series, everything about the movie was kept under wraps. Cue the Superbowl, where production studios clamber to show their latest trailers to the largest audience in the U.S., and the film, now under the name of The Cloverfield Paradox was finally unveiled. Much to everybody's surprise, they wouldn't have to wait several months to see it in the cinemas, but it would be available to stream on Netflix straight after the game. Now, you don't even need to leave the house to see the latest blockbuster in all its glory, but could watch it in your pants while intoxicated, with Doritos crumbs dotted down your front.

As I stated earlier, this was an ingenious move, but only on one side of the deal: Abrams and Paramount. Obviously sensing an utter stinker, they managed to flog this tarted-up straight-to-DVD effort to Netflix for more than $50 million. It started strongly, but the viewing figures started to die away as audiences sobered up. Hampered with a horrible, TV-level script, a willingness to steal from far better films, and a central mystery that gets explained to us before the story has even kicked in, The Cloverfield Paradox is barely a movie but a string of cliches played out by an enormously talented cast, which includes the likes of Gugu Mbatha-Raw, David Oyelowo, Daniel Bruhl, Zhang Ziyi, John Ortiz, Aksel Hennie and annoying comic relief Chris O'Dowd, all of whose eyes look oddly glazed over. If I had paid £9 or whatever ridiculous price the cinema is these days, I would be asking for my money back. Luckily I have Netflix, so I get to watch this crap for a small monthly payment. 

Set in 2028, the Earth is experiencing a global energy crisis and the crew aboard the orbiting Cloverfield Space Station are humanity's only hope. They aim to unleash the Shepard particle accelerator, which will generate infinite energy and save our species. Some, however, believe this will open up parallel universes and alternate dimensions, allowing demons and monsters into our world, tearing a hole in reality as we know it. When things start to get freaky, we know precisely what has happened, so are forced to suffer being two steps ahead of the crew for the remainder of the film. Things liven up slightly when a mysterious passenger winds up on board, played by the radiant Elizabeth Debicki, but by this time I was tired of seeing all my predictions come true. The Cloverfield Paradox feels like a forgotten straight-to-DVD relic from the early 2000s, dusted off and re-edited to loosely tie in with Cloverfield franchise. How they convinced Netflix to cough up $50 million is beyond me. Abrams should have done the decent thing and spared us of this nonsense altogether.


Directed by: Julius Onah
Starring: Gugu Mbatha-Raw, David Oyelowo, Daniel Brühl, John Ortiz, Chris O'Dowd, Aksel Hennie, Ziyi Zhang, Elizabeth Debicki
Country: USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,303: 'Suburbicon' (2017)

The town of Suburbicon was the picture-postcard image of the American Dream and wholesome family values for Americans in the 1950s and 60s. No doubt for many, it still is, with its picket fences, perfectly-trimmed lawns, cheery residents, and clean, crime-free streets. But of course, this Norman Rockwell painting come to life is only a utopia if you're white, and so the foundations of this suburban slice of apple pie are rocked when a black family, the Mayers, move in. The chatty and chubby postman suddenly starts to stutter and quickly back away at the sight of them, and neighbours gawk open-mouthed while they water their lawns. Soon enough, town meetings turn to right-wing rallies, Confederate flags start to appear, and the black family find their home surrounded by an angry white mob calling for them to pack up and get out.

Set in 1959, before the Civil Rights Act would make such an occurrence a hate-crime, Suburbicon has plenty of satirical bite and good intentions, but feels like a blender stuffed with half-baked ideas. Strangely enough, the arrival of the Mayers and their subsequent experiences isn't the focus of the film, but instead plays out as a sub-plot, escalating in the background while the main (and way less interesting) story unfolds. Snatched up by George Clooney and writing partner Grant Heslov, Suburbicon was once a canned Coen Brothers project from the 1980s, a story of a shocking crime hidden away behind the plastic smiles of American suburbia, and may have possibly served as the inspiration for the Brothers' 1996 masterpiece Fargo. But Clooney, here directing his sixth feature film - and the first in which he doesn't appear in the front of the camera - is politically-minded and insists on making the film's themes contemporary. The result is an unfocused, all too mannered mess.

Looking much more like your typical resident of Suburbicon, Matt Damon's Gardner Lodge is a bespectacled, slightly overweight family man who lives with his disabled wife Rose (Julianne Moore) and his son Nicky (Noah Jupe). One night, Nicky is awoken by his father who tells him to get dressed and come downstairs. There waiting are two strange men, who intimidate and humiliate the family before knocking them all out with chloroform. The result of this horrific home invasion is the death of Rose, and the remaining family, including Rose's twin sister Margaret (also Moore), are apparently rocked by the experience. Margaret moves in to offer emotional support, and Gardner stoically tries to get on with things despite everyone offering their condolences at every turn. But is there something more sinister at play? Why does Nicky witness his father visiting his aunt's bedroom late at night and failing to pick the two men (played by Glenn Fleshler and Alex Hassell) out of a line-up when they are apprehended by the police?

Clooney wants you to ask these questions, but the film takes it time to answer them. Suburbicon often plays like a mystery, trying to keep you guessing despite the fun really lying in watching its characters deal with the consequences of their actions. It's far too restrained to be as savage as it needs to be in order to be compelling, and really shines a slight on the Coen's talent for bringing their stories to life. We should be laughing as Gardner's walls close in around him and wincing at his efforts to escape them, but instead we're lumped with figuring out the plot and distracted by the increasingly hostile mob gathering outside the Mayers' place. Thank God then, for Oscar Isaac, who pops up as a charismatic, moustached insurance investigator who doesn't quite buy Gardner and Margaret's game. It's a great role, one I would have expected Clooney himself to play, and livens up the entire movie as it starts to really struggle to handle the many plot-threads. Suburbicon has aspirations to be a movie for the history books: the story of walls, hostility and chaos clearly tie in with Trump's America. But as much as I like him, Clooney isn't the director for such a task, and Suburbicon is too much of a confused slog to pack much of a punch.


Directed by: George Clooney
Starring: Matt Damon, Julianne Moore, Oscar Isaac, Noah Jupe, Glenn Fleshler, Alex Hassell
Country: UK/USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,302: 'Wet Hot American Summer' (2001)

With the sheer volume of teen sex comedies being released in the wake of unexpected smash-hit American Pie in 1999, Wet Hot American Summer flew way under my radar in 2001 and didn't come to my attention until Netflix announced that they were releasing a prequel series in 2015. It was a strange time when the likes of Chris Klein and Breckin Meyer threatened to become movie stars, but near enough all of the cast of Wet Hot American Summer have since established themselves as movie stars or famous faces in the comedy circuit and are still going strong. The film, directed by Role Models' David Wain, has also gone on to garner a cult following, thanks to its gleefully absurd sense of humour, anarchic storytelling approach, and 1980's setting.

Set on the final day of summer camp in 1981, Wet Hot American Summer tells its 'story' in the form of vignettes, with most of the characters looking to get their end away one way or another. There's Beth (Janeane Garofalo), the camp's director who finds herself inexplicably attracted to shy astrophysics assistant professor Henry (David Hyde Pierce). Coop (played by co-writer Michael Showalter) has the hots for fellow counsellor Katie (Marguerite Moreau), but her attention is taken up by her rebellious and obnoxious boyfriend, camp badass Andy (Paul Rudd). Other characters include Gail (Molly Shannon), the heartbroken crafts teacher, Gene (Christopher Meloni), the intense Vietnam veteran who has a habit of accidentally revealing his bizarre sexual habits mid-conversation, Victor (Ken Marino), who must run miles back to camp if he hopes to get laid, and Susie (Amy Poehler) and Ben (Bradley Cooper), the seemingly picture-postcard couple who aim put on the greatest talent show the camp has ever seen.

Most people's enjoyment of Wet Hot American Summer will hinge upon their willingness to accept the film's goofiness. It's a gag-a-minute: some jokes land, but most don't. It works best when at its most silly, like the sight of Marino struggling to jump over a tiny roll of hay in the road on his quest to lose his virginity, in a gag that brings Father Ted to mind, or Garofalo's one-hour trip into town that quickly descends into crack-smoking, granny-robbing depravity. But the film leans on the charm of its ensemble to get by, and with the sheer volume talent on show (Meloni and Rudd have never been funnier), it works well up to a point. As a nostalgia piece, it lovingly nails the era long before the likes of Stranger Things and It, and the result is a hybrid of Meatballs, Porky's and Friday the 13th. It's main problem is that it's lampooning something which isn't quite ridiculous enough to make fun of, so rather than a clever parody, it often resembles yet another entry in the teen sexy comedy wave that was thankfully dying out by 2002. Still, I understand the appeal and the cult following, but it feels like I'm slightly too late for the party.


Directed by: David Wain
Starring: Janeane Garofalo, David Hyde Pierce, Michael Showalter, Marguerite Moreau, Paul Rudd, Zak Orth, Christopher Meloni, A.D. Miles, Molly Shannon, Ken Marino
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,301: 'Geostorm' (2017)

It's been happening to major releases for decades, but nowadays near enough every big-budget blockbuster comes with its very own straight-to-DVD knock-off. Recently, cult label The Asylum have released the likes of Ghosthunters to coincide with 2016's Ghostbusters, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table to sponge off the success of Guy Ritchie's equally terrible King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, and even Operation Dunkirk to dupe ill-informed shoppers into thinking it was Christopher Nolan's awards-grabber Dunkirk. When I first saw the trailer for Geostorm, I was convinced that The Asylum had stretched their purse-strings a tad, and that Gerard Butler had finally done the decent thing and stepped away from the big screen. It turns out that Geostorm is actually meant to be a proper movie, and that The Asylum's cash-in was in fact called Geo-Disaster.

With its horrendous special effects, ham-fisted action and completely nonsensical premise, I refuse to believe that I'm the only one who couldn't fathom that this was an actual blockbuster attempt. Geostorm may just be one of the stupidest movies ever made, and the real horror is that the final product is actually the result of 15 million dollar re-shoots after audiences reacted badly to test screenings way back in 2015. If this is a result of expensive re-shoots and a two-year hiatus, then I'm almost curious to see what state it was in beforehand. I can only imagine that the original version wasn't quite as hilarious, although Butler was always attached to play Jake Lawson, the brain-child of a giant climate-controlling satellite dubbed 'Dutch Boy', so it must have been at the very least amusing. Dutch Boy monitors and influences the planet's weather after mankind has ravaged the Earth and turned it into a melting-pot of devastating storms and extreme temperatures.

He may be highly intelligent, but as he's played by Butler, he's also punchy and obnoxious, and has his toy taken away from him by a Senate cub-committee after he refuses to cooperate. Jake's brother Max (Jim Sturgess) is placed in charge instead, but Jake's skills and experience in the field may be called upon again when Dutch Boy starts carrying out seemingly random attacks and threatening to cause a 'geostorm' - a super-storm of which none will survive. Abbie Cornish is also in the movie for some reason, even though she's way above this sort of schlock. Soon after starting to navigate through the unnecessarily complicated plot you will realise that very little of Geostorm makes sense, and you can probably work out who the bad guy is by reading the cast list. However, for all its utter stupidity and boring set-pieces where millions are indifferently massacred by bad CGI, I can never say that Dean Devlin's Geostorm was boring. It made me laugh more than once (albeit unintentionally), and although I say this through gritted teeth, it's moderately entertaining, if brainless fluff.


Directed by: Dean Devlin
Starring: Gerard Butler, Jim Sturgess, Abbie Cornish, Alexandra Maria Lara, Andy Garcia, Ed Harris
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,300: 'The Room' (2003)

Terrible movies flood our screens every year. Some will make you want to demand your money back or simply tear your eyes from their sockets in a bid to end the suffering, but chances are, once it's finally over, you'll never think about it again. There are plenty of terrible bad movies, but great bad movies - those that truly stick with you - are in an incredibly short supply. There's a real art to creating something so jaw-droppingly bad, so head-scratchingly awful that you start to question your very existence. Tommy Wiseau's The Room, commonly referred to as the Citizen Kane of bad movies, has this art perfected. When the film trickled into selected theatres back in 2003, nobody could have predicted the impact it would have. Nobody, that is, apart from narcissistic writer, director, producer and star Tommy Wiseau.

Only Wiseau undoubtedly had visions of being showered with admiration and awards, even timing the film's release to qualify for the Academy Awards. Instead, The Room quickly developed a reputation as a side-show, screened regularly as part of the midnight movie circuit where audience members would shout the movie's memorable catch-phrases and hurl plastic cutlery at the screen. Wiseau has since explained that The Room was always meant to be a black comedy and never intended for it to be taken seriously, but that's about as believable as the director's claims that he was born in America. In fact, nothing about The Room is believable, from the wobbly-looking sets and wooden actors to the stilted dialogue and painfully long sex scenes. When you discover that this actually cost $6 million to make - somehow funded by Wiseau himself - you'll be wondering how the hell it ended up looking like an Australian soap opera.

Wiseau plays Johnny, a wealthy banker who seemingly possesses no character flaws. He has the appearance of a weather-beaten vampire with a head full of tar-dunked hair and a voice that resembles Christopher Walken if the King of New York actor was born in Eastern Europe and had suffered a stroke. His "future wife" Lisa (Juliette Danielle) has grown bored with Johnny and infatuated with his handsome best friend Mark (Greg Sestero). Despite pleas from her mother Claudette (Carolyn Minnott) to stay with the man who will take care of her financially, Lisa seduces Mark. After a night of drinking, Lisa falsely accuses Johnny of hitting her ("I did not hit her! I did naaaht!"). But being the optimistic, all-round great guy that he is, Johnny doesn't let this get in the way of emotionally supporting his young neighbour Denny (Philip Haldiman), the man-boy orphan who Johnny treats like a son, or to throw on a tuxedo for a game of catch with his buddies.

The Room resembles a 100-minute sitcom episode during which one or two sets are visited by a roster of minor characters that in no way resembles real life. Sub-plots, such as Denny landing himself in trouble with a gun-wielding drug dealer or Claudette's revelation that she has cancer, are introduced only to be never discussed again. Rather than exploring the characters by actually giving them something to do other than walk into a room and offer mundane advice, Wiseau would rather give us no fewer than four extended sex scenes, three of which involving the filmmaker's bare arse thrusting against Danielle's stomach. Scenes play out on rooftops and alleyways that are clearly sets with a green-screen backdrop, raising the question of why Wiseau didn't simply shoot on location. But thanks to endless establishing shots of San Francisco landmarks, we know that they're definitely not in a Los Angeles studio. It would be easy to talk about The Room for hours and not even scratch the surface of just how strange yet utterly fascinating it is. See it, hate it, and then love it. And tell your friends to do the same.


Directed by: Tommy Wiseau
Starring: Tommy Wiseau, Greg Sestero, Juliette Danielle, Philip Haldiman, Carolyn Minnott
Country: USA

Rating: *

Tom Gillespie