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telthor 's review for:
The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made
by Greg Sestero, Tom Bissell
Yes, the book is funny--you'll kind of stare, open-mouthed, at the details behind the scenes. You'll laugh at some of the artistic and otherwise choices made by everyone involved.
But there's an edge to it that I truly don't like.
It's made very clear that Tommy Wiseau is an incredibly private person. Sestero's prying and implications and private details don't feel kind. Had there been an intro from Wiseau included rather than James Franco, I would feel better, but as it is, this feels highly sketchy. I think Sestero is very fond of his strange foreign friend, as much as you can call this bizarre relationship friendship, but some of the side musings feel uncomfortable, and not in the "Haha social ineptitude and mental abuse" sort of way.
After filming a scene in a fake alley that really isn't working from a film standpoint, one of the filmmakers says to Wiseau, '"It's okay [ . . . ] Forget this scene. Nothing happens in it anyway. Save your money. Let's move on and film the living room stuff." Tommy looked back at Sandy in shock. "No," he said, smiling. "This is good, fun scene. We have good chemistry. And look at this." He directed Sandy's attention to the monitor. "You see that? I look strong, like little eighteen-years-old kid." That's when I realized why the scene meant so much to him: In that monitor, at least, Tommy was young and had a fun life and many, many friends.'
That sort of melodramatic tragic posturing and assumption permeates the entire book and gives it an air of unease, at least for me. I do think Sestero likes Wiseau despite being able to, in hindsight, view their relationship as the abuse it was. But the book is riding on the fame of the cult, and while it doesn't feel mean spirited, it does feel clunky and unwise.
The behind the scenes of how a film is actually made is fascinating, though should all be taken with an ocean of salt since Wiseau's directing is a disaster. And it's great fun to watch crew members go from chipper to baffled to angry to gone over the span of a few pages, to be sure. But it still carries an awkward edge to it, with a fake "biography" included about what Wiseau claims to be his life, maybe.
I would much rather you read Cary Elwes's As You Wish instead, should you be looking for a behind the scenes thing of a cult classic. But if you want a book that's nearly as complicated and convoluted and uncomfortable as the cult classic it's centered around, you'll read this anyway.
But there's an edge to it that I truly don't like.
It's made very clear that Tommy Wiseau is an incredibly private person. Sestero's prying and implications and private details don't feel kind. Had there been an intro from Wiseau included rather than James Franco, I would feel better, but as it is, this feels highly sketchy. I think Sestero is very fond of his strange foreign friend, as much as you can call this bizarre relationship friendship, but some of the side musings feel uncomfortable, and not in the "Haha social ineptitude and mental abuse" sort of way.
After filming a scene in a fake alley that really isn't working from a film standpoint, one of the filmmakers says to Wiseau, '"It's okay [ . . . ] Forget this scene. Nothing happens in it anyway. Save your money. Let's move on and film the living room stuff." Tommy looked back at Sandy in shock. "No," he said, smiling. "This is good, fun scene. We have good chemistry. And look at this." He directed Sandy's attention to the monitor. "You see that? I look strong, like little eighteen-years-old kid." That's when I realized why the scene meant so much to him: In that monitor, at least, Tommy was young and had a fun life and many, many friends.'
That sort of melodramatic tragic posturing and assumption permeates the entire book and gives it an air of unease, at least for me. I do think Sestero likes Wiseau despite being able to, in hindsight, view their relationship as the abuse it was. But the book is riding on the fame of the cult, and while it doesn't feel mean spirited, it does feel clunky and unwise.
The behind the scenes of how a film is actually made is fascinating, though should all be taken with an ocean of salt since Wiseau's directing is a disaster. And it's great fun to watch crew members go from chipper to baffled to angry to gone over the span of a few pages, to be sure. But it still carries an awkward edge to it, with a fake "biography" included about what Wiseau claims to be his life, maybe.
I would much rather you read Cary Elwes's As You Wish instead, should you be looking for a behind the scenes thing of a cult classic. But if you want a book that's nearly as complicated and convoluted and uncomfortable as the cult classic it's centered around, you'll read this anyway.