A diverse collection of film identities open this biopic, waxing lyrical about a mysterious man named Tommy and the movie he made over a decade ago. “Who is this man?” one asks. “Who is this auteur?” Though some questions remain unanswered at the completion of The Disaster Artist, there is much joy to be had in getting to know this oddball character.

 

Inspired by the fearlessness Tommy displays in his acting classes, fellow student Greg suggests they team up for their next scene. Three months and twenty-seven days later the two head off to Los Angeles with stars in their eyes. Though Greg quickly secures an agent, Tommy is disheartened by being typecast as a villain. So, with all the pluck of Mickey and Judy, Tommy and Greg decide to put on their own show.

 

In this slight tale of the making of one of the worst movies ever made, James Franco turns in a tour de force performance both in front of and behind the camera. Disappearing into character, an unrecognisable Franco makes the talentless Tommy Wiseau at the very least intriguing, if not endearing. And though his optimism recalls fellow bad movie-maker Ed Wood, we do bear witness to the pain of his unfulfilled dreams.

 

So while we might not know how old Tommy is, what country he is from or where he found the money to make a film, we remain in his corner despite the setbacks. How could you not root for a guy who, when told by a Hollywood producer that he’s not going to make it in a million years, earnestly replies “and after that?”