Film Girl Confessions: Midnight mass

Since I graduated college my parents frequently ask me, "Why haven't you filmed anything lately? Why aren't you making anything right now?"

Well, because I get into the mindset of "okay now, everything I make has to be festival-worthy." Every movie I shoot, whether it's fiction or documentary, must be something that I would put in a showcase. Now, that's not necessarily bad; it's not like taking pride in your work and giving something your all is a negative quality--I'm pretty sure Kubrick would agree with me on that--but it wasn't always like that for me. When I was a kid, you couldn't separate me from my video camera with a crowbar. I mean, I damn near took that thing to bed with me. I made music videos to my favorite songs. I starred in one-woman shows. I'd just let the camera run while my dad and I played with Playmobil or Barbie dolls. Family outings, road trips, skating shows, martial arts tests, piano practice sessions...even room-cleaning or stops at the grocery store were caught on tape. I didn't care if I was recording a Herzog-inspired documentary; I just loved playing with that camera. And even when I got older and started making "real" movies, at first it was still just playing. I didn't care if it was good. I just wanted it to be fun.

Writer Jodi Picoult said in My Sister's Keeper, "Kids think with their minds cracked wide-open. Becoming an adult...is only slowly sewing it shut." That's how it's been with me for a while. Instead of writing or filming for myself, I do everything with the self-conscious thought of "what if someone else doesn't like it?" And that, as any of the directors I love will tell you, is no way to make art. It's a way to make yourself crazy.

But a few days ago I met real crazy. I met someone who is self-confident to the point of delusional, who does not care one iota that he has been called "the Orson Welles of crap." He's no Kubrick. He's not even Tim Burton, not even close. Hell, I'd go as far as to say that Michael Bay probably has more objective talent than this man. But I met him, and I talked to him, and I can tell you that Tommy Wiseau, director of the infamous black comedy The Room, has no damns to give about his status as Worst Auteur Ever.

I first saw The Room as part of the Rifftrax series "The Crappening." You see, the giant nerd that I am dating loves MST3K and any of its offshoots, and so we went to see what had been called "the Citizen Kane of bad cinema" out of sheer curiosity. It was hysterical, so we went back for the encore in January. And when we found out that the ringleader of that utter epic circus was in town, we knew we had to meet him. For anyone who doesn't know, The Room is one of the ultimate cult movies. Its initial theater run grossed less than $2000, but since then it's become something of a phenomenon, with most of its revenue coming from midnight screenings at arthouse theaters. Going to The Room is like going to Rocky Horror...but now I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, Ian and I went to the theater and got there around 10:45 or so, thinking that maybe if we got there early enough we could snag a few minutes with Tommy Wiseau before the show started. Turned out, Tommy Wiseau was the show.

The first thing I noticed was the underwear. I mean, I'd known Tommy Wiseau had his own line of underwear, but I hadn't expected him to sell it at the damn theater. But he did. I jokingly offered to get Ian a pair--and yes, his reaction was pretty much what you'd expect--when I found out that we had to buy something from the merch table before we could meet Wiseau. (No, I did not get any underwear. I got a Room-quote t-shirt.) And it's important to note, too, that the entire theater was decked out in Room stuff. There was a little stuffed puppy and a sign that said "You're my favorite customer" on the tip jar. Little Wiseau headshot postcards were tacked up everywhere.

And the best part was that Wiseau was just standing there, smiling away, taking pictures and bossing around all of his fans. He was dressed kind of like a pretentious college student, much to my eternal amusement, and wearing sunglasses indoors and just generally acting like he was the coolest thing to ever live on planet earth. Arrogant? Yeah, kind of, but there was a genuine sweetness to him too. Like, okay, you're borderline delusional if you think you're actually a celebrity...but then again we're all treating you like a celebrity, so it's also totally understandable. And he was more than willing to shake hands and take a picture with everyone, which is pretty cool given that the show was pretty much on the verge of selling out.

While we were in line I was bantering with Ian and talking to Andy and just generally not paying attention, so naturally, when it was our turn to go up the first thing I did was trip over the divider that kept the ticket line separate from the "meet the mad genius" line. I already felt like an idiot, so for the first few minutes I stammered over words and said dumb shit (when asked "who should I make the autograph to?" I stupidly responded "me?" much to my friends' obvious amusement) until we were ready to take the picture, when I managed to get a hold of myself again.

We got a shot with my camera and then I realized that Ian probably would want one too, so I said "oh, we can get one with your phone too if you want," and Ian started to say no, we don't have to do that, but Wiseau's assistant quickly jumped in and said it wouldn't be a problem at all to get another shot. Wiseau teasingly told Ian, "Sure, sure, I'm not running this show, it's the girl"--or something like that, I didn't hear his exact words, but that's pretty much the gist of it. To which Ian (joking...I think) replied, "Yeah, it's been like that our entire relationship." Nice, Ian. Very nice. But I let that go because I had one more thing I wanted to say before we left.

I stopped to give my boyfriend the really? REALLY? you're really going to go there? look, turned back to Wiseau, and said, "I really, really love your movie. I just wanted to tell you, I love your movie." YOUR MOVIE, I said. Not YOU. But apparently that's how he interpreted it, because without missing a beat he replied, "Ah yes. I...love you too, actually." And then calmly went on greeting fans while I thought, okay, that was an odd response, but okay, why not?

Now, by the time all this was over, it was maybe...11:30. Not even. So we had to stand in line for a while before we could actually take our seats in the theater. Before the feature began, we were subjected to the pilot of Neighbors, a sitcom-style show that only Tommy Wiseau would ever be insane enough to make. The cutaway between scenes was a collage-style animation of a house, filled with the characters of the show...except for Wiseau's character, who stood on the corner bouncing a basketball...and oh yeah, a tree blew up and a chicken was eaten by a dinosaur. Just your standard sitcom fare, right? It was awful. But it was hilarious.

After Neighbors there was a Q&A with Wiseau. Now, I don't know why he always does these at The Room showings, because he seemed reluctant to answer even the most basic of questions. Every question, even one as basic as "What do you like best about acting?" was met with a short, impersonal response, followed by a curt "Moving on!" (Wiseau-to-English translation: "I don't want to answer that, next question please!") But with that said, he still interacted with his fans...he just did it on his terms. And he made one aspiring actress's night by staging an impromptu reenactment of the "You're tearing me apart!" scene from The Room, a moment that had the rest of the theater in stitches. You could tell that girl was having the time of her life. And trust me, so were the rest of us.

So being the creature of logic that I obviously am (somewhere my mother just laughed derisively and has no idea why) I decided that I would ask him a question, too. I was dying to know what possessed--and don't think I don't mean that literally--this man to start making crazy-ass films. So when my turn came I asked him, "What made you get into filmmaking?"

Without missing a beat, or even looking at me, he replied, "Because I like people, why else?" But then he looked up, saw it was me, and instead of his typical "moving on!" he added, "Also, I love you. I know you have boyfriend but I love you, you know." And then just calmly SMILES at me like there is nothing at all weird about this. For a second I was totally disarmed and just stood there like "whaaa...?" and then realized "okay it's time to get out of here, people are probably staring," and booked it back to my seat. By the time I got back to where my friends were sitting, I was cracking up--and I wasn't the only one. Later on when I told my dad about this little exchange, he said, "Did Ian tell that guy to get away from his girl?" And I said, truthfully, "No, he was laughing too hard."

And that was pretty much it. I wish I had gotten some of the event on video, because it's legitimately impossible to capture the weirdness that is Tommy Wiseau, or the craziness that is a The Room midnight screening (spoons. SO. MANY. SPOONS.) with words alone. But there were three major lessons that I took away from that night:

First of all, fandom is everything to a cult filmmaker. You'd think that years of being a Rocky Horror fan would've taught me that, but the thing about Rocky Horror is that there were a lot of legitimately talented people involved in that. There's a lot about Rocky Horror that's really, truly good: the music is the obvious one, but then there's the acting, the deliberate comedy--very important, that--and the blatant satire. I've seen the live Rocky Horror show at Meadowbrook. I can't see a legitimate theater company scrambling to put together The Room: The Musical! anytime soon. Critics, as you can imagine, are legitimately baffled by the following that The Room has acquired, because they understandably hate the movie. But the fans? Oh my God, we eat that shit up. Why? Because, for whatever reason, it resonates with us. I know why I love to watch The Room--but for someone else it could be totally different, and that's amazing.

Which leads to Takeaway #2--art doesn't have to be good. Shocking, right? Not that I haven't been preaching that all along; we all know already that bad movies still have value, but let's face it, nothing that Tommy Wiseau puts out is going to be on any Oscar ballots in the near future. But guess what? Dude doesn't care. Compare The Room to James Cameron's Avatar. Avatar made breathtaking amounts of money at the box office--even after subsequent releases of superior films like Toy Story 3, The Avengers, and Jurassic World, the damn thing still holds the record for highest-grossing film ever--won dozens of awards including three Oscars, snagged an Academy nod for Best Picture, and was hailed as groundbreaking for its special effects and 3-D achievements...but it has left practically no footprint on popular culture.

Seriously, think about that for a minute. If I make a joke about The Room in a group of, say, ten people, odds are at least one or two people, even if they haven't seen the film, will know what I'm talking about. I once made a reference The Room in front of my friend Morgan, who absolutely hates the film and only saw it once about five years ago, and her immediate reaction was "Oh, not that piece of shit." She hated the film, but she remembered it. When I was at work a few days after my initial viewing of The Room, one of my co-workers had been joke-insulting me all day. One of our "things" was trying to outdo each other with pop-culture references, and hoping to stump him with a culture reference that I was sure even he wouldn't know I began to yell, "You are tearing me apart Lisa--" only to hear not one, but two of the managers on-duty shouting it along with me. One of these managers was about fifteen years older than me and had a college degree in hospitality; the other was a smartass kid my age who'd never said two words to me before. The Room, I was surprised to find out, had a wide range of fans.

But try naming two of the characters from Avatar besides the two leads. Or quoting a line, any full line, that didn't come from the trailer. I remember so little about that movie aside from the eye-popping visuals it's almost shocking. I remember the whole "unobtainium" thing because my reaction to hearing the "precious element" that they were retrieving was "...seriously? unobtainium? are you shitting me, Cameron? that's the best you could do?" but I don't remember any of the dialogue. And then there's the hair-plug-in-means-sex thing, which I only remember because so many of my film-school classmates endlessly mocked it. I thought I was the only one, but I was wrong: even many of the people who loved Avatar when it first came out, now only recall the stunning visuals of the film and can't tell me even basic details about the plot. That, to me, is...well...there's no other word for it: insane. Think about it: the highest-grossing film of all time has a smaller, less-vocal, less-dedicated fanbase than a film known as the Citizen Kane of awful movies. How many bricks do you think James Cameron would shit if he knew that Tommy Wiseau has crazier fangirls than him?

And thus we come to the third and final point: it doesn't freaking matter if you're James Cameron. It doesn't matter one iota if you have a shelf full of awards, or blockbuster box-office revenue, or journalists and film analysts pounding down your door for an interview or a quote. It doesn't matter, as long as your movie resonates with someone the way The Room does with its fans. Sure the film sucks. I love that movie and I will say, here and now, it sucks. I'm not even exaggerating when I say that my early attempts at filmmaking are, from a technical standpoint, better and more coherent than The Room. But you know what? WHO THE HELL CARES?!?!?!? Tommy Wiseau, lunatic as he may be, has made a lot of people happy. That is the true measure of success, right there. Making someone that happy, as Ian tries to get through to me every time we watch an awards show, is worth all of the accolades in the world.