Move Over, Orson Welles

The Room

The Film: Zero out of ****

The Experience: **** out of ****

Directed by: Tommy Wiseau

Starring: Tommy Wiseau, Juliette Danielle, Greg Sestero and Philip Haldiman.

Running time: 99 minutes

Some films are great and some are not. But only a unique few are so wholly incredible, they defy all criticism.

Such is the case with The Room, a melodrama written and directed by Tommy Wiseau. It premiered in Los Angeles in June 2003 to disastrous reviews and a virtually non-existent box-office take.

However, the film has built a fervent cult following. The Room is celebrated in the same vein as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and is regularly screened at midnight in dozens of cities across North America.

Screenings, like the one I partook in at the Mayfair Theatre in Ottawa last night, are packed with the film’s devout followers (whom I will refer to as Roomies).

These fans mock the film by throwing plastic spoons at the screen (when photos of spoons appear in the background) and repeatedly interact with the film by prompting lines of dialogue and welcoming the entrance of certain characters.

As well, Roomies insult the poor camerawork (“Focus!”) and editing (one person yelled “Rewind,” referring to the recycling of shots within two sex scenes).

To watch hundreds of devout spectators deride The Room with unabashed derision may be the most gut-bustingly hilarious moviegoing experience of my young life.

Even from within the uncontrollable laughter and mayhem, there were still bare remnants of a story. Johnny (Tommy Wiseau) is a successful banker living in San Francisco with his girlfriend, Lisa (Juliette Danielle).

But Lisa – entire proof of Wiseau’s misogynistic agenda – is dissatisfied with Johnny. She begins an affair with Johnny’s best friend, Mark (Greg Sestero, known as “Sestosterone” by Roomies).

The film also has numerous subplots, many of which are introduced and then entirely disappear.

One concerns a mentally ambiguous young man named Denny (Philip Haldiman) who Tommy is financially supporting through college.

Out of nowhere, he becomes involved in drugs, engages in a violent confrontation on a rooftop with his dealer, Chris-R (hyphen, final initial and all), is saved by Johnny and has an intervention with Lisa and her mother, Claudette. This dramatic scene proves to be insignificant, and has no use within the film.

Another out-of-place moment arrives when Lisa’s mother tells her that she has breast cancer. The issue never makes an impact on the story and is not mentioned again.

Other scenes are random and truly bizarre. At one point, two of Lisa’s friends - who have not yet appeared in the film - come into her apartment and have a steamy encounter (involving chocolate, the "symbol of love") on her couch.

In another scene, four males (who are dressed in tuxedos for some reason) head off to an alley and play catch with a football from short-range distances. Why are these moments inserted into The Room? Your guess is as good as mine.

The performances (or attempts at credible acting) must be witnessed and embraced (or punished) accordingly.

Tommy Wiseau’s acting is something to behold. From his blank delivery to his multi-faceted accents (of his nationality, your guess is also as good as mine) to his forced, cringe-worthy laugh, Wiseau proves how low a leading performance can droop. He recalls a hybrid of Jackie Chan, Arnold Schwarzeneggar, Christopher Walken and a poor Borat impressionist. Even worse, much of his dialogue is dubbed.

Wiseau originally wrote The Room as a play, and spent many years fundraising the project independently until he could adapt it into a film. The $6 million budget was ballooned by his decision to shoot the film side-by-side on two cameras – one with 35 mm film and the other with high-definition video – since he reportedly didn’t know the difference between the formats.

The budget also climbed due to the use of digital effects. Plenty of rooftop scenes were shot in front of a green screen with the San Francisco cityscape composited in the background (very obviously, too).

See, much second-unit shooting was done in San Francisco, and footage of the city is shown for prolonged periods throughout the film. Roomies prompt “Where's the movie set?”, “Alcatraz!” and (my favourite) a crescendo of “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” during three prolonged tracking shots across the Golden Gate Bridge.

And the music! The soundtrack mainly consists of slow R&B love songs so unbearably saccharine, the audience begins a slow clap – whether for amusement or to drown out the sentimentality is an unsolved mystery. One person in front of me even took out a lighter to mock the romantic mood.

The Room has been cited as the “Citizen Kane of bad movies,” appropriate since a scene near the end consists of Johnny destroying his house in the same embittered way that Charles Foster Kane did at the end of that film. That’s as far as the comparisons come, though.

Seeing The Room is a life-affirming experience that demonstrates the power and magic of cinema. Do yourself a favour and keep an eye out for it in your local listings. I won't spoil any more of the film for you - all I can tell you is “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

Scary Scorsese

Shutter Island

**1/2 out of ****

Directed by: Martin Scorsese

Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Ben Kingsley, Mark Ruffalo, Patricia Clarkson and Michelle Williams

Running time: 138 minutes

Dennis Lehane’s 2003 novel Shutter Island ranks among the finest mysteries I’ve read. It’s palpably exciting, supremely entertaining and contains a whopper of an ending.

It’s a sensational whodunit and its adaptation is helmed by a visionary, Martin Scorsese. Yet despite the director’s best efforts, the film version is marred by storytelling hinderances, including – shockingly – a near absence of mystery.

Leonardo DiCaprio must love his Boston accents. After starring as an undercover Beantown cop in Scorsese’s Oscar-winning The Departed, his voice is back to form here, portraying US Marshal Edward “Teddy” Daniels.

Daniels and his new partner, Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), have arrived at the isolated Shutter Island (home of Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane) to investigate the disappearance of a patient named Rachel Solando.

Shutter Island is like Alcatraz, except the inmates are criminally insane mental patients and the eerie hospital wards seem to have been designed by David Lynch.

But something’s afoot. It may be the missing woman herself, who has nowhere to run to. Shuttler Island is entirely removed from the mainland and has steep, rocky cliffs outlining its terrain. There’s also only one way out, and it's via the ferry.

(Cue Robbie Robertson’s ominous cello-heavy soundtrack, one that hints that the shark from Jaws is swimming nearby.)

Or it could be something grislier. Daniels and Aule get odd signals from the hospital’s head physician, the pipe-smoking Dr. John Cawley (Ben Kingsley), and an even creepier German scientist (Max Von Sydow). What are these old hospital henchmen up to with these crazy patients?

The plot thickens. Our protagonist has taken up this case to find the man - a patient at Ashecliffe named Andrew Laeddis - who murdered his wife (Michelle Williams, shown in flashback).

There are a few fine mysteries within Shutter Island. However, unlike the novel, which revealed the clues cryptically, the film accentuates each hint with such blaring obviousness, those who’ve never cracked the spine of a whodunit will likely predict the outcome by the hour mark.

Another mystery to grapple with is how editor extraordinaire Thelma Schoonmaker (Scorsese’s go-to cutter, and a three-time Oscar winner) could put the film together so clumsily.

Schoonmaker doesn’t make the shots flow. Instead, they seem to pile on top of each other.

There are many technical glitches within the far-too-predictable film, but they are almost entirely saved by Scorsese's virtuoso performance.

No, he didn’t act in his own picture. Regardless, he's far and away the star of Shutter Island.

The film is a freak-show full of glorious pyrotechnics, an unabashed throwback to a variety of genres, and a feast of nightmarish, sometimes unrelenting, sequences and images. And Scorsese is the ringmaster behind it.

It’s thrilling to watch him shroud the film with Hitchcockian tones of gloom, unease and paranoia. Even while homaging that Master of Suspense (and a few others along the way), he manages to insert classic B-movie staples. Foul weather! Rats! Scary (criminally insane) monsters grabbing the protagonist as he leads himself down a darkened corridor! And he's armed with just a box of matches!

Performance-wise, DiCaprio is quite good, but he’s miscast. He’s riveting as an intelligent, if highly paranoid detective, but it’s tough to entirely buy the baby-faced star as a 40-something widower, frequently haunted by his experiences during World War II.

The supporting cast fares better. Patricia Clarkson and Jackie Earle Haley – both under-appreciated character actors – are scene-stealers.

In its film form, Shutter Island pales next to Lehane’s throat-grabbing bestseller. Even without the technical miscues and simplistic storytelling, it's essentially a throwback to the overcooked B-pictures and paranoia flicks of the 1940s and 50s.

It’s schlock. But with no shortage of flair from Scorsese and his fine ensemble, it’s excellently performed, stylishly orchestrated, compulsively watchable schlock.

Jeff Bridges' Last Waltz

Crazy Heart

***1/2 out of ****

Directed by: Scott Cooper

Starring: Jeff Bridges, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Robert Duvall and Colin Farrell

Running Time: 112 minutes

Watching Crazy Heart, an Oscar-nominated drama about a washed-up country crooner, is like taking in a prolonged acoustic solo from a guitar god. It drifts along casually and comfortably, but try your best to turn away from the mesmerizing performer at its center.

It may be low-key (don’t expect the sharp tongue of Up in the Air or the visual pizzazz of Avatar) but it’s also sweet, smooth and soulful. It’s one of the finest films of the year, adapted from a novel by Thomas Cobb.

Jeff Bridges turns in a pitch-perfect performance as Bad Blake, an alcoholic singer/songwriter. In one of the signature songs from the film, the lyrics go, “I used to be somebody / But now I’m somebody else.”

Blake used to be a country music star. Now he lives out of his rusted Chevy pick-up, plays in local hangouts and shoddy bowling alleys (The Dude doesn’t abide), and retreats to his whiskey whenever his manager (James Keene) isn’t trying to summon him into recording new material.

He's also piss-poor and lonely, with four wives behind him. A young singer he once mentored, Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), has hit the big-time, and it’s getting under Blake's skin.

But one afternoon in Santa Fe, he meets Jean (Maggie Gyllenhaal), a music journalist and single mom. Blake sits down with her for an interview. She is smitten with his unabashed charm, even as she watches his throaty stanzas of loss and rejection burden him onstage.

Jean knows exactly the type of man he is: struggling but quietly resilient, tired but still keen and thoughtful – especially when he writes her a lovely ballad called “The Weary Kind” (deservedly up for Best Song at the Oscars).

The audience also knows who Blake is – we’ve seen this character archetype plenty of times before.

But there’s something about Bad that’s still flickering, something agile and intense buried beneath his flabby stomach and unkempt beard. This is why Jean falls for him, and also why we’re rooting for him too.

And it works magnificently due to the impassioned work of Jeff Bridges, one of our most adored actors. He’s not just The Dude and variations thereof, ladies and gentlemen, but a versatile, commanding actor. As Blake, he’s never been better.

Bridges is immensely charismatic and has strong (if raspy) pipes, but the performance works best because of subtle nuances. Watching Bridges sip scotch or whack around a microphone stand is a finer demonstration of character acting than what we usually find from most high-strung Hollywood productions.

Bridges is a tremendous frontman, but he’s joined by an excellent band of actors. Gyllenhaal (also deservedly Oscar-nominated) is deeply touching as the smart, if unstable Jean. Robert Duvall (who played a similar protagonist in the much-acclaimed Tender Mercies, from 1983) even shows up for some fine supporting work as a caring old friend named Wayne.

Crazy Heart is the first feature from Scott Cooper, and it is an assured debut. Like his protagonist, Cooper is modest but confident. He gets major points for letting the camera soak into the bleary Southwestern sun and amplifying the soundtrack on Blake’s hits within certain scenes to deepen our relationship with the characters.

The soundtrack, featuring original music from T Bone Burnett, Ryan Bingham and the late Steven Bruton, is soft but sublime. Expect “The Weary Kind” to score the same kind of around-the-campfire status that worked for songs from Once, a winsome indie musical from 2007.

Some may be put off by the film’s derivative nature. Others may find the pacing to be of “the weary kind.”

But this film is primarily an acting showcase, and it's an exceptional one at that. This is Jeff Bridges unplugged, intensely soulful, and engrossing. It may be the performance of the year – one anyone would be crazy to miss.

Mad Mel Has Another Conspiracy Theory

Edge of Darkness

** out of ****

Directed by: Martin Campbell

Starring: Mel Gibson, Ray Winstone, Danny Huston, Bojana Novakovic and Denis O’Hare

Running time: 117 minutes

It’s been eight years since Mel Gibson saw the Signs. And six since he’s given the big screen any Passion. It’s too bad that his newest role – an aging detective investigating the shocking death of his activist daughter – has no signs of passion within it.

In Edge of Darkness, Gibson returns to the revenge-driven roots that drove several of his earlier hits, such as Ransom and Payback.

It’s adapted from a critically lauded six-part BBC serial, but the bare-bones story and slight characterization make it tough to see where the widespread acclaim originally came from.

Gibson is Thomas Craven, a "Bah-stan" police officer. After picking up his daughter, Emma (Bojana Novakovic), from the train station, she starts showing strange symptoms. As the father and daughter leave for the hospital, a masked man shoots Emma before driving off.

Fellow officers, including a loyal ex-partner (character actor Jay O. Sanders), believe that Thomas was the target of the gunman. But Craven doesn’t think so.

While visiting his deceased Emma at the morgue, he cuts off a lock of her hair – and soon discovers that it contains traces of radiation. He also finds a loaded gun in Emma’s nightstand that belongs to her boyfriend, David (Shawn Roberts).

Craven visits David and finds the young man all paranoid about the company where he worked with Emma, named Northmoor. Realizing something’s amiss, Craven seeks vengeance on his daughter’s death by trying to uncover the “classified” material hidden within the Northmoor fortress.

But first, he must befriend a mysterious consultant (Ray Winstone), who’s been assigned to protect Craven from the shadier dealings of the corporation.

Various comparisons have been made between Edge of Darkness and the successful 2009 thriller Taken. While that film was a lot of wham-bam, this entry is a bunch of hum-drum.

Mel Gibson fares the worst. In moments when he’s not spouting horrendous cliché-ridden threats to mercenaries (such as “Fasten your seatbelts!” or “I’m the man who’s got nothing to lose!”), he looks fatigued.

Gibson’s performance is awfully short in range. After his daughter is murdered and in a few poignant flashback scenes, he shows small inklings of desperation and low spirits. Otherwise, he seems awfully bored.

The supporting actors are better, but not by much. Winstone (best known for his starring role in Beowulf) is gruff, but underused. Furthermore, Danny Huston and Denis O’Hare as shady corporate businessmen are weak (and very obvious) villains.

Still, the film’s mundane nature is mainly the fault of screenwriters William Monahan (Oscar-winner for The Departed) and Andrew Bovell.

To condense a beloved multi-hour miniseries into just under two hours, they simplify many aspects of the story. With slight, bare-bones plotting to work with, the intrigue runs awfully low.

The film is one-third the length of the award-winning 1985 miniseries. So how do you explain that the story feels stretched instead of packed in? It’s no wonder Gibson looks so bored here – he’s stuck waiting for things to happen.

But Edge of Darkness – despite bland performances and a script devoid of red herrings – is quite watchable due to Martin Campbell’s direction. The action sequences don’t have the flair that made his last film, Casino Royale, such a blast, but they are full-throttled and exciting.

Campbell also instills hushed menace into every scene – we’re eager to see what Craven will discover or if anyone is lurking around our detective’s home. These suspense aspects end up being more thrilling that the graphic bursts of action.

Unfortunately, this tale of bloodthirsty revenge is too generic and dry to amount to anything more than rental status – and even then, Gibson doesn’t have enough drive to keep us engaged.

Then again, who wants to think of Mel Gibson driving anymore?