@willradik purports, in his review of the film, that The Room was written by a schizophrenic adolescent, but I think the truth may be… anthropological. I believe that what we experience in this excruciating 99 minute picture, is modern life as seen through the eyes of a throwback. I purport that it is the biography of a caveman. Take, as evidence, this photograph of Tommy Wiseau: main character, writer, director, and executive producer of the film.
Gaze into his craggy face. Listen to his muddled voice. Realize that he does not actually understand all of the words he is saying. This is not a bad movie, it’s not a farce, it’s a documentary. A deep dive into the ocean of confusion that an unfrozen caveman might feel plunged into daily life in modern San Francisco.
Watch the film, and think about it. Who else would be so unclear on the uses of a sporting ball that they would put not one but FOUR scenes on a small roof top that are predicated on the idea that someone would just go up there with a football… to simply chill out? And listen to Tommy Wiseau’s voice. It’s not suited for language, it’s a yowl, not unlike that of a wild beast. It would be best served baying at the moon. The apparent randomness of the movie’s every day world, where children wander in and out of your home dozens of times a day, attempting to interrupt your coital aggressions, where strangers show up and drink bottled water with you, then hang around for 40 minutes of exposition.
I believe we may have found him. We may have found a true Man From Earth. But… he doesn’t bring us the teachings of Buddha or the love of Christ. His journey has brought him no peace. It has only brought him confusion, and pain.