The Room

The room, Tommy Wiseau, USA, 2003, 99’

Two years ago marked the opening of the cinema in Tabakalera, and since then we’ve screened hundreds of films from the most significant film festivals across the world, from film-makers who, through their work, are writing the present and the future of cinema. Films glittering with awards from the four corners of the world. Deadly serious cinema which defines the film canon.  

So what would happen if, this time, we decided to screen the worst film ever?

Would our projector break down? Would the Twittersphere brand us sycophantic sell-outs? Would anyone even show up? Or would it go entirely the other way?

In any case, let’s what happens, lest anyone claim a centre for contemporary culture doesn’t have a dark sense of humour.

A few weeks ago, the San Sebastián Film Festival announced that a movie directed by James Franco, The Disaster Artist, would be included in its official programme. Here’s the synopsis: “The true story of the making of The Room, considered the Citizen Kane of bad movies. The classic cult movie from Tommy Wiseau has been shown in packed cinemas across North America for more than a decade.”

Now for what happened: For months in 2003, an impossible movie was shown in an old, almost-empty movie theatre on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The plot apparently tells the story of Johnny, his girlfriend Lisa and friend Mark. Some sources proclaim that the inspiration for this dramatic triangle came from the works of Tennessee Williams. That era, however, was a complete disaster, replete with hopeless acting, shameful dialogue, upscaled art direction and senseless production.

Our minds are drawn now to Ed Wood by Tim Burton and those B movies with flying saucers hung from invisible thread that could later be seen on the screen. The history of film is full of ‘failures’ which push the industry forward. Sometimes, we like to watch these movies and feel close to something imperfect, human, that first moment when someone felt truly happy and excited about the prospect of making a film, with nothing more than a camera and a few friends at their disposal.

The phenomenon exploded as things do nowadays: a blog comment, a few tweets and re-tweets, WhatsApp conversations, articles on cinema websites, a meet-up with friends in the cinema to watch that awful film, rampant mockery and labelling the disaster a work of genius, going viral on the Internet, all resulting in the sensation that if you didn't see the movie you were a nobody in Los Angeles. “This film is worse than an axe blow to the head”, said one crushing review on the world's main movie website (IMDB). But the phenomenon was already unstoppable. This is how history is made in the 21st century.

Our cinema has always played with diversity: voices, looks, times, languages, accents, styles. It’s what a public cinema such as ours has to bring to society. So now, on the second anniversary and as a prelude to Zinemaldi, with all the honour and excitement that comes with it, we are pleased to present, together with the director of the San Sebastián Film Festival, José Luis Rebordinos, the best-worst movie in the history of film.