![]() None of us knew much about The Room - only that it had spawned some kind of midnight movie craze in Los Angeles - and we didn’t expect much beyond standard schlock. We were ready to call it a day, but then someone pulled out a DVD with a black-and-white photo of a strange, scowling man on the box. ![]() At around the 10-hour mark the whole thing felt less like a movie marathon and more like a poorly conceived experiment to see how long humans can appreciate things ironically. We’d trudged through the patchouli-stinking hippiescape of Oliver Stone’s The Doors (worse than you remember, even with Crispin Glover popping up as Andy Warhol). We had watched Quigley, starring Gary Busey as a callous businessman who dies and comes back as a Pomeranian in a necktie, and Gymkata, which tried to make gymnastics seem badass by mixing it with karate. THE FIRST TIME I SAW The Room I was in New York City, at home with friends, rounding out a grueling all-day marathon of bad movies. ![]()
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