I’ve been to [some] screenings, most recently after The Disaster Artist’s release. Somehow, hearing young professionals in casual-Friday chinos crack up when Wiseau chuckles inappropriately at the story of a slutty woman’s violent comeuppance doesn’t feel quite as liberating as dancing to Rocky Horror’s homoerotic musical numbers in a sea of sequins. […] When the only American cult films left standing are sanitized relics, geeky puzzle boxes, and objectively bad movies, it’s hard to believe that underground cinema can still be a radicalizing force.[…]
Meanwhile, The Room thrives in midnight screenings, propped up by a dark populist, Dionysian death cult that celebrates an entertaining monster, elevates a work of art less subversive than the typical blockbuster, and unites itself in a cherished collective pastime: public ridicule. Given the death of IRL counterculture, it is likely the last American cult film, in the Nietzschean sense as well as the literal one.
— Judy Berman (The Baffler)
Johnny is a successful banker with great respect for and dedication to the people in his life, especially his future wife Lisa. The happy-go-lucky guy sees his world being torn apart when his friends begin to betray him one-by-one.