Of Dreck & Drink: The Room and St. Bernardus Abt. 12

There’s no getting around the fact that the companion drink of The Room is rightfully “scotchka,” that wondrous combination of scotch and vodka that so typifies director Tommy Wiseau’s infamously bizarre 2003 drama. But given that “Of Dreck and Drink” is supposed to be a “bad movie, good beer”-pairing column, I hope you’ll indulge me for choosing something a little more palatable for this month’s film.

The question is, what does one pair with The Room? Wiseau’s film, for those not familiar with it, has often been referred to as “the Citizen Kane of bad movies” in recent years, earning a cult of personality unrivaled by any camp classic save for maybe The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s without a doubt the most important addition to the “all-time worst” canon of the last decade, vaulting Wiseau up to notoriety alongside the likes of Ed Wood. But more so than any of Wood’s pictures, The Room is endlessly fascinating and compelling in its weirdness. It begs for repeated viewings and attempts to unravel its mysteries (which are largely the mysteries of Wiseau himself). It reaches for the sky and beyond but fails utterly in its grand ambitions. Therefore, as a contrasting beer I chose St. Bernardus Abt. 12, a Belgian quadrupel with all the gravitas Tommy Wiseau attempted and failed to infuse into The Room.

Any attempt to understand The Room must begin with Tommy himself, the bizarre, vampiric personality so often hidden behind dark sunglasses and a nonplussed expression. Paranoid and secretive to a fault, almost nothing was known about him following The Room’s release, as a cult slowly began to build. His age was a toss-up. His country of origin and unusual accent were unexplained. The source of the oft-quoted $6 million he raised on his own for the long, troubled shoot of The Room was perhaps the greatest mystery. Patton Oswalt certainly had some theories on that front when he shot this Room parody

Some of these questions finally received plausible answers in 2013 with the publication of The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside The Room by Greg Sestero, Wiseau’s co-star, confidant and seemingly only friend in the years leading up to the film’s production. Offering a compelling look into the filming process and Wiseau’s frame of mind, Sestero paints Tommy as a hopeless dreamer immune to criticism, common sense and social courtesies. He more or less reveals that Tommy came to America from a Soviet state, endured several traumatic experiences along the way and eventually fell in love with the concept of American culture and movie stardom in particular. The Room represents his ultimate vanity project, an attempt to buy his way into the upper echelons of the entertainment industry with a Brando-like performance that Tommy was sure would compel its audience to “not sleep for two weeks.”

This does explain a lot of things about the film, such as why Tommy cast himself as a beloved member of a much younger social circle—indicative of a deep and abiding desire to be accepted among a “cool crowd.” His inherent distrust, though, manifests in the character of his unfaithful girlfriend, Lisa, who is depicted as incredibly childish and callous, leading all the film’s men to ruin. The simplicity of her characterization as a pure, cold-hearted bitch and nothing else speaks volumes toward the way Tommy views women.

The beer, on the other hand, is all about complexity. St. Bernardus is not the most strongly flavored Belgian quad you’re ever likely to sample, but it’s one of the most beautifully balanced. Sniffing it while pondering The Room is like a sensory overload: Notes of raisin, prune and brown sugar sit atop a foundation of light mustiness reminiscent of some long-forgotten tome in a used bookstore. It tastes like everything from caramel apples to granola and licorice. It’s deep.