It was 12:41 a.m. when we finally caught a glimpse of him through the forest of star-struck fans, merchandise tables and Tivoli employees populating the lobby in preparation for the midnight showing. The glimpse alone almost made up for the hour-long wait—he was there, he was real, and the six of us were about to shake his hand. After we bought something, of course.

That was the rule, and there were no exceptions. To meet Tommy Wiseau—director, producer, writer and star of the 2003 cult film “The Room”—you absolutely had to purchase something. I gladly forked over $16.99 for a T-shirt and a copy of his headshot, which now hangs on the wall in my dorm room. My friends and I approached him right as the party ahead of us finished taking pictures with him and saying their goodbyes.

Destiny Jackson | Student Life

The Tivoli theater featured a weekend showing of “The Room,” a notorious movie directed by Tommy Wiseau. Wiseau took questions before the event.

I noticed right away that he had a sort of proud swagger about him. He knew that we’d been waiting an hour just to talk to him for a minute, and he knew that he was the best thing to happen to us all week. The meet-and-greet itself was pretty typical. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before he uncapped his pen and signed my (his?) headshot. He then put his hands around my neck and jokingly said that he was going to strangle me—you know, just normal things that normal people do. Moments later, he accidentally kneed me in the back while we were taking group photos. So very normal.

After thanking him for the opportunity to be in his presence, my friends and I walked toward the concessions, laughed until we cried and took our seats. An hour later, the meet-and-greet line dwindled, Wiseau entered the theater for a quick Q&A, and the “Wiseau Films” logo popped up on the screen.

To understand why I was so excited to meet a D-list celebrity and watch a movie you’ve probably never heard of, I’ll need to give some background on the unexpected appeal of “The Room,” dubbed “the ‘Citizen Kane’ of bad movies” in an “Entertainment Weekly” article. “The Room,” so named because the majority of its plot occurs in one living room, artlessly tells the story of dissatisfied fiancee Lisa (Juliette Danielle) and her affair with Mark (Greg Sestero), best friend of Johnny (Tommy Wiseau). The film sets up a classic love triangle in a world where last names apparently don’t exist, with minor characters attempting to make up for the lack of plot, pacing and structure.

Somehow, this same lack of plot, pacing and structure that critics bashed drew fans from around the country. Though originally intended to be a drama, “The Room” is now interpreted as a black comedy, a film with dialogue so poorly written and acted that audiences crack up when, for instance, a drug dealer pulls out a gun on one of the main characters. Over time, as Wiseau realized the film’s cult status, he began to schedule midnight screenings around the country, and audiences learned to interact with the film and mock aspects of its production. This eventually developed into a Rocky Horror Picture Show-esque experience. A diehard fan in the line to meet Wiseau told me she’d seen the film in theaters over 20 times and memorized every line.

At the showing, moviegoers didn’t just interact with the film by reading out the lines, though. The entire room clapped to the rhythm of a generic mid-2000s song during an overly long sex scene between Johnny and Lisa. A few guys in the back sang the “Full House” theme song as B-roll footage of a block of San Francisco townhouses rolled. Two guys donned tuxedoes and tossed a football back and forth over the audience as characters in the movie did the same. Audience members screamed at the cast to “close the door” after a character enters the living room but inexplicably leaves the door wide open for minutes at a time.

Despite these essential moments of audience engagement, by far the most important tradition of any midnight showing of “The Room” involves plastic cutlery. In response to an out-of-place framed photo of a spoon on a table in the living room, hundreds of attendees pull plastic spoons out of their pockets, purses and jackets and throw them toward the screen in a beautiful display of cooperation. “This is like a prison riot,” I heard one moviegoer exclaim, a flurry of spoons passing over his head.

The Tivoli’s midnight showing of “The Room” was 99 minutes of laughing, screaming and throwing, and then it was over. My body finally registered that it was almost 4 a.m., and I slogged back to the South 40 with my equally exhausted friends. Though my night with Tommy Wiseau was over—and I had no idea when I’d see him again—I reveled in the fact that I’d always have the memories of the brief time we shared together. And the photos we took. And the signed headshot, which read the following:

To my princess, Aiden

Love,

Tommy Wiseau

P.S. be good