Color Me Kubrick

“They wanted something for nothing. He gave them nothing for something.” So goes the tagline for “Color Me Kubrick: A True…ish Story.” The inversion wittily exposes the vanity of the many Britons duped by Alan Conway, a man who spent much of the 1990s pretending to be Stanley Kubrick. The tagline is more apt, however, as a warning for the film.

Essentially plotless, “Color Me Kubrick”—a fictionalized account of the Conway affair—is little more than a showcase for John Malkovich (as Conway) and a stockpile of in-jokes for admirers of the late director, best known for “A Clockwork Orange” and “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Such inside jokes are no surprise—director Brian Cook was a prime Kubrick admirer, serving as assistant director, co-producer, and actor in Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut.”

Malkovich and the myriad references are somewhat entertaining, but not enough so to rescue the film from its overwhelming mediocrity.

The opening scene is deceptively promising: a jolly parody of “A Clockwork Orange” in both music and action. Hopes stay high with several scenes of Conway swindling naïves into buying him alcohol. Mirth abounds when Conway drops a garbage bag full of dirty laundry in a coin-fed washing machine to the crescendo of the “2001: A Space Odyssey” theme.

But all expectations for a substantial movie are dashed when the screen cuts to Conway whining out a bed-top soliloquy. Here, we see the film for the Malkovich-a-thon it really is.

Malkovich delivers a glib tour-de-force in which no fake accent is left unspoken, nor effeminate garment or cosmetic unworn. The radical variation in behavior is meant to highlight how little both Conway and his rubes knew of Kubrick, but it overtakes all other aspects of the film. Malkovich’s extreme performance almost redeems the film, but ultimately only convinces us of the film’s dire need for redemption.

No tour-de-force can stand without self-reference, and Malkovich duly delivers on this count. Malkovich, as Conway, as Kubrick, announces to another stooge that he will cast Malkovich as the lead role in the upcoming “3001: A Space Odyssey,” noting triumphantly, “He will redefine the astronaut!”

Conway’s repeated confidence schemes drag on repetitively until there is no choice other than to develop a lackluster semblance of a plot.

Frank Rich ’71 (played by William Hootkins) is fooled only temporarily by Conway, who Rich later realizes bears no resemblance to Kubrick. Rich tips off the New York Times to Conway’s schemes, but not before we are subjected to several more of them.

In the penultimate and lengthiest deception, Conway convinces an almost pitiable lounge singer, Lee Pratt (Jim Davidson), that Kubrick’s connections will land him a spot on the Las Vegas show circuit.

The Pratt scenes begin with an unnecessary musical number: Pratt swaggers down the stairs, belting a vapid tune from the balustrade. When the camera zooms in, it delivers the final nail in the coffin and buries the film alive.

Conway is eventually apprehended, but rather than end the misery at this point, the final scenes harp tritely on questions of identity and authenticity.

Conway is placed in an asylum full of other Kubrick impersonators, fends off a lawsuit with claims of insanity, becomes an anonymous celebrity in the psychiatric world, and scores an ironic admission to a celebrity rehab clinic. As the credits roll, it’s hard not to feel that you, too, were duped.

—Staff writer Jeremy S. Singer-Vine can be reached at jsvine@fas.harvard.edu.