I watched my first pure
Netflix fiction film, as opposed to documentary,
and it was not good. I was going to watch In The
Mood For Love, by Wong Kar-wai, but the picture
could not include all of the subtitles at the
bottom. The same was true with Masaki Kobayashi’s
Samurai Rebellion, but that, too, had issues with
the framing out of subtitles. Reported both
problems, so that dampened the mood for foreign
films. Then I came across a 2006 comedy and drama
called Color Me Kubrick: A True...ish Story, which
is about the noted 1990s impersonator of Stanley
Kubrick- a gay man who used Kubrick’s own hermitry
to his advantage, since few knew what the real
Kubrick looked like. People may recall when New
York Times drama critic, Frank Rich, wrote of his
encounter with the imposter, Alan Conway, at a
restaurant. This chance meeting led to Conway’s
eventual downfall and exposure, and was one of the
seminal events in what might be termed the ‘Modern
Celebrity Crazy Fan Age’ which includes stalkers
and impersonators. As mild as my renown is,
restricted to online arts and film venues, even
I’ve had stalkers and impersonators. But, whereas
some celebrities ended up being killed by their
pursuers, Conway never sought Kubrick, only to use
his name to his own advantage; an idea which
fascinated Kubrick, according to reports. It was
even rumored that Kubrick considered a screenplay
on his own impersonator, but both Conway and
Kubrick died before anything could come of it.
Unfortunately, instead of Kubrick’s take on such
an interesting existential subject, we get Brian
Cook’s take on the matter. To say it is pedestrian
is to be mild, and shows that even after years of
working with Kubrick, as an assistant director,
none of the great man’s insights nor skills rubbed
off. It’s not a terrible film, for any film with
John Malkovich essaying a psychopathic homosexual
is bound to at least feature some superb acting,
but it is dull and mostly forgettable. The film
does make some subversive use of music featured in
classic Kubrick films, as well, but visually it
offers nothing new. The film’s plot, such as it
is, is to follow Conway through a series of scams
perpetrated on unwittingly avaricious people. One
can hardly feel sorry for the suckers, as they are
venal and dumb. But Conway is utterly without
redeemable features. Malkovich has his character
veer between flaming queer stereotypes and
American Jewish ones, with an occasional venal
American cliché tossed in, to boot. The
reason for this is because Conway never had any
real clue about the real Kubrick, so made his
‘Kubrick’ an amalgam of himself and what little he
knew of the director. This is best illustrated in
a scene where Conway tries to scam a gay male
prostitute into giving him a freeby, but the lad
tests Conway by declaring his favorite Kubrick
film to be Judgment At Nuremberg. Conway is
clueless that it was directed by Stanley Kramer,
not Kubrick, and the prostitute humiliates Conway
over his lies, until the older man just skulks off
in frustration over his exposure. Fortunately, for
Conway, the prostitute is the lone on the ball
person in the film until Conway’s encounter with
Frank Rich (William Hootkins), the man whose
investigation will prove Conway’s undoing,
exposure, then being sent to a sanatorium, where
he gulls a not too bright psychiatrist) and a
celebrity alcohol rehabilitation clinic in
Rimini, Italy (birthplace of Italian director
Federico Fellini), where Conway ironically gets
the attention and pampering he so craves.
Aside from Malkovich, the acting is pretty
standard. The screenplay, by another Kubrick
associate- Anthony Frewin, is a one note affair,
with the same scenarios playing out over and again
with decreasing irony and efficacy- after all, how
many times does one need to see and hear one of
Conway’s victim’s on a telephone declaring, ‘I’m a
personal friend of Stanley Kubrick!’ The use of
music in the film is solid, especially in ironic
counterpoints to the same music’s use in Kubrick’s
films. The cinematography is nothing special, and
even the film’s end, with a written denouement of
Conway’s and Kubrick’s death, seems half-hearted.
Yet, given the fact that this ludicrous
imposture was successful (after all, Kubrick had a
New York accent, a beard, was wealthy, and
married, not gay) there was a chance to make the
focus of the film the willing suspension of
disbelief in a celebrity soaked culture, not the
utter nihility of the life of the imposter. Yes,
there are ‘moments’ in the film, such as the
aforementioned prostitute’s easy exposure of
Conway’s ruse, or the whole arc of Conway’s Las
Vegas adventure with a bad British television
comedian (who looks like William Shatner) longing
to conquer America, and an even better moment
where Conway states he’s looking to cast 3001: A
Space Odyssey, starring John Malkovich, but mostly
the film is an inert mass of unrealized potential.
This may be a recapitulation of the film’s
subject, Alan Conway, but other than that fortuity
there’s little to recommend Color Me Kubrick. It’s
not terrible, it’s not good, and the only real
question the film poses is why was it made? Aside
from Cook’s and Frewin’s association with the real
Kubrick, I can only guess the hope that the mere
mention of a celebrity name would make enough
money to justify its production. My final take on
the matter? I hope Netflix has fixed its issues
with framing and subtitles the next time I’m in
the mood for a foreign film.
Dan Schneider
Copyright © by Dan Schneider
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