It's simply not a movie, not as it stands. It's a five-minute demo reel stretched to feature length.

Any picture featuring a sped-up version of the "William Tell Overture" is so drunk on its own whimsy that it most likely sucks with a dedicated vigour.

Audacious and funny, Color Me Kubrick takes a small slice out of the entertainment pie to deliver a delicious and filling treat.

Malkovich captures not only the nuttiness of Conway, with his smorgasbord of foreign-sounding accents, but also his pathos.

Conway looked and sounded nothing like Kubrick and didn’t even research his supposed identity. He’s clearly a fascinating character who deserves a better movie.

Not only is there nothing there, the nothingness is a complete bore. When a film's highpoint is a soundtrack that relies heavily on other soundtracks, you've got problems.

The irony of Color Me Kubrick is that the visual tricks merely serve as a backdrop for Malkovich's inspired high-wire performance.

A little bit like a coloring book -- flip the pages and each is pretty much like the one before, escalating variations on the same scam, with Malkovich filling in the cartoonish shadings, and occasionally going way outside the lines.

It’s an impressive moving wax museum, certainly, but even metatextual follies eventually need a pulse.

This is a kicky little movie.