color me kubrick is a sad movie. though some scenes are written with comedy in mind, the content itself is nothing short of tragic. john malkovich (a con-man whose only distinguishable purpose is to impersonate director stanley kubrick) plays the central role. he cons his victims so that he may flaunt some inferiority complex, or so that he may spend a few days in the lap of luxury, or so that he can simply enjoy stature. this confidence man (alan is his real name) takes his game a step further: he changes kubrick's character according to victim (e.g. flamboyant pervert, cranky and loud, shy and dignified, austere). with time, alan is caught, he has pushed the envelope well past its tearing point. and so, staying true to his character, he feigns psychosis; he claims that he thinks-- rather, he knows he is mr. stanley kubrick. without hesitation, the doctors believe him.
but this is not how the movie ends. something you don't know: alan is an alcoholic, and so too is this false stanley kubrick. things are not lost in translation when malkovich changes character from simpleton to film god; instead, his demons follow.
and so after alan fakes miraculous recovery, he is admitted to a first-rate rehabilitation facility, an estate, a facility that is itself a go-to for the rich and famous. there is no outrage. there is no disbelief, or blame. indeed, alan is relieved, and more, he is satisfied. he has finally been invited into the opulence and company he has looked for all along. until now, he has trespassed.
I am not saying we should relent to the voice inside us that goads us on to fraudulence and civil disrespect. I am not saying we should air a self-facade. I am not saying we are the bearers of sadness and that the world bears us. I am not saying anything.
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