This is an ugly little film in every respect. Story and character, execution and performance are all unpleasantly displayed in a film that remains leaden from start to finish.<br /><br />It opens abruptly with Alan Conway, an alcoholic, fashion challenged gay man assuming the identity of uber famous but reclusive director Stanley Kubrick. This masquerade manages to induce drink, entry, money and sex from awestruck strangers. He's fortunate most of the time not to be exposed since he's done little research to pull off his deceptions and in one instance is unmasked when he accepts credit for a film most people know he didn't make.<br /><br />As the dissolute Conway, John Malkovich is too affected to be effective. His over the top flaming performance borders on a nauseating stereotype. It's as if he is an outrageously gay man being John Malkovich.<br /><br />The one lone conceit that shows a semblance of some wit in this film is the utilization of Kubrick's famous scores to accompany Conway on his journey. It's fun, a moment of light parody that is quickly buried under the mean spirited actions of the lead and misery of his powerless victims that permeates this unctuous work.