Gustav Klimt (John Malkovich) is dying. He gets a visit from Egon Schiele (Nikolai Kinski) and together they delve into Klimt’s feverish subconscious to explore his life, his work and his relationships.
Holy bloody shit, this movie is a mess. The concept might – might – have worked, if the movie wasn’t so damn conscious [and kinda smugly self-congratulatory] about every little thing it did. Also, it was a bit ridiculous.