Me and Orson Welles (2013)

Christian McKay and Zac Efron in "Me and Orson Welles"

Despite a flashy performance at the middle, Richard Linklater's handsome but shallow “Me and Orson Welles”—a glimpse at the famous filmmaker's first work as a stage director for his fledgling repertory company—never quite lives up the lofty status of its venerable subject.

The movie was based on a novel of the same name by Robert Kaplow and is set in New York City in 1937, where a baby-faced 22-year-old Welles (Christian McKay) is tirelessly working his Mercury theater cast and crew—among them, Welles regular Joseph Cotton (James Tupper) and George Coulouris (Ben Chaplin)—ahead of their much-anticipated Broadway debut of “Julius Caesar.”

The title is inspired by the stormy relationship that develops between Welles and a young actor, Richard Samuels (Zac Efron, trying gamely to distance himself from his Disney channel teen heartthrob image), whom Welles makes an unlikely new star by casting him impetuously off the street. By taking Richard under his wing, the precocious Welles assumes the role of elder statesman, despite the fact that the men are separated by only a handful of years.

Trouble follows after Richard meets an eager young production assistant, Sonja (Claire Danes), and falls for her. Sonja likes Richard but idolizes the brilliant Welles, who steps in just when she begins to get cozy with the kid. The setup creates an awkward love triangle of sorts that boils over when Richard tries to expose the married Welles as an unctuous womanizer.

The movie might be adrift without McKay’s scene-chomping, cheerfully grandiose performance, capturing the manner, energy and aplomb of the charismatic, sometimes irascible Welles. But beyond the impressive affectation, there’s not much emotional depth; like much of “Me and Orson Welles,” the performance is showy but empty.

Linklater’s movie is a nice homage to Welles’ theater career, but what’s missing is much of an allusion to his great filmmaking work to come. Aside from a brief mention of “The Magnificant Ambersons,” there’s little to suggest his distinct use of mise-en-scene, ambitious visual style or virtuoso long takes.

“How the hell am I going to top this?” Welles says coyly near the end during thunderous applause for his show. Indeed, the boy genius—who would go on to direct “Citizen Kane” less than three years later—still had plenty of tricks up his sleeve. You might find yourself wanting to revisit one of them the more “Me and Orson Welles” fades into irrelevance.