Simone, which coyly bills Simone "as herself," exploits the brewing teapot tempest over "synthespians," the appropriately unnatural term for a digital actor. Flesh-and-blood performers fear a new age is dawning in which demanding superstars can be supplanted by CGI slaves that don't even want a piece of the net.

Simone, ironically, proves they have nothing to worry about. Al Pacino's nuanced performance is the kind of craft that could never be duplicated by a machine, no matter how many ones and zeros were strung together. Pacino looks, sounds, feels and smells like a washed-up director seduced by the impossible success of his creation. Already frayed at the start, Pacino pushes Viktor to the bleeding edge of sanity along a parallel track with the increasing insanity of the Simone phenomenon.

The film is positioned as a send-up of Hollywood self-involvement and the public's willingness to be deceived. But Simone feels more like a kind of Brave New Tootsie. Both are very funny movies in which a man reinvents himself to get the attention he couldn't get before, then comes to resent his alter ego for the very success he manufactured. Both are about the man, not the simulacrum.

Nonetheless, there are plenty of shots aimed at the starmaking system, including a hilarious Oscar sequence and an over-the-top arena pop tour.

Though it's Pacino's flick, the key supporting cast stands out. Catherine Keener again demonstrates her ability to wring comedy from strong, smart, vulnerable women. Winona Ryder has a great camp cameo as a pampered leading lady. The best supporting cast moments, though, are reserved for Pruitt Taylor Vince as a tabloid sleaze obsessed with Simone, and his acolyte, a funny and underused Jason Schwartzman.

Any number of movies this year include computer-generated characters more real, and much more interesting, than Simone (Gollum and Stuart Little come to mind). Simone reminds us we don't need more digital avatars—we need more Al Pacinos.