Authors, historians, world leaders and the citizens of the United States have had a hard time trying to answer the question, “Who is George W. Bush?” As difficult as the question is, a more maddening question presents itself after this past weekend’s release of rushed biopic “W.” — “Why is Oliver Stone the one to find an answer?”

History may not be kind to W., but director Stone has not been kind to history. In “JFK,” Stone took the absurdist conspiracies of one of the most mysterious assassinations in American history and gave them credence by focusing on New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison. “Nixon” portrayed the president as a tragic figure, but also a drunk — something most critics took Stone to task for. But the pinnacle of revisionism came in the abysmal “Alexander,” which implied that Macedonians eventually migrated to Ireland, something Stone insanely defended in the DVD commentary.

Moviegoers and politicos were nervous at the prospect of Stone’s take on the sitting president, and rightfully so. But Stone’s failure comes not because of a far-leftist skewering, or grand errors in historical inaccuracy, but from a dilution of one of the most intriguing characters and compelling storylines in American history.

The film juxtaposes W’s (Josh Brolin, “No Country for Old Men”) troubled time at Yale, slacker-drunk 20s and slow rise up the political ladder with the lead up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Although Stone can be thanked for almost completely leaving Sept. 11 out of the equation, the timeline’s disjointed cuts back and forth are only the beginning of this film’s problems.

While Brolin’s portrayal of Bush is certainly a simplistic “screw-up son” caricature, at least it’s an endearing one. Bush’s constant attempts to impress his rising politician father (played with far more nuance by James Cromwell, “The Queen”) give “W.” a tragic spin. While not the most complex evaluation of Bush, the black sheep narrative certainly carries some weight.

But outside of that minor success, the film is an absolute disgrace of filmmaking, with casting playing a major role. Yes, Richard Dreyfuss (“Poseidon”) is Dick Cheney and Jeffrey Wright (“Casino Royale”) perfectly encapsulates the tortured play-along role of Colin Powell, but nearly every other character is either miscast or misused. Scott Glenn (“Nights in Rodanthe”) muddles Donald Rumsfeld’s no-nonsense, controlling attitude and relegates his role to the background when even the script insists that Rumsfeld is power hungry. Barbara Bush (Ellen Burstyn, “Requiem for a Dream”) just spasms throughout the film, and Laura Bush’s (Elizabeth Banks, “40-Year-Old Virgin”) love for George Jr. is taken as a given after two glossed-over points of contention. Most offensive, however, is the portrayal of Condi Rice (Thandie Newton, “Crash”). While most books on the Bush administration have depicted Rice as a patient handler of an impatient executive, this version of W’s national security advisor has the voice of a telephone switchboard operator and a parroting attitude that regrettably evokes the “repeat” from SuperTroopers.

Although the more bizarre events in the movie are taken from real incidents, the dialogue wipes any semblance of reality from the screen. Bush using some of his more famous “Bushisms” in the middle of high-level cabinet meetings is such laughably lazy writing, that one begins to wonder if writer Stanley Weiser assumes the caricature seen on comedy programs is the real-life Bush.

But the real tragedy of this film is that every potentially eye-opening moment into Bush’s psyche is tarnished by Stone’s boorish attempts to interject when he really has nothing to say. Bush has a heart-to-heart with Laura about living in “Poppy’s” shadow, but he happens to be sitting on the toilet while doing it. Bush becomes a born-again Christian, but the turning point is marred by unnecessary close-ups on Jesus mosaics. Perhaps the most bizarre moment comes when Bush is introduced to his future wife for the first time: As the woman introducing the two turns away, Stone closes up on the woman’s foot stepping on a corn cob. No foreshadowing, no explanation: just a corn cob.

And really, that shot can explain a lot of the movie — If Stone has an overall message, he completely forgot what it was mid-production. While the characters in the film make much ado about battling egos, Stone’s ego overshadows the rest. With sloppy direction, pathetic dialogue and no real concrete conception of who Bush is, it becomes obvious that “W.” is not a film about an idiot, it is a film made by an idiot.

1/2 star out of 5