Well, by the look of things Pedro Almodóvar is already at it. For in Broken Embraces (Los Abrazos Rotos) he moves seamlessly from quoting random arthouse movies of the past to self-indulgently referencing his own stuff. (Indeed, the film within a film here is a pastiche of his own Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown.)
This movie is frankly all over la tienda. Ostensibly the recollection of a blind former film director who has adopted his own pseudonym in order to shelve memories of a doomed affair with the kept woman of a dodgy plutocrat, the question of whether this is a story that needed to be told — an in particular whether it needed to told in such an intricate manner — is deferred only by the director's insistent imposition of his faux-melodramatic, haidresser-noir sensibility.
Still, that my attention span didn't go into cardiac arrest is testimony to the jaw-dropping watchability of Penélope Cruz and the landscapes of Lanzarote.