The more Jesse Eisenberg films there are, the more I embrace Michael Cera. The fidgety, uni-expressioned Eisenberg tackles the dual role of a secondary government clerk, kicked further to the curb after the sudden appearance of his assured doppelganger in Richard Ayoade’s adaptation of the Dostoevsky novella. Not since Only God Forgives has there been a film this determined to dazzle an audience with its expressionistic color palette; cinematographer Erik Wilson’s burnished mahogany hues beg for a theatrical visit. But the fetch ultimately proves anything but fetching as the dystopian universe Ayoade hatches – oversize technology housed in incommodious subterranean warehouses - has “Made In Brazil” stamped across its bottom. It feels like Kafka, and it looks like Gilliam and Cronenberg, but when it comes to imparting genuine whimsy and/or human emotion, is as wan and non-portentous as its wraithlike lead(s). With Mia Wasikowska, Wallace Shawn, and a piddling few minutes of Chris O’Dowd. (2013) — Scott Marks
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