A cut-above teen comedy whose nerdy hero is an anachronistic Sinatra fan, aspiring novelist, voracious reader, condemned virgin. When he stumbles on a prospective soul mate who seems his equal in youthful pretension — a Francophile who loves Gainsbourg and Breathless, but who can also correct him on his misidentification of the Japanese director of his "favorite" film, Tokyo Story— he develops an anarchic alter ego, François Dillinger, outfitted with cigarettes, dark shadows under his eyes, a pencil mustache, and a mile-wide cruel streak, to counsel him in his courtship. An even bigger question than how long till Michael Cera, twenty-one, can no longer get away with playing teenagers is the question of when his on-screen persona, a/k/a his shtick, will lose its freshness and find fatigue. The answer to both questions, somewhat surprisingly, is not yet. His insecurity and interiority are built to last, and his diffident, apologetic, unexpectant way with a funny line (agreeing to a hike: "Like John Muir, I enter the wilderness armed with nothing more than my journal and a childlike sense of wonder") is long on charm. In addition to which, the alter ego, the devil over his shoulder and in his ear, with whom he both divides and shares screen time, gives him a refreshing new persona, new shtick. It affords an opportunity to stretch himself without the obligation of credibility. Portia Doubleday, Jean Smart, Steve Buscemi, Justin Long; directed by Miguel Arteta. (2010) — Duncan Shepherd