In this week’s New Yorker, uber-nebbish Jesse Eisenberg uses the space to let us know he still hasn’t gotten over American Ultra’s Rotten Tomatoes score. Eisenberg gets his revenge with “An Honest Film Review,” narrated by Eisenberg’s idea of a typical movie critic: neurotic, lazy, and male.
This week, I’m reviewing “Paintings of Cole,” which I didn’t like, because the press screening was all the way uptown, and there were huge delays on the J train.
The sharp satire continues from there.
This is actually Eisenberg’s twelfth “Shouts and Murmurs” (previous highlights: “My Mother Explains the Ballet to Me”), which makes him one of the humor column’s most prolific celebrity contributors, though not its most mediocre. On a scale of one to ten—ten being Tina Fey and one being Colin Jost—Eisenberg ranks somewhere between B.J. Novak and Michael Cera. (Honorary mention: Simon Rich, who sits at the center of the “Shouts and Murmurs” Venn diagram of celebrities and children of successful writers.)