Alex Cox has repeatedly proclaimed that, despite the intentionally similar titles, this woozy send-up of modern media-fried life isn't at all related to his 1984 cult classic, Repo Man. Regrettably, he's correct in more ways than one. Whereas that parable of Angeleno absurdism punctured the Reagan era with acuity, irony and spiky wit, this tale of a rich brat (Jonet) is a banal, tone-deaf dud. Cox hasn't lost his punkish prickliness, but he has lost his satirical touch: toothless digs at the financial crisis? Mocking celebutantes and evangelistic terrorists? Turning L.A. into an a-pop-alyptic nightmare la Southland Tales, with beaucoup green-screen backgrounds? Someone, please help this graybeard provocateur reclaim his greatness.