Paul Rudd and Justin Theroux steal the show in ‘Mute’

For fans of the (if you’re not one, I can only assume you haven’t seen it), it’s ꧑tough not to have high expectations for “Mute,” director Duncan Jones’ self-described “spiritual sequel” (accentuated in the new film by televised cutaways to hearings involving Sam Rockwell’s “Moon” character).

But despite a terrific cast and a sexy noir lo🔜ok to rival the two “Blade Runner” films, J✤ones (son of David Bowie) delivers a bit of a letdown.

Its being a Netflix release, frankly, doesn⛦’t help (it’ll have a run only in LA theaters). Why relegate such a gorgeously shot൲ film to mostly small screens?

More problematic is that the plot, in which Alexander Skarsgård’s mute bartender goes 🐼🎃in search of his missing cocktail-waitress girlfriend (Seyneb Saleh), could be lifted out of 2050s Berlin and set down in nearly any time period, rendering its cyberpunk trappings sort of irrelevant.

Skarsgård, who doesn’t need to speak to command attention, has little to do beyond roughing up b🌠ad g𓂃uys and getting teary as he looks at old photos.

The real winners here areಌ Paul Rudd and Justin Theroux as a violent, goofy pair of ex-US military surgeons running black-market operations (pun intended) in Berlin’s seedy underbelly. Rudd’s at the height of his sarcastic-jerk prowess as Cactus Bill, also a doting single dad to a little girl. But it’s never a great sign when your lead is upstaged by the supporting players, and for all its good looks, “Mute” ultimately doesn’t have a whole lot to say.