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From the liner notes

In response to shiny, bigger, better American consumerism comes Cold Souls, first-time feature director Sophie Barthes' surreal comedy in which souls can be extracted and traded as commodities.

Balancing on a tightrope between deadpan humor and pathos, and reality and fantasy, the film presents Paul Giamatti as himself, agonizing over his interpretation of Uncle Vanya. Paralyzed by anxiety, he stumbles upon a solution via a New Yorker article about a high-tech company promising to alleviate suffering by extracting souls. Giamatti enlists their services - only to discover that his soul is the shape and size of a chickpea - intending to reinstate it once he survives the performance.

Complications ensue when a mysterious, soul-trafficking “mule” borrows Giamatti's stored soul for a talentless, Russian soap-opera actress. Rendered soulless, Paul is left with no choice but to follow the trail back to St. Petersburg. Funny, charming and wildly imaginative, the film explores the profound moods and inner struggles of a man in search of his essence.