In a summer of cardboard figures in splashy spectacles, that makes for a refreshing change, an intriguing, entertaining and altogether sweetly mystifying misfire. In other words, another quintessentially Alan Rudolph picture.

Trixie has "cult favorite" written all over it. That is to say, the general public is likely to say ixnay.

There are so many wonderful moments in Trixie and so few films like it that you wish Rudolph had given it a few more rewrites.

A cranky failure with brilliant moments.

For me, Trixie finds its own peculiar groove, and-buoyed by a compulsively watchable actress-folds neatly into the off-center work of a distinctive American director.

So much of the film is so funny, inspired and sophisticated, the performances so richly nuanced, that many viewers, Rudolph admirers in particular, will be inclined to forgive a little self-indulgence on the part of this authentic auteur.

Eventually evolves into a murder mystery that isn't very compelling.

The movie does have a certain amount of star power and occasional bursts of inventive mise en scene, which do a good job of diverting us so we don't realize that not much else is going on.

This is not the sort of movie you make it your business to see in a theater. But if you're ever surfing cable TV and come across it, you'll linger.

This is one Rudolph opus that leaves no afterglow.

With his new film (which he also wrote), Rudolph seems content to slap a flimsy film-noir plot on an unending stream of malapropisms and word games and call it a "screwball noir."

In the long, hit-and-miss career of writer-director Alan Rudolph, this misbegotten comedy falls squarely into the miss bin.

A movie built on one joke -- an old one -- and an incoherent, even idiotic plot.

Director Alan Rudolph kills this promising film off with a combination of bad writing and wrong-headed direction.