A meandering movie that usually meanders in entertaining directions.

Enjoyable and inviting.

A sharp, engaging look at what it's like to be hungry and not-so-young in New York.

A smart, funny and endearing movie. It has enough cynicism to satisfy the part of DiCillo that would mock a blue-eyed superstar, yet enough genuine sentiment to make it possible for us to swallow the cynicism.

A lively, well-constructed film with a large and appealing cast.

Enjoyable, if sometimes scattered, comic exploration of the quest for integrity and depth in a world wowed by artifice and superficiality.

DiCillo has always had the laconic, funkified, vaguely surreal air of a Woody Allen on cough medicine (or a Jim Jarmusch on Jolt, for that matter), but The Real Blonde is just so much ado about nada.

The Real Blonde has lost that certain something that earmarked DiCillo's earlier, more offbeat outings, resulting in a film which is pleasant rather than innovative.

Modine, as a morosely self-involved actor, looks as if he's about to strangle someone -- and the movie, an attack on superficiality, never quite makes it out of the shallow end.

By interweaving a very contemporary love story into these themes, DiCillo has at least given it all a fresh spin.

Under the veneer of hip lies a bland romantic comedy wrapped in a layer of less-than-biting lifestyle satire, whose single most authentic moment involves an old woman and her scruffy mutt Buddy. Not cool.

An adequate attempt, but sorry, it's just not groundbreaking.

Like the fakery it satirizes, DiCillo's Real Blonde ends up ringing hollow.

The movie raises more interesting issues - often connected with the hazy lines between appearance and reality - than it's prepared to coherently explore.