The Real Blonde (R) 1/2* (out of ****) A woman's face, an arm, some pumped-up pectorals, blond hair, a man's sad face, slender legs, a random hand here and there. As the opening credits of Tom DiCillo's The Real Blonde unfold, these scattered, fractured glimpses eventually come together to form the image of a bikini brief-clad man on his knees clinging to a nurturing woman, his head concealing her unclothed breasts. If only the rest of this formless, aimless ensemble comedy assembled so coherently. Joe (Matthew Modine) is a waiter/struggling actor too proud to take gigs in commercials or soap operas. He's feeling somewhat dissatisfied with his relationship with his live-in love, Mary (Catherine Keener), who holds some subconscious hostility toward the male gender. Mary, a makeup artist, regularly works on model Sahara (Bridgette Wilson), who is obsessed with the underlying messages in Disney's The Little Mermaid. The bottle blonde has a turbulent on-again, off-again relationship with Bob (Maxwell Caulfield), a soap actor who yearns for the taste of a real blonde, which he finds in co-star Kelly (Daryl Hannah). As the film unspools, a variety of other characters pass through: fashion photographer Blair (Marlo Thomas); Mary's shrink (Buck Henry) and self-defense instructor (Denis Leary); Joe's casting agent (Kathleen Turner) and hardass boss (Christopher Lloyd); and a mystery woman (Elizabeth Berkley) who keeps on crossing Joe's path. Where exactly does all this go? That's a question best posed to writer-director DiCillo, who doesn't appear to have the slightest clue himself. His meandering, largely unfunny script and direction are like hopelessly lost drivers, turning into dead-end narrative streets only to reverse course and hit another creative cul-de-sac. And another. And another. At one point Bob, frustrated with the soap scripts, complains to the head writer (Jim Fyfe) that his and Kelly's characters keep on going in circles, with no hint of development or growth. That is most certainly the case here. Joe gets a job and ultimately botches things; he and Mary bicker; they make up, only to have the pattern repeat itself. Unhappy with his bottle blonde, Bob gets his real blonde but is unsatisfied; he returns to the faux and is still unsatisfied. If there is a point to all of this, DiCillo dances around it, spending his time on apparent digressions that, as it turns out, aren't digressions at all. The Real Blonde is not without some amusements. It does have the occasional funny line and situation; Leary, Henry, Lloyd, Steve Buscemi, and Dave Chappelle shine in their small roles; Keener is a likable, refreshingly earthy lead; Berkley's appearance is mercifully brief (she receives outrageously prominent billing and ad placement for a ten-minute role); and there is the irony of having Caulfield play a wildly popular soap star who makes the ratings skyrocket (last year, the actor was fired from the daytime drama All My Children after a scant six months--due to lack of viewer interest). But on the whole, The Real Blonde is a frustrating sit that lives up to the stereotypes of its title--it may be glossy on the surface, but there's nothing going on inside. (opens February 27)
Michael Dequina mrbrown@ucla.edu | michael_jordan@geocities.com | mj23@the18thhole.com mrbrown@michaeljordanfan.com | mj23@michaeljordanfan.com mrbrown23@juno.com | mrbrown@iname.com | mst3k@digicron.com
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