Alan Rudolph is a generally great director, but this reminds me of New York, New York and One From The Heart. Admittedly it is the best of the three, but it reeks of the same artificiality and end of the New Hollywood confusion. Bright neon, over-produced and commercial score, shallow romance and relationships providing its emotional core. This certainly scratches someone's itch, but not mine.
This glossy and shallow visual pop approach is subdued by Rudolph (especially compared to Coppola's garish and expensive trainwreck), but it doesn't have the finesse or adventurous and youthful vitality of what directors like Carax and Beineix were doing in France at the time.