IF Mark Rosman's modern day romantic fable is correct, and there is such a rare creature as the perfect man, then clearly he didn't work on this film.

If he had, the perfect man would have taken screenwriter Gina Wendkos to task for her sloppy execution of a neat premise, and berated the talented ensemble cast for lacking the vim to spark a mediocre picture to life.

Yes, the perfect man would have made a very different film: smart, funny and deliriously romantic.

Unfortunately, we're stuck with a perfectly forgettable comedy of errors, in every sense.

Resourceful teenager Holly Hamilton (Hilary Duff) has grown tired of the roller-coaster romantic (mis)fortunes of her single mother Jean (Heather Locklear), who always insists on leaving town whenever her current beau turns out to be no-good.

After yet another doomed romance, Jean, Holly and her six-year-old sister Zoe (Aria Wallace) head for New York City, where Jean flaunts her talents as a cake decorator in a Brooklyn deli run by good friend Dolores.

The single mom is a big hit with the other employees, especially baker Lenny (Mike O'Malley), who immediately plies his best chat-up lines.

Flattered by Lenny's attentions, Jean agrees to go out on a date.

Holly is horrified: no sooner has the family unpacked than her mother has picked up another loser.

So the teenager resolves to find Jean the man she deserves: by making him up, using charming restaurateur Ben (Chris Noth) as the template for the fantasy man.

Inevitably, Jean falls for her secret admirer and Holly has to somehow conjure 'Ben' out of thin air to keep Jean's dreams alive.

The Perfect Man doesn't understand the concept of subtlety: the manifold morals of the tale - there's no place like home, don't tell lies, follow your heart, believe in yourself, put your family first - are driven home like a punch to the solar plexus.

Even the soundtrack gets in on the act: "I will learn to love again, I will learn to trust once this heart can mend..." trills the film's signature song.

Enough already.

A little suspension of disbelief never hurt anyone but screenwriter Wendkos removes Holly and her friends and family so far from reality that it becomes an annoyance.

Do single mothers and their offspring really cavort around their apartments, creating synchronised dance moves, to disco-fied dance tracks?

Duff's performance is too forced: all of her character's emotions ring false and Holly frequently comes across like a simpering, meddlesome brat.

Locklear emanates warmth as a mother struggling to do the best for her family, while Noth dusts down Mr Big from Sex and The City (even the locales are the same).

"There is such a thing as perfect... it's out there," Ben tells Holly reassuringly. Just not in here.

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