If GIGLI were any worse than it is, it would require special HAZMET handling. It transcends merely bad, merely tedious, merely irksome and plummets into that very special category of film, the one that so tries and tortures its audience that, emerging again from the soul-sucking black hole of celluloid disaster, it no longer fears death.
When something is this ill-conceived, it can be hard to know where to start when reviewing it. Bad writing, bad direction, bad acting, they all come into play, but fortunately, GIGLI’s star is Ben Affleck, and that makes things fairly easy. Not that the writing and directing courtesy of Martin “Hoo Haa” Brest wouldn’t have sunk this flick all on its own, but having Ben at the helm, well, that just gets us there so very much faster. Ben is the Gigli of the title, a low-rent strong-arm guy who seems to get his tips on enforcing from Letterman’s Stupid Human Tricks. His latest job is to kidnap a mentally handicapped kid and keep him on ice for a few days. To make sure he doesn’t screw up, his boss sends insurance in the form of Jennifer Lopez. And, honestly, that’s all you really need to know or that I need to relive. Suffice to say that the story is as flat, barren, and airless as the dark side of the moon. A wanna-be tantalizing interplay between Ben and J. Lo on the primary and secondary sexual characteristics of the genders is a public service message for abstinence, even with J. Lo writhing through a yoga routine in skimpy active wear during the chat. When Gigli needs to keep the kid he’s kidnapped sequestered, he takes him out in a convertible and then picks a fight at a taco stand.
Sigh.
Gigli is supposed to be a dim bulb at best and no one captures dim better than Ben. When he’s up on screen, furrowing his brow in yet another doomed attempt to emote, one vainly attempts to find some light behind the oddly and persistently vacant eyes, some spark, a flicker, a glimmer, even, of a nascent sentience attempting to make contact with the outside world. Alas, it is a fruitless search and one is once again back on the dark side of the moon. The man is outacted by his hair, though to be fair, it is a fabulous pompadour, aggressive in a millennial way and sculpted with the care and craftsmanship usually reserved for Rococo excrescences. J. Lo flicks her hair, bobs her head, and generally doesn’t do anything that will muss her makeup.
Christopher Walken has an extended cameo for no real reason except to provide a side-by-side comparison of the difference between air-brushed vacuousity and quirky charisma. When he left, it was actually painful to know that I couldn’t go with him instead of having to stay with Ben and J. Lo. Not even Al Pacino popping up to chew some scenery helped, not after that close up of Laine Kazan’s hot pink thong.
After GIGLI, Costner can walk a little taller despite WATERWORLD, Madonna, despite SWEPT AWAY, and everyone involved despite their association with SHOWGIRLS.
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