Gigli is written and directed by Martin Brest. Rule of thumb: If you’re going to expose your Brest in Hollywood, chances are you’ll need an augmentation. Or, in this case, a reduction.
Ben is a street hood and Jen owns some street hoodies. Jen is “workin’ it” for the camera, big time. In fact, through much of Gigli, there’s a spotlight trained on her belly button as if its bracing to jump though flaming hoop earrings any second now. That navel is like a lonely billboard on a remote cinematic highway!
Ben, meanwhile, describes himself as “the sultan of slick, a pimp mack f—in hustler original gangster’s gangster.” None of which seems to explain why he goes to bed every night sucking Matt Damon’s thumb.
Ben has amazing powers – he has twice accomplished the impossible: He turned two lesbians straight! First in Chasing Amy and now in Gigli. This man is a Sapphic SARS virus! At this rate, by 2089 it will be the end of overalls as we know them, and the only Butch will be in some old movie with Sundance.
Ben has a crazy patchwork tattoo on his shoulder. “It’s a map for a tunnel to get out of this movie,” said Ben, who added that next time he gets a map tattooed on his body, he’ll put it in a place he can see it. “I tried to read it with a mirror,” he said, “and I kept escaping back to the set.”
For two hours, not a single hair moved on Ben’s head – not even when every hair in the audience was on end and growing in the direction of the exit’s welcoming glow. Could it be that blustery atmospheric conditions conspired to leave town while Ben and Jen were shooting Gigli? Could it be this proteinaceous skull-cap is is really plastic and that suspicious lump on Ben’s back is a protruding copper-top battery?
Like Ben, Jen is an “enforcer” meaning she lives a life of violence – or at least violently rejuvenating facials and massages. “Leave him alone or I’ll kill you,” Jen warns, as she whips out her fashion police badge.
Amazingly, Jennifer even quotes Sun Tzu – until she realizes this particular Sun has nothing to do with a healthy tan.
We’ve all heard that the studio applied some special effects to Jen’s derriere in the poster. I hear they even considered making this movie in 3-D, but were afraid that when Jen swings her backside to the camera the audience would get whiplash – like somebody just lobbed a ham between your eyes.
I’ll say this for Marty Brest, he certainly knows how to call in favors. There’s Chris Walken doing a Walk-on, suggesting a fine actor should always use a body-double in a lackluster role and a brain-double when choosing one. And there’s Al Pacino, who has finally gone so mad he reportedly passed a napping Lopez on set with his hunchbacked assistant and insanely shouted “IT’S ALIVE!! IT’S ALIVE!! HOO-HAH!!”
And then there’s Lanie Kazan, the John Gielgud of ethnic matriarchs – in a thong. For Chrissake, they should be paying you to watch this! No surprise LAPD tried to wrap yellow tape around that ass and draw a chalk outline on her toilet seat.
Okay this movie’s bad, but what’s with all the apocalyptic reviews? Gigli isn’t any worse than much of what’s rolled out for our mindless consumption every summer. It’s a funny thing, media backlash. The very same PR machine that eats like an elephant craps like one, too.
Watch out where you’re standing, Ben and Jen.
Photos Copyright ©2003 Columbia Pictures