Here's a review of the worst movie of all time!
Its reputation precedes it. It is the butt of the cinematic world; not even the cinematic world, but the average, best-seller reading, movie-going world. Its billing as the worst romantic comedy of all time conjures memories of Jennifer Lopez's other romcoms: The Wedding Planner, Maid in Manhattan and the like. She modernizes unbelievable fairy tales with her curves and minority struggles. The cheesiest romantic comedy is an excuse to laugh, to cringe, to break from more intellectual activities and marvel at the gullibility of our nation.
Gigli is not so merciful. Neither romantic nor a comedy, the movie documents the beginning of the doomed real-life coupling with disturbing sexual relationships and a genre-confused plot.
The beautifully named Larry Gigli is a mob underling who starts off by casually threatening to run a gagged man through a dryer. A hopeful three minutes of Clerks-like humor follows as Larry's pudgy boss demands more ruthless violence from his pouting protegé. Remember this moment: it will be the last genuine laugh for the next two hours. Larry breezily kidnaps a mentally handicapped teenager and swiftly reveals the movie's lack of realistic moral compass against which to balance the absurdity. Presently, J. Lo appears; a nurturing, crop-topped lesbian sent to co-imprison the charge, and Larry finds himself strangely attracted to her creepy, zen-like presence and domineering sexuality.
Gigli tries the doors of hapless crime thriller and chick flick before finding its place in the dungeon of plotless, soft-core porn. It gradually becomes clear that this movie is about sex in its harshestform; emotionless and purposeless. It's not about an egomaniac learning his lesson about kidnapping and reevaluating his morals. It is pornographic in its absolute dismissal of romance, progression, or even matching sexual orientations. Ben, I mean Larry, manages to smirk out his adoration for J. Lo's body and she responds by attempting to feminize him to make him more desirable. The sole sex scene is mild compared to all their talk, but instead of an anticipated, climactic moment, it feels like a perverse, spontaneous scratching of an itch.
Most pretense of the heist is, unfortunately, abandoned in favor of a soulless compromise anyone else would call friends with benefits. The crime is concluded hastily and without any apparent character development. Intrigue, chemistry, personal growth are all soundly squelched, so what is left? Oh yes: Larry's final stab at charming the gay out of Ricki just before the credits roll. Not even porn would accept that ending.
