OK, CNN is reporting the following about the soon-to-open J. Lo and B. Af film, “Gigli”:
If early reviews are anything to go by, the pairing of the real-life love birds in the movie "Gigli" looks set to bomb when it opens at the U.S. box office on Friday.
Among its biggest problems is a love scene in which Lopez spreads her legs and tells a smoldering Affleck, "It's turkey time. Gobble, gobble."
Jen and Ben prepare for the all-important "Thanksgiving Scene". They patiently await the arrival of "The Baster" due to some performance issues that day on set. People on-set described the moment as "more than just a little awkward".
OK, it’s twenty minutes later now, and I am typing on a new keyboard, since I spit up enough coffee on the old one that a replacement became necessary.
I’m choosing to take a positive outlook here. Enough of the J. Ho bashing, I say. Enough of the “overexposed” claims. I wanna take a moment and salute a relationship that can survive, in any context whatsoever, one saying to the other, “It’s turkey time. Gobble, gobble.”
Also, is it really fair to criticize this line, without the actual shooting script in hand? I mean, the punctuation CNN choose could be biased. Maybe the sentence really reads:
“It’s turkey time. Gobble gobble.”
No comma between “gobbles”. Maybe she’s dressed like the Hamburglar and playing some kinky game with Benny from the Block. Let’s not judge sight unseen, is all I’m saying.
Maybe the sentence actually reads:
“It’s turkey. Time. Globbeg obble.”
You know, maybe she’s just stating her preference for luncheon meat, announcing her favorite Pink Floyd song, and then using an ancient lesbian Inca mating call. YOU JUST DON’T KNOW PEOPLE.
I went to some of my sources in Hollywood, and snooped around for some earlier drafts of the script. Obviously, Affleck’s Oscar-winning writing skills came in near the end, since some of the initial drafts were even worse. To boot:
“It’s froggy time. Croak, croak.”
“It’s piggy time. Oink oink.”
Some drafts even tried to use the animal/anatomy double entendre to terrifying effects:
“It’s calf time. Bleat bleat.”
“It’s ass time. Bray bray.”
Finally, I managed to catch a draft of the script where “Gigli” was actually a supernatural thriller instead of “Chasing Amy” meets “Goodfellas” meets “Life Goes on” meets “a big ol’ pile o’ crap”:
“It’s werewolf time. Howl at my moon.”
So yea. All I’m saying is, it could be a lot worse. Just because these two have flaunted their happiness at the expense of the rest of the world, and been insufferably cute, and made everyone else to feel that their conception of love is but a hairy mole on the ass of their devotion, is NO REASON to label this movie dead on arrival.
Look, I’m sorry if this is harsh. But I can’t forget to be real. To me, it’s like breathing.