A witless, artless, pathetically clumsy affair

This movie falls flat because it does not exist in any context resembling reality, what with its thoroughly convoluted plot and its ridiculously-conceived characters. Sitting through it was like being shipwrecked on a desert island with nothing to eat but expired tins of Spam.

To be fair, Jennifer Lopez' speech about the superiority of her private parts (versus the male "sea slug" and/or "big toe" or whatever she calls it), delivered while she writhes face-up on the floor performing some sort of yoga tactic, was nearly watchable. And the guy who plays the mentally challenged dude steals every scene he's in. These are just minor points, though. We're also forced to sit through mind-bogglingly heavy-handed scenes, such as the one where J-Lo's psycho lesbian ex-lover shows up out of the blue and slits her wrists in a fit of deranged hysteria, and the one where Al Pacino (whose idea of acting these days seems to involve yelling his lines louder and louder to convey depth) shows up to rant and rave incoherently until J-Lo's equally meaningless soliloquy renders him - believe it or not - slack-jawed and speechless. By the end of the movie, I felt the same way.