For context, I was on a plane and I had already downloaded it (it being a “show” on Amazon Prime called “This is Me…Now” in case you have a burning need to waste an hour of your life) so I figured I’d watch, because how bad could it be?
The answer, it turns out, is very bad.
Upon opening, I immediately wonder what exactly it is I’m watching. Is it a music video? JLo is talking about love, and I think she and the other dancers…live…inside a heart? It is my theory that they are supposed to be tiny people keeping a heart functioning, not to ensure that blood is properly infused with oxygen and delivered to parts of the body that need it, but instead, that the heart is capable of love, that it’s repaired when heartbroken. In case you’re not crystal clear, the heart we’re talking about here is the one you see on Valentine’s Day cards. Rainbows and bunnies and chocolates and living happily ever after love. That kind of heart. LOVE. Already, I feel a big heart-shaped (again, not the organ, but the shape) anvil should fall down and hit one of these dancers/workers on the head.
I mean, it is terrible. I check the time at the bottom of the screen and oh my good God, I am only SIX minutes in and I hate it so much. I didn’t expect it to be good, but worse than expected is arguably impressive.
Carrying on bravely (and signaling the flight attendant for champagne), now there’s a high rise apartment building where I believe Jennifer lives with the flavor of the we—sorry, sorry, I mean her boyfriend. I am not sure which boyfriend or husband this is supposed to be. It appears he is physically abusive. I wasn’t aware that was an issue in her past. There’s nothing wrong with trying to speak truth to power, but honestly, this seems like such an odd way to do it. And truly, I too have always just wanted to be in love. I can relate, but this is so dramatic it takes me right out of the story (because, again, WHAT IS THE STORY?) while I wonder what it is she’s trying to say and which guy might be represented here as they kick and punch in a choreographed manner while she sings and then, does the building explode?
Oh, okay, that part’s over. Now there’s a Zodiacal Counsel? It’s possible you don’t know what that is, so please allow me to explain what I’m seeing on the screen now. (Pause for a huge gulp of champagne.) It appears that she relies heavily upon the guidance of the Zodiac; therefore, each sign is represented by a person, and they’re wearing elaborate costumes and watching her from…space? And then they judge her choices. Shockingly, some big names have signed up for this. I spy Trevor Noah and Sofia Vergara, just to name a few. Have they signed up in jest? Do they understand what’s happening or do they also feel like they should have done some LSD before beginning this…experience?
If you can believe it, I am now only 15 minutes in. The current scene looks like perhaps we’re watching the wedding from the first time she married Ben Affleck. (Wait, did they ever get married on the first round or was it a broken engagement? Does it even matter? I refuse to Google this.)
I still don’t know if this is a musical, or a music video, or a movie, or a tv show, but what I do know is she seems INCREDIBLY SELF INVOLVED. I get it lady—you just want to find your Prince Charming and ride off into the sunset. You think no one has EVER SUFFERED LIKE YOU HAVE FOR LOVE. Except, oh I don’t know, probably more than half of women in the world who have also dated dumb guys, dated mean guys, tried to change the bad boy, married the wrong guy (maybe more than once), never found the guy, but likely don’t have your good looks, wealth, fame or connections leading to virtually unlimited possibilities. Pardon me while I try and find my tiny violin and, oh yeah, drink some more of my cheap airplane champagne while squeezed into a coach seat on Southwest. (Full disclaimer: I found the guy and he’s the love of my life and I consider myself extremely lucky. Because I did all the other stuff above before him.)
In all this madness, there is one Black guy with a British accent and talking a whole mess of shade. I have no idea who he is—a friend, a frenemy, an ex? Obviously, it’s not clear to me and probably wouldn’t be clear even if I read the “script” for this thing. He’s completely stealing the show for me. (I wonder idly how upset she might be to know that he’s upstaging her. I also wonder if there was a “script”—if so, seeing it might completely melt my brain.)
All righty, we’re on a pause from the musical portion of this travesty. Ah, it’s a montage of couples therapy with multiple dudes. I usually ADORE a montage, but of course this is horrible, so now I’m infuriated that I am not enjoying it. I think one of the partners is Sean Combs P Diddy Puff Daddy (what do we call him these days?), one is Ben, and who’s the blond? Was she ever dating a blond guy? I don’t see a vampire so what’s-his-face must not be included in the Montage of Couples Therapy Despair.
(Note: WHY THE FUCK DID TREVOR NOAH SIGN UP FOR THIS STUPIDITY.)
Twenty-seven minutes in. I feel psychotic. I believe now I am watching some type of love intervention. Seriously, Jennifer, could you be more tone deaf? You’re going to equate trying to find love with serious addictions like alcoholism and meth?
Surprise! She took the intervention seriously, and now she’s attending a Love Addicts Anonymous meeting. Thirty seconds in to her speech and I’m dying.
This is beyond pathetic. Wait for it, well of course she breaks into song and there is a choreographed number to interrupt the meeting so I have now deemed it a musical. Have I mentioned I LOATHE musicals?
What I really notice now is that her makeup and wardrobe are ON POINT. These things sort of belie the fact she’s supposed to be SO BROKEN and SO DEVASTATED by her repeated failures at love. But hey, not so messed up we might see her looking like shit in a pair of sweatpants without her hair and lash extensions while she eats a pint of ice cream in bed.
I am now 38 minutes in, and I swear I see a friend of mine named Ronne but it’s possible I’m hallucinating. (I must make a note to ask him if he was part of the cast for this….thing.) The scenery looks like NYC, so I assume this means Jenny is going back to the block, and unfortunately for me, I’m going with her.
I think this scene is meant to convey that her inner child is mad; however, Jenny is able to reassure inner child that grown up Jennifer loves her. Emphasis on think. Oh Lord, she’s singing again. The ode to her inner child sure seems like a pat on her own back—like she’s overcome SO MANY OBSTACLES to get where she is now. And I bet she has, but dating the wrong guys cannot possibly be at the top of that list. What kind of message does that send to women? (I must admit the choreography in The Block is great. Maybe I’ve had too much wine at this point.)
Forty-five minute mark: the Z Council gets super excited and proud and they say, “She did it!” Did what?!!?? WHAT DID SHE DO BESIDES CONFUSE ALL OF US?
In this scene, I think we’re supposed to give her a cookie or a round of applause or a Grammy for attending wedding solo.
(Around the point where we have 15 minutes left, my notes say: “Fuck this woman and her entitlement” and also “WTF dancing in the rain” so I’m just going to leave those here.)
Finally, this monstrosity is over. In the final scene, I think the guy is supposed to be Affleck. But I’m way more focused where her neck meets her ear and whether or not the way the skin is folded there indicates an expert facelift. There’s no judgment on the facelift itself, but lying to the public is where I get off the bus. I feel celebrities who famously appear not to age but claim not to have work done are doing the rest of us mere mortals a disservice. I digress. No clue if she’s really had work done. And let the record show if so, it was expertly done and she looks fabulous.
In sum, it seems she is trying to convey that she’s a love addict and makes poor decisions; perhaps Ms. Lopez (Mrs. Affleck?) is embarrassed that she’s been married multiple times. I’m not sure why this is so humiliating and needs to be explained or excused, but I’m even more unsure why she considered this absolute pile of dung the appropriate vehicle by which to do so.