How fortunate that the J. Lo bod, majestic butt and all, finds itself in excellent working order in Gigli: There is precious little other consolation in this formless windbag of a romantic comedy with bits of gangster flick stuck to the edges. Lopez gives her radiant all as an enforcer sent to supervise an incompetent low-level hood (Ben Affleck, mugging, huffing and rolling his eyes) after he kidnaps the mentally handicapped brother (promising unknown Justin Bartha) of a federal prosecutor about to indict a mob boss (Al Pacino, declaiming in a tiny ponytail). This is one of those rare Hollywood movies in which one longs for more plot. As those who suffered through Scent of a Woman know, all writer-director Martin Brest wants is to have his self-consciously quirky protagonists represent his quirky views on everything from love and life, to the finer points of Chinese military theory, to the resemblance between a woman’s lips and her sexual organs. Occasionally the fog lifts to reveal the ineffably funny Christopher Walken and Lainie Kazan in regrettably brief walk-ons. For the rest, Lopez and Affleck try not to smile at each other while gassing on and on until you’re praying, dear God, please make them shut up and do it so we can all go home in peace.