Jennifer Lopez, artificially inseminated and pregnant with twins before she meets Mr. Right, stands out as a pearl among pebbles. Her hair and makeup (in the part of a pet-shop proprietor) are a wonder to behold, and are indeed beheld with tunnel vision and starry eyes by director Alan Poul and photographer Xavier Pérez Grobet. Her charm is unmissable if not irresistible, her talent as well-honed as it is narrow. And her biggest laugh, for sheer incongruity, comes when she explains how she knows the new man is The One: “He’s very real.” More truthfully, he’s very ideal, a masculine accessory — second-tier Australian actor Alex O’Loughlin, a composite of Matthew McConaughey (torso) and Jon Stewart (head) — who will never compete for the spotlight, will mold himself into a devoted slave, will put up with nuttiness of any degree or duration, and will afterwards Always Be There For Her, like a favorite handbag. Not everything, needless to say, is roses: “I miss my old ass,” the star plays up to, or rather down to, her fans: “It was kinda like this, but way hotter.” Too, the public childbirth attended by members of the Single Mothers and Proud support group — not the heroine’s childbirth but that of one of the pebbly supporting players — adds something new to the annals of parturition on screen, namely an unparalleled element of demonic possession. (The bowel movement has been paralleled, thank you.) Even outside of that, the movie achieves a level of biological repugnance to rival Ingmar Bergman, except with a sense of humor. A crude one. (2010) — Duncan Shepherd