“House of Gucci,” directed by Ridley Scott

How big is your Thanksgiving turkey? Ten pounds? Fifteen? More? Sorry, it’s still not as big a turkey as Ridley Scott’s “House of Gucci.”

Bet your turkey has taste. Then you’ve got one up on HOG, which has none. The dialogue? Laughable. The direction? Inept. The acting? OMG, the…”acting.”

Okay, maybe you’re more into turkey breast. Well, you’re in luck, because there’s plenty of breast in this movie. Mostly Lady Gaga’s, as she’s squeezed into some of the most unflattering low-cut outfits ever given to an entertainer.

As long as we’re doing turkey metaphors, let’s say you prefer drumsticks. Sorry to say, most of the cast hasn’t a leg to stand on. Generally, they all speak English with Italian-ish accents that may call to mind Chico Marx. More specifically, Jared Leto is absolutely dreadful as Paolo Gucci, the bloated, untalented simple son who sells his shares to Iranian investors. Jeremy Irons plays paterfamilias Rodolfo Gucci, who dies off early (lucky him).

And back to Lady Gaga for a moment, whose over-the-top performance as Patrizia Gucci, the vulgar social-climbing daughter-in-law, will appall those who loved her in “Star is Born.” Classy she is not. Sorry/not sorry.

The pace of this 2 1/2 hour debacle is so deadly, I heartily recommend it to insomnia sufferers over chugging down Zzquil. You may, as we did, doze off for a while. But then you would miss halfway decent performances by Jack Huston, Camille Cotton (from “Call My Agent”), and Al Pacino, as Rodolfo’s brother Aldo. He roars at the screen but does so with taaaste.

The script is so filled with howlers, the audience whoops it up through the film. But because Ridley Scott is at the helm, it’s more tragedy than comedy.

Speaking of tragedy, those of us of a certain age will remember the sinking of the Andrea Doria in 1956 as a disaster. With “House of Gucci,” that Italian steamship has met its match.