Horror Movie Matrimony

Large scale weddings have been rhapsodized about for eons but for me they have little appeal. I’m not against matrimony, romance or the idea of soul mates, yet I feel love seems to get lost amid the panoply of overpriced flower arrangements and yards of Duchesse satin. Having been asked to stand in my share of weddings I’ve watched simple ceremonies take on a Hollywood-like vibe, complete with cameramen. With each ridiculously posed photo I feel less like a friend sharing a special day and more like a prop in a summer blockbuster. After arguing with a bride over what shoes I would wear to stand in a winter wedding (flip flops in December) I noted key players in weddings are eerily similar to those in another time honored institution: horror movies. I envision my role in both situations to be the chunky smart-ass sidekick/voice of reason, limping through a series of carefully choreographed events.

Most movies of the genre follow a formula: grizzly murder, inept law enforcement, slow moving psycho with a penchant for violence and a mating scene concluding with the “money shot”; building to the moment when the remaining character (typically a nearly nude female) barely gets out alive, the monster defeated until the sequel. The bridal formula is only slightly different: grizzly best man, inept groom, slow moving grandparents with a penchant for sitting, psycho disguised as bride, and couples hoping to conclude said event with the “money shot”; building to the moment when the remaining bridesmaid (typically single) barely gets out alive, another bridezilla defeated until the next wedding.

For many women a wedding is their last chance to fulfill unresolved girlhood fantasies under the guise of making the day special. For the movie bad guy it’s the chance to recreate childhood trauma under the guise of quieting voices within. A bride selects her wedding party, the monster targets his prey. The bride assures her girls she wants them comfortable and sends them to a dressing room. In both situations those involved are lured into a false sense of security, replete with bad lighting, no chance of escape and a sense of inevitable doom. The bride lets you to try on dresses you like, the monster lets you to choose your style of execution. Both have the same result: your opinion doesn’t matter because the decision has already been made, this is merely an empty gesture meant to assuage fear. Getting the nerve to tell the bride you hate your dress is equal to seeing who’s tough enough to go into the deserted mansion where the local crazies reside; there’s a lot of stalling and negotiating with the other victims/attendants.

You go.

No you.

Scared?

No I just think its stupid.

You’re scared!

Oh yeah? I don’t see you going!

I’ll go if you go.

Whether facing down a monster or bride (sometimes both inhabit the same body) there’s no strength in numbers, its every woman for herself. One neighbor had a bride choose such a horrible dress that I was convinced an angry mob with pitchforks would run said neighbor out of town! Having seen pictures from the event I understood why no one chased her in a good way. Dandelion colored satin? Picture a very round Belle from Beauty & the Beast.

All bridesmaids (especially overweight ones) have a tendency to cringe when the dresses are initially shown, there are sounds of shock and disbelief. Cut to horror movie scene when a victim’s demise is witnessed by friends who know they’re next; there are sounds of shock and disbelief. Neither situation is pretty but all involved resign themselves to their fate.

I understand the draw of a wedding, there’s excitement, romance and cake all in one! Yet I cover my eyes until I see the dress, waiting for the worst to be over. I equally understand the draw of a horror movie, there’s chills, suspense and popcorn all in one! I cover my eyes until I see the end credits, waiting for the worst to be over. Several of my girlfriends capriciously chose attendant dresses that made even the mannequin look fat, (what chance did I have?) disregarding the pleas of this chunky sidekick. Like the horror movie hero who announces in a cavalier tone they alone will fight the monster, disregarding the pleas of friends.

Much like the main figure in a slasher movie, I too am weary; not of senseless violence but of senseless enhancement of my worst features. I once had to wear such an unfortunate choice of dress that even the sales girl at the bridal salon felt bad for me! But unlike the movie character who can hide when necessary, I endured my nightmare in full view of the public.

In the end brides and horror movie baddies all want the same thing: THEIR way, supporting players be damned, regardless of the prey backing into a corner whimpering, “please don’t do this. Can’t we talk about this?” And while a quick spritz of holy water may stop a baddie, it only spurs the bride further into ritualistic practices already in motion. Like talking about the bachelorette party. But I’ll save that for the sequel.  

Today's lie to myself: brides will stop making the entire event about them exclusively.