True story: a group of dudes crashed my finlaws’ wedding. Before they could even make it to the bar, they got hit with the “who are you?” confrontation. By the groom. They were escorted out a few seconds later. The moral: crashing weddings is not only wrong, it is stupid.
The movie Wedding Crashers is both wrong AND stupid, and not just about the advisability of sneaking in uninvited to weddings. The premise of crashing weddings as sport pisses me off not only because it glorifies lying and stealing, but because most of the characters’ motivation for crashing is that women at weddings are “so aroused by the thought of marriage that they’ll throw their inhibitions to the wind.” They’re crashing weddings because it is an easy way to get laid. Yes, it’s much easier to get a woman into bed by doing extensive research, crafting a false persona, ingratiating oneself to a large group of strangers at a private event, and spouting lies about one’s military service than it is to, I dunno, go on freakin’ Craigslist and find out who else in the city is horny that night. Or god forbid, to actually bother to date.
Insisting that casual sexual encounters with women requires detailed subterfuge is so dehumanizing and sad. You know what else is dehumanizing and sad? Making the subject of women’s sexuality out to be inherently comedic. See the slapsticky subplot about Isla Fisher’s Gloria, a character saddled with stereotypes from both sides of the virgin/whore dichotomy. She also rapes Vince Vaughn’s character, which is played for laughs. Because what was missing from all the other wedding comedies out there? Rape! Vince Vaughn even becomes the Laura to her Luke and marries her after he finds out she wasn’t a virgin after all (Verdict: prude chicks are worse than rapists). She was lying about being a virgin, because sexually aggressive women are unstable. Normal chicks will only accept sexual advances, not make them, and only after being sufficiently hoodwinked.
Also hilarious: Jane Seymour making sexual advances to Owen Wilson. Those cougars! They think they could possibly be attractive even though they are old! That’s really funny, right? Not as funny as the rapping granny having sexual fantasies about FDR and calling Eleanor Roosevelt a “rug muncher” at the dinner table.
Which reminds me: homosexuality is also inherently comedic, and gay people are as socially inappropriate as sexually-forward women. So when Gloria’s little brother climbs into bed with Vince Vaughn, who is still tied up from being raped, he doesn’t, you know, acknowledge the ropes, and he certainly doesn’t take an explicit denial of consent at face value. It would be a lot funnier if he kept on hitting on Vince and then hid in a closet when his dad barged in. Yes! Literally! Chucklez!
So, yeah, this movie makes me want to barf, and I guess it is because I’m a humorless feminist who can’t enjoy anything. It was a huge hit among fun-loving American movie goers, and I can see why people would like it. Wedding Crashers is funny despite the despicable worldview that directs it to most of its comedy. If I watched it under the influence of enough cold medicine (or internalized misogyny) such that my troublesome feminist brain didn’t get in the way, I’d probably enthusiastically recommend it.
But, as it stands, this movie makes me want to retire from blogging about wedding movies and/or humanity.