April 28, 2009
Crashing The Wedding Crashers
I suspect I’m one of the few people under 50 never to have seen the 2005 movie The Wedding Crashers and that streak would’ve continued except for my wife. I thought it was a funny and light entertainment. I realized anew that I underestimate comedies. As I told my wife, “comedies are funny!”
The movie was not only that but none-too-subtly conveyed the familiar “Pleasure Curve” principle. The pleasure curve begins with harmlessness, ascends to heedlessness, and ends in heartlessness and horror, the last played convincingly by Will Ferrell who depicted a monstrous cardboard cutout of man bent only on his own satisfactions. Ferrell’s character was a study of the natural end of hedonism. As the drive for more and more insinuates itself, he turns to funerals instead of weddings to crash.
But in the beginning all is idyllic, a Garden of Eden, and the two protagonists say their rehearsed lines perfectly and dance expertly. It depicts well the joy natural life is capable of bringing, especially in the context of weddings. Music, wine, attraction, laughter. But eventually things begin getting slightly out of control, shown by the slo-mo popping of champagne bottles and unruly release of foam and liquid. Then a succession of bra-and-panty clad women fall against a bed, as if slain.
I thought: despite its reputation as a chick flick, this is a screenplay a man would write. Sure enough, a quick check of the 'net reveals not only the director was male but both writers. No surprise at all. Only reprobate men write morality plays (see Oscar Wilde)? (Obligatory disclaimers apply; 'reprobate' is hyperbolic and I don't know the writers of course.)