I watched this movie the same reason most people did: To see if Anne Hathaway could act her way through a tearjerker. While I found her performance far from Oscar-worthy (even Oscar-nomination-worthy), it wasn't the worst part of the movie.
The worst part was the fabulist wedding of the title, and the painful cinema verite documentation of the days leading up to it.
No normal wedding this -- more like a pan-cultural extravaganza. This modern bride didn't wear white (or black, pity), she wears a sari and, may I say, not a particularly attractive one. The bridesmaids get similar treatment, in lavender.
And, as I suppose it must be, this is a "home" wedding. And let me say a word or two here about the home: It's a rather attractive clapboard house on the outside, but on the inside, well, let's just say that the hodgepodge of brightly colored florals and stripes would make Lily Pulitzer blush. But, lest things feel too caucasian, there are a few African drums piled in the corner.
Other annoyances? There are the little amusements of the wedding party. They play who can load the dishwasher the fastest and break bread (er, naan) in an Indian restaurant that is decorated, strangely, with portraits from Byzantium. And while they laugh, fight, cry, and remember, a small troupe of bluegrass string players practice in the background.
The "happy" scenes are interminable as character actors are rolled out ad nauseum to toast a couple that as a viewer I hadn't the slightest interest in. It was a bit like being forced to participate in well-wishing a couple you not only didn't like, but didn't know -- and being charged ($4.99 via On Demand) for the privilege.
Yes, it was fun to see Anne slog through a 12-step meeting and get into a slap fest with her absentee mom (DEBRA, fucking WINGER!). But, even with the dash of drama, this is one wedding I gladly would have skipped.
