Made of Honour

One of my biggest nightmares is to have my wedding interrupted.

Don't be surprised. I know it's one of the most-played dramatic sequences in romantic comedies - the pivotal scene where the commitment-phobic fella finally realizes his tragic mistake at the last moment and desperately hurries ventre à terre to the chapel to stall the wedding of his true love. All very, very romantic.

Yet I find myself curiously unmoved.


Remember! There must be three bows in alternating colours!
Seriously. After all my months of grueling preparation for the perfect wedding - maneuvering between the unreasonable demands of two sets of squabbling in-laws, making sure the pale calla lilies complement the gray coats of the groomsmen and then arranging suitable musical accompaniment with the mellow jazz band... then to have it all spoilt by screaming hysterics as the church door bursts open at an inopportune moment only to squash my decrepit great-aunt?

Commitment-phobic Hunk : STOP THIS WEDDING. I OBJECT.
Paul : Holy Mother of God! couldn't you just forever hold your penis - I mean peace?
Commitment-phobic Hunk : I was wrong. I love you. Don't marry him.
Paul : WTF! You had me do all this tedious work for months only to come barging in at the very last minute - dressed shabbily - yelling embarassingly sentimental mush? Do you know how difficult it is to match the linen tablecloths to the individually calligraphed wedding cards? Do you know how many nights I spent agonizing over the perfect take-home gift for the guests? Take this!

{ gunshots echoing in church }

Commitment-phobic Hunk : Fuck! You actually shot me.
Paul : Only a flesh wound. You'll live. That's for coming late to my wedding.

I'd be livid. Still I'd stop to bandage that wound with gauze. Hippocrates Oath and all that. Not to mention I wouldn't want him bleeding all over my cream-coloured linen tablecloths.

Yet it seems that such overwrought dramatics - what I call Cheltenham tragedies - are serious crowd-pleasers that form the basis of rom-coms lately. Including the charmingly named Made of Honour starring Patrick Dempsey of Dr McDreamy fame as a guy who realizes that he loves his best friend - just a little too late - as she toddles off to bonny Scotland to get married.


Hope I'm not too late with my flowers!
Easy enough to come to the conclusion that he's asked to be the Maid of Honor.

Normally I love escapist rom-coms. Kisses, laughter and happy endings - how could that endlessly cliched formula possibly fail?

But somehow this particular movie hit a little too close to home. Once ensconced in the dark cocoon of a cinema, naturally I start empathizing with the characters and it wasn't long before I started having recurring flashes of my ISO and I stumbling through cobbled streets in Edinburgh. Each time the best friends on screen quarrelled bitterly over broken relationships and commitment issues, I could barely repress a shudder.

Seriously. Who's ever actually had a civilized break-up? Certainly not me. Actually kinda glad my ISO and I broke up with a bang rather than a whimper. Quarrelled royally with the prerequisite teary recriminations, death threats and slammed doors. Maybe I did break a lamp as he claims.

Eh. Must have been a hideous lamp.

But let's not rehash old tales! I thought the movie could have been funnier. Better script with some laughs. Probably could have done without the prerequisite macho male-bonding shots ( McDreamy playing grungy basketball in long shorts? WTF! ) just to please the boys. After all which neanderthal breeder would deign to catch this chick-flick without a gal in tow?

Should have made more of the maid of honour bit since it's the catch-phrase of the show. I certainly wouldn't have minded being the maid of honour. Lots of work and responsibilities - but hey it's gotta be a tradition that you get laid by least one of the drunk and horny groomsmen, right?