Wedding Photography and Its Assorted Permutations of Hell

Posted on May 29, 2008
Filed Under Photography | 2 Comments

As the wheel of the year inexorably rolled through the wet months of winter into the surprisingly soggy season of spring, the distant notes of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” grew louder and more insistent with the approach of the bridal season.

Venues, florists, food, and gowns… the beach or the church? Barefoot in the woods, or attended by fourteen bridesmaids in couture creations? A small gathering at home, or 500 guests at the country club? A menu conceived as organic, environmentally responsible, and “locally harvested,” or the traditional cardiologist’s nightmare? Heavy satin or silk charmeuse? Pearls or crystal beading? Should the dress be ivory, ecru, champagne, cream, candlelight, or pale buff? (The names fool no one, but allow the bride– who has spent the past five years living with her boyfriend– to wear the white dress she’s always envisioned, while still preserving her dignity from those given to the unceremonious giggle).

It sounds delightful as all get out, until there arises that inevitable moment when several conflicting and wholly incompatible visions of the same event are enthusiastically, then vigorously, unrelentingly, and—finally– combatively put forth by their adherents. The resulting skirmishes, strategies, division of allied forces, and endless rounds of diplomacy make the successful celebration of the embattled wedding appear somewhat less likely than the resolution of conflict in the Middle East.

Among the questions emerging from this bubbling cauldron of choices and decisions is the pick of the photographer. Contrary to the opinion of the bride, who assumes her wedding to be a plum assignment anyone would be thrilled to shoot, it’s actually a physically taxing, emotionally exhausting, psychologically stressful, and generally thankless bottomless pit of steadily increasing (but concomitantly uncompensated) expectations which no one interested in self-preservation would have any desire to take on.

I have been there, and I have done that… which is why, despite repeated requests, there exist no circumstances whatsoever under which I could ever be persuaded to do it again.

There is something about a wedding that brings out every woman’s inner psychotic.

Even when all the warring participants have been brought to the bargaining table, and it has been decided that the bride will carry “Queen of the Night” black tulips, wear a gown of Egyptian cotton that has been hand-woven along the banks of the Nile by left-handed mystics who weave for their very souls, and that neither veal nor anyone who has ever eaten veal will be permitted anywhere near the reception, the fact remains that everything in the world can go wrong, the unpredictable should be counted on to happen, and there’s no coming back the next day for retakes.

Despite this, the photographer must capture all the moments, great and small, of the couple’s most important day—and regardless of the reality of that day, the photographs must be a visual memory and record of the flawless fantasy the bride wants to remember.

• It may be raining with Biblical intensity.

• Ice on the steps of the church, temple, or mosque may have transformed the entrance into a slapstick comedy awaiting its participants.

• The couple may have had an enormous fight just prior to the vows, and glare at each other throughout.

• The bride, who attended the Emma Willard Academy For Young Lesbians prior to four years at Smith, may be taking a long, appreciative look at her maid of honor and beginning to wonder if a man is what she really wants, after all…

• The flash equipment may fail.

• The two uniting families’ loathing of each other may far outstrip that of the Capulets and Montagues.

• The bridesmaids may– and almost certainly will– detest everything about the color, cut, and design of their dresses.

• The tone-deaf aunt who insists on singing at every family wedding may be so off-key as to cause visually discernible pain among all those present.

• The bride may be five minutes away from going into labor with twins, but “doesn’t want to look pregnant” in any of the pictures.

• The groom’s sister may have brought along her three, savage, screaming, out-of-control children, who are convinced of their inalienable right to play a rough and rousing game of hide-and-seek with the photographer’s tripods, lenses, lights, and other expensive equipment. Their mother will have no interest in dissuading them from this activity, and her concerns will be focused on ascertaining that the bar can keep her steadily supplied with Grey Goose.

• The bride’s uncle may be a falling-down-drunk.

• The best man may have had an affair with the bride.

• Or with the groom.

• The bride’s father may be a letch who can’t keep his hands off the bridesmaids.

• The groom’s mother may not be ready to let go of her “little boy”.

• The bride’s mother, to whom the photographer has carefully, repeatedly, and in great detail explained exactly what services will be provided, may metamorphose into a whining, demanding, kvetching pest who insists that a long (and continually expanding) list of unbilled extras be “thrown in”.

• In three days of panic-induced eating, the bride may have put on 10 pounds and, in her already-close-fitting wedding dress, look like an overstuffed sausage. (Inevitably, this will be found to be the photographer’s fault.)

• At the behest of his friends, in a final blowout of get-it-all-done-now debauchery, the groom may have had as many drinks and strippers as his body and wallet can tolerate, and look like the late Lenny Bruce after an obscenity-soaked night of exceptional raunchiness.

• Between the family and friends of the happy couple, there may be present at least four “photographers” who will force on the professional their advice about his or her shots; at least two of them will have cameras, and won’t hesitate to physically intrude on the pro’s carefully arranged setups.

• The wedding planner’s assistant may have just broken up with his boyfriend, and will be too shattered to complete half the tasks on his list, including moving the rapidly melting ice sculptures away from the heating ducts.

• At the reception, the shrimp, stroganoff, or macrobiotic menu may not sit well on the tummies of at least two children, who will throw up on at least one of the bridesmaids.

• Encouraged by his alarmingly close relationship with Jack Daniels, Johnnie Walker, or Jose Cuervo, the groom may decide that his inventive comedic talents can best be showcased by the manner in which he feeds the first piece of wedding cake to his bride.

• The best man, in his daring-yet-whimsical toast to the newlyweds, may refer to an intimately tender moment shared by the couple, but in doing so make the critical error of confusing the bride with the groom’s previous girlfriend… predictably, disaster ensues.

The cornucopia of possibilities is virtually infinite, and at this point in my life I’m very glad to leave them to those who have seen little and experienced less, and are thus not yet inclined toward making side bets on the probable duration of the impending marriage.

The late, great theater critic George Jean Nathan once observed that “life is full of surprises, but not to a woman over twenty-five, nor a man over thirty.” To those innocent and enthusiastic photographers who willingly wade into the waters of the wedding wars, I offer not the meaningless and generic wish of good luck, but rather the simple, heartfelt, and far more appropriate benediction: “May G-d have mercy on their souls…”

Comments

Copyright © 2007 ShoshannaSpeak