The JK Wedding Video

Can’t someone post a fun video of a church wedding without generating a storm of controversy?

For those of you who haven’t seen it yet, here it is:

I like it. But I was surprised to find that some people apparently believe the moves were spontaneous, and that the wedding party just decided out of nowhere that they would all dance down the aisle. The entire wedding party worked with a choreographer for quite some time, of course, to develop the sequences, the moves, and positions. The somersault by the bridegroom, for example, required a fair bit of precise timing and practiced coordination.

That, to me, does not diminish the pleasure of watching it one whit. It looks to me as if there was an effort to find out what each person could do and then work with him or her to develop the entire “dance” from start to finish. There are tricks and flourishes that could only have come from training and experience. The moves are too clever and sophisticated to have come from the members of a randomly assembled group like a wedding party– unless that group included a choreographer.

Nobody is trying to fool anybody.

I’ve seen a few comments about the dance moves being clumsy or lacking in gracefulness. Did these viewers forget that this was a real wedding party, not a dance troupe? Or did they just confuse some modern Bob Fosse type moves (especially the slow-motion effect near the end) with obtuseness? Considering the fact that the people in the wedding party were probably chosen because they were friends or relatives of the couple getting married, I thought they did very well. You could tell some were more comfortable with basic movements, and others– like the short guy with the beard– had some real skills. There are also moments that seem linked to the lyrics in a subtle, suggestive way– as when Chris Brown promises he’ll never let her fall and the dancers go into that slow motion tableau, or when the two girls pull each other like slingshots down the aisle.

Yet others have found fault with the idea of doing a celebratory dance during what– they allege– should be a “solemn” occasion. For heaven’s sake, they are celebrating a wedding in a church. They are happy: two individuals found lifetime partners. Their friends are joyfully celebrating with them. Someone else smartly quoted Mencken (I paraphrase): puritans are people who suspect that someone somewhere is having fun. If Jesus had attended this wedding, I think he would have gladly boogied down the aisle along with the wedding party. The Pharisees would have stared solemnly from the side, frowning.


By the late 1970’s, the tradition of the father walking his daughter down the aisle to “give her away” almost seemed to be going extinct. Well, it’s back with a vengeance. Why? Why on earth is a young woman not offended by the very idea? I don’t buy the idea that it’s a meaningless vestige of age-old traditions. I does mean something.

I Came Upon a Wedding

When I was seven years old, I used to chase girls around the school yard and try to kiss them. Especially Elizabeth, whom I loved because she had long pig-tails.

I can’t remember a stage of life where I didn’t like girls. Just loved them. I loved the way they looked, the way they talked, the way they walked…. I had girl “friends” when none of the boys I played with wanted anything to do with girls. I had an immense crush on my Sunday School teacher, and erotic dreams about her. I had a crush on a bride I saw at a wedding in Holland. A substitute teacher. A friend’s mother. The babysitter. Well, not my babysitter, like Paul Anka. Someone else’s babysitter. She was fifteen and I was about thirteen and she invited me upstairs to watch tv and “neck” during the commercials. She really wanted my older brother, Al, but I was a temporary fix, I guess. Our relationship started to deteriorate when she kept asking me to get her some milk for her “ulcer”.

Tonight, I went to a wedding, that two college students had contrived.

It was held in the Court House Theatre in Niagara-on-the-Lake, the scene of my very first date with a girl named Leslie, to see a musical based on the music of Leonard Cohen called “The Sisters of Mercy”. We thought it was great. It was our first play. I think it closed a week later.

The reception itself was right in the auditorium. The stage, the proscenium, is still there. I still like girls, and I especially like watching them dance. There were two spirited young women at this party: Christine, who danced like a maniac, all arms and legs and outrage and torrential energy unleashed, with earrings in her nose, and a tattoo, and who was more interesting to talk to than anybody else. And then there was Kim, who was dark and mysterious looking, who teaches dance, and who moved with elegance and style, but also exuberance. Kim was dramatic in a black dress, with spaghetti straps, and long black hair, moving around the floor like some healing gypsy with a gift of uncharted rhythms for everybody.

It was wonderful night until– I’m not kidding– they played a polka. The halls of my beloved courthouse rang with “e-i-e-i-e-i-o”.

I watched someone make a move on an attractive young woman with big hair. I watched them intently. He couldn’t dance worth a lick, but she was sporting and patient and tried to teach him the steps and keep her feet out from under his. I went out for a smoke and found good conversation with a gent who looked like Einstein and had traveled to the Arctic. I wasn’t sure I believed him. He said that when aircraft land in the Arctic, they have to keep their engines running because it is too cold to restart them. Once, a C-145 Transport was shut down for two hours. It never flew again. It is now somewhere beneath the pack-ice, a hundred miles from where it stopped.

So I learned four things tonight. Firstly, always keep your engines running. Secondly, there is a dance for everything, and for some people, that dance is a polka. I don’t know if that guy went home with the girl, but he at least had a polka. Thirdly,: in the dance of spirituality, someone, somewhere always needs a polka. Fourth: dancing is like keeping your engines running. In this arctic life of ours, this world of spiritless tundra, if it takes a polka to keep your engines running, go outside for a smoke.

[The wedding was of my nephew, Steven, and Noemi.]