Father of the Bride (1991)

Father of the Bride arrives from 1991, a remake of the 1950 Spencer Tracy picture, and it keeps its politics in the closet along with the good china. The story unfolds in San Marino among prosperous white families, and the casting reflects that narrow world without apology or comment. BD Wong appears in a small supporting capacity. Martin Short's Franck Eggelhoffer, a European wedding coordinator, is played as a shrieking caricature of continental taste. No meaningful effort at diverse casting is on display, and the film never notices the omission. Race is not a subject here, nor is any other identity category a modern marketing department might circle.

A feminist beat does surface when Annie briefly cancels the wedding after Bryan gives her a blender, which she reads as a blueprint for compliant housewifery. It is a small, sharp moment. Then the film returns to its true subject, the father's grief over losing his daughter, and the traditional ceremony proceeds on schedule. George also grumbles about the wedding-industrial complex, the swans, the per-head catering costs, the guest list, but his complaints exist to set up a punchline about how much he ultimately spends. The wealthy MacKenzies are drawn warmly, and the extravagance wins. A freak snowstorm raises the stakes on the big day and carries no environmental subtext whatsoever.

The picture is a gentle farce, eager to amuse and reluctant to instruct. Its messaging stays incidental, folded into jokes and never permitted to slow the proceedings. Somewhere in a vault there is a version of this material that lectures from a podium. This is not that version. What we have instead is a well-tailored domestic comedy that wants nothing more than to make a audience sniffle at a wedding and laugh at a man falling into a pool. It succeeds, and it leaves no manifesto behind.