Chicken Fried Nuptials
Just because My Big Redneck Wedding politely excises the "Fat" that one rightfully assumes should appear at least once in its title, do not come to this CMT reality series expecting gentility of any sort. In fact, it's actually the first show in television history where it's possible to say that human whoopee cushion Tom Arnold -- who pops up on the screen every few minutes to add color commentary -- is the classiest part of the proceedings. Way to go, CMT!
If you're not a redneck yourself, then you may have bought into the ignorant stereotype that redneck weddings are spontaneous affairs featuring knocked-up brides, conscripted grooms, and angry shotgun-wielding fathers.
As My Big Redneck Wedding illustrates, shotguns are often present -- but purely for celebratory purposes. "The main feature that we wanted in our wedding was family and shotguns," one My Big Redneck Wedding bride explains on the CMT website. "... the shotguns were a big deal to Brad. He and his brother are very into hunting so guns are a big part of his life. He wanted to incorporate that aspect in the wedding."
In Redneckville, which, based on the cities where My Big Redneck Wedding episodes take place, has pretty much annexed every region of America, the sanctity of holy matrimony is strong enough to withstand any affront save two grooms or two brides. One couple is married on a public golf course with guests attired in camouflage. Another takes place in a pasture at a farm. The groom rides up to the altar in a 4-wheeler, the bride on horseback. At the reception, a mud-wrestling pit is the primary attraction: Still wearing her gown, the bride enjoys the traditional first wrestle.
Like a lot of reality series, My Big Redneck Wedding seems a little too shticky to be true on occasion. One bride, for example, tells the cameras that she and her intended will be writing their own vows, because she doesn't want to say any of that "awful wedded husband" stuff. At the end of another episode, a groom says lovingly to his new dear wife, "Let's go home and constipate the marriage!"
Still if the show is edited to play up what its producers dub the "rustic eccentricities" of its subjects, well, the tacky dumbass hayseeds ultimately get the last laugh. The upscale twentysomethings who populate The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, and the washed-up showbiz types who fuel Rock of Love and Flavor of Love, are ostensibly interested in marriage, but do any of them actually ever pull the trigger and get hitched? By the time Brett Michaels settles down, one suspects that at least half the people featured on My Big Redneck Wedding will already be divorced, with a few more juniors running around the backyard, and in the midst of rounding up the shotguns and renting the mud-wrestling pits for their next big redneck wedding. The baby gap is widening every second; the marriage-loving rednecks will inherit the earth.
A frequent contributor to Las Vegas Weekly, Greg Beato has also written for SPIN, Blender, Reason, Time.com, and many other publications. Email Greg at [email protected]