Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers

Life's a Party. Crash It.

Directed by: David Dobkin
Written By: Steve Faber and Bob Fisher
Release Date: 2005
MPAA rating: Rated R for sexual content/nudity and language.
Running Time: 119 minutes

Rules of Wedding Crashing

Never leave a fellow Crasher behind.
Crashers take care of their own.

Never use your real name.

Never confess

No one goes home alone.

Never let a girl get betweenyou and a fellow Crasher.

Do not sit in the corner and sulk. It
draws attention in a negative way.
Draw attention to yourself, but on
your own terms.

Blend in by standing out.

Be the life of the party.

Whatever it takes to get in, get in.

Invitations are for pussies.

Sensitive is good.

When it stops being fun, break something.

Bridesmaids are desperate -
console them.

You're a distant relative of a dead cousin.

Fight the urge to tell the truth.

Always have an up-to-date family tree.

Every female wedding guest deserves a wedding night.

You love animals and children.

Toast in the native language if you
know the native language and have
practiced the toast. Do not wing it.

The older the better, the younger
the better. (See rule below)

Definitely make sure she's 18.

You have a wedding and a recpetion to
seal the deal. Period.
No overtime.

There's nothing wrong with having
seconds. Provided there's enough women
to go around.

If you get outted, leave calmly. Do
not run.

You understand she heard that but
that's not what you meant.

Of course you love her.

Don't over drink. The machinery must
work in order to close.

Make sure there's an open bar.

Always be a team player. Everyone
needs a little help now and again.

Know the playbook so you can call an
audible.

If you call an audible, always make
sure your fellow Crashers know.

Don't commit to a relative unless
you're absolutely sure that they have
a pulse.

Never go back to your place.

Be gone by sunrise.

Breakfast is for closers.

Your favorite movie is
"The English Patient."

At the reception, one hard drink or
two beers max. A drunk crasher is a
sloppy crasher.

Never hit on the bride! It's a one-way
ticket to the pavement.

The way to a woman's bed is through
the dance floor.

Dance with old folks and the kids.
The girls will think you're "sweet."

Try not to break anything, unless
you're not having fun.

At the service, sit in the fifth row.
It's close enough to wedding party to
seem like you're an invited guest.
Never sit in the back. The back row
just smells like crashing.

Create an air of mystery that involves
some painful experience when
interacting with the girl you're
after. But don't talk about it. Allude
to it. Then walk away. She'll follow.

Always remember your fake name!

The Rule of Wedding Crashers are
sacred. Don't sully them by
"improvising."

You forgot your invitation in your
rush to get to the church.

Make sure all the single women at
the wedding know you're there
because you've just suffered
either a terrible breakup or the
death of your fiance.

Always work the following into a
conversation: "Yeah, I have tons of
money. But how does one
buy happiness?"

Be pensive! It draws out the
"healer" in women.

Always pull out in time.

Tell any woman you're interested in
that you'd love to stay but you
promised to help out at the homeless
shelter today.

Get choked up during the service.
The girls will think you're
"sensitive." Bring a slice of onion
or artificial tears if necessary.

Avoid virgins. They're too clingly.

If pressed, tell people you're related
to Uncle Ned. Everyone has an
Uncle Ned.

Don't fixatie on one woman.
ALWAYS have a back-up.

When seeing a rival crasher, do not
interact-merely acknowledge each other
with a tug on the earlobe and
gracefully move on.

The Ferrari's in the shop.

If two rival crashers pick up the same
girl. the crasher with the least
seniority with respectively yield.

No "chicken dancing" -
no exceptions.

When crashing out of state, request
permission from a local Wedding
Crasher chapter.

No more than two weddings a
weekend. More and your game
gets sloppy.

Bring an extra umbrella when it
rains. Courtesy opens more legs
than charm.

Always save room for cake.

When your crash partner fails, you
fail. No man is an island.

Smiles! You're having the time of
your life.

Mix is up a little - you can't always
be the man with the haunted past.

No sex on the altar. Confessionals,
okay. Choir lofts, better.

Two shut-outs in a row? It's time
to take a week off. Ask yourself:
what is getting in the way
of my happiness?

Research, research, research the
wedding party. And when you are
done researching, research
some more.

Studies show women have a more
developed sense of smell. Breath
mints-small cost, big yield.

No excuses. Play like a champion!

In case of emergency, refer to the
playbook.

Girls in hats tend to be proper and
rarely give it up.

Keep interactions with the parents
of the bride to a minimum.

Carry extra protection.

The unmarried female rabbi-is she
fair game? Of course she is.

The tables farthest from the
kitchen always gets served
dinner first.

Stop, look, listen. At weddings.
In life.

Occasionally bring a real
gift-you're getting sex without
having to buy dinner, you can
afford a blender.

Always think ahead but always
stay in the moment. Reconcile
this paradox and you'll not only
get the girl, you might also get
peace of mind.

Don't let the ring bearer bum your
smokes. His parents may start
asking questions.

Stay clear of the weddig planner.
They may recognize you and start
to wonder.

Don't use the "I have two months to
live" bit-not cool, not effective.

Shoes say a lot about a man.

Always choose large weddings. More
choice. Easier to blend.

You're from out of town. ALWAYS.

Know something about the place you
say you are from. Texas is played
out. For some reason, New
Hampshire seems to work.

Of course you dream of one day
having children.

Never dance to "What I Like
about You." It's long past time
to let that song go. Someone will
request it at every wedding.
Don't dance to it. No matter how
hot she is.

Tell the bride's friends and family.
you are the family of the groom
and vice-versa.

Only take one car. You never know
when you'll need to make a
fast escape.

Deep down, most people hate
themselves. This knowledge is the
key to most bedroom doors.

Try not to show off on the dance
floors. That means you Jeremy.

Etiquette isn't old-fashioned,
it's sexy.

Catholic weddings -- the classic
dilemma: painfully long ceremony -
horny girls.

The newspaper Wedding Announcements
are your facing form.
Choose carefully.

Be judicious with cologne. Citrus
tones are best.

Save the tuxes for
"the big show" only.

Avoid women who were pyschology
majors in college.

No periwinkles colored ties, please.

Always have an early "appointment" the
next morning.

Be well-groomed and well-mannered.

Never cockblock a fellow crasher.
Cockblocking an invited
guest - okay.

Eat plentiful, digest your food.
You'll need the energy for later.

Know when to abandon ship if it
ain't floating.

Know your swing and salsa dancing.
Girls love to get twisted around.

Always carry an assortment of
different placecards to match any
wedding design.

Make sure your magic trick
and balloonanimal skills are not rusty.
If the kids love it, the
girls will too.

Never, ever reveal your
true identity.

Never walk away from a crasher in a
funny jacket.

By decree of Chazz Reingold, Creater
of the Rules of Wedding Crashing,
revised from 1989 to October 2004,
the following bits of slang are no
longer acceptable: "it's all good,"
"hey, no worries," and any sentence
that involves anyone getting
"their freak on."

Rolling Stone: Wedding Crashers
Excerpted from RS 979, July 28, 2005

Owen & Vince are Hollywood's reigning pranksters and most eligible bachelors

By ERIK HEDEGAARD

At first, it's a little disconcerting hanging out with Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn at Dodger Stadium, in Los Angeles, watching a ballgame. Given what you know about them from their movies, you expect a few things. You expect Owen to act lazy, goofy and stoned-out, and Vince to be tossing off raised- eyebrow wisecracks, and girls to be gathered around, hoping for a ride home. Instead, after ordering two hot dogs, two bottles of water, two Cokes, nachos and a bag of peanuts, they turn to each other and start riffing in a Gauloise-smoking, grad-student kind of way, not a joke in sight.

"What exactly does the word 'circa' mean, do you think?" Vince says to Owen, apropos of nothing, really.

Photograph by Max Vadukul

"It means 'around,' " Owen says to Vince.

"Right. But what exactly does it mean?"

"It's just a bullshit kind of thing to say to sound kind of smart. 'Presupposes' is another."

" 'Presupposes.' "

"And 'Cite your sources.' "

" 'Cite your sources.' "

Then Vince offers up an example of his own. " 'Parenthetically speaking.' "

" Oh, yeah," says Owen, savoring the phrase. "That's a good one."

Briefly, both are silent. But then, suddenly, Vince erupts with another random query: "Who was the president of the Confederacy?"

Owen: "Jefferson Davis. Who wouldn't know that?"

This is all very well and good, but it isn't exactly what you want to hear from these two, especially since they've got a movie coming out called Wedding Crashers, about a pair of pickup artists who specialize in hooking up at weddings. Skip the history lesson. Let's talk chicks. But that would be so crass, so expected. So, the conversation veers off in any number of different directions.

They both firmly deny that they, along with Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Will Ferrell and Owen's actor-brother Luke, are part of some highly organized, tightknit, power-consolidating, new- order comedy mafia, as recently postulated by the thinking heads at the New York Times.

Getting back to the game, they both say that as kids they stunk at baseball.

"I just wasn't any good," Owen says, looking a bit down. "I'm afraid of the ball."

Licking nacho goo off his fingers, Vince says, "On my team, they called me Eagle Eye. At first, I was excited, like, 'Hey, Dad, they love my eye!' And then, when I'm at bat, they tell me, 'Come on, Eagle Eye. A walk's as good as a hit.' And then I sort of figure it out: 'Hey, wait a minute. They're not cheering me on to swing but to not swing!' It wasn't exactly flattering."

Owen is about to add more of his two cents when out of the blue a dolled-up, exceedingly top-heavy brunette makes an appearance a few rows away. All talk of childhood traumas comes to an end.

Vince checks her out. "There'll be no babies starving on her shift!" he says.

Owen grins.

And suddenly all is right with the world again.

Owen Wilson is most often seen around L.A. wearing jeans and a T-shirt, chewing peppermint Altoids gum, maybe sitting on the lap of some Playboy Bunny or other, his blunted, twice-broken nose not holding him back any, flopsy- mopsy blond hair looking beach-boy-slacker perfect. On the Internet, Wilson watchers refer to him as "the Butterscotch Stallion," for the color of his hair and his presumed wild, wild ways. It's well known but bears repeating: He's a writer as well as an actor, and with senior-year University of Texas roommate Wes Anderson has penned three great movies, Bottle Rocket, Rushmore and the Oscar-nominated Royal Tenenbaums, all of them featuring the roundabout loopy dialogue that suits him so well when he speaks it. His snappy flapping lip single-handedly saved Armageddon from being totally unwatchable, and he's not a bad flyboy-hero-under-pressure, either (Behind Enemy Lines).

Vince Vaughn is staggeringly tall and pretty beefy, with a sometimes puffy-looking face and an odd penchant for wearing fatherly wingtip shoes. Whereas Wilson's laugh is honk-honk-honk, Vaughn's can be a nearly girlish squeal. His first major movie role, playing fast-talking semi- loutish Trent in 1996's Swingers, made him an instant star, though in the movies that followed (way-serious acting roles in The Locusts, the dreadful Gus Van Sant remake of Psycho, The Cell, etc.) he lost his way, only to find it again starting in 2003, in comedies like Old School and then DodgeBall: A True Underdog Story. Nowadays he's most often seen playing a softer, mellower version of his old Swingers self, a welcome sight.

In the past, Wilson has dated Sheryl Crow and, most recently, Argentine burlesque dancer Carolina Cerisola. Vaughn once dated Ashley Judd, Joey Lauren Adams and Janeane Garofalo. At the moment, however, neither is seeing anybody. They're single, out there, on the loose, a couple of ladies' men who are pleased to be free and, of course, free to be pleased, just like their characters in Wedding Crashers.

On the lush green grounds of the Getty Museum, in Los Angeles, Wilson is sitting in the shade, at a table, munching away on a Rice Krispie Treat, just hanging out and talking about some of his preferences in women. He is, he says, primarily an ass man. "It seems to me if a girl has a good ass, she has a good body," he's saying, "but I'd almost just as soon not have sex if you're going to have to wear one of those, even though it's hard to find the moral high ground when making that argument to a girl. Anyway, there are other ways."

As it turns out, this overall general attitude of his recently made the news, in a half-blind item in the New York Post, as follows: "Which blond stud, nicknamed the 'Butterscotch Stallion,' has a perverse sexual bent? He recently picked up a girl at a wedding [!], and the two went back to his hotel room. When the woman asked if he had a condom, the actor replied, 'I don't want to have sex with you, but I do want to do something else' -- and proceeded to lick her buttocks for 'over two hours.' "

OK, so Wilson's real interest in butts is allegedly as objects to be licked. It's nothing to be ashamed of, really, and Wilson probably isn't, nor is he likely to be upset by his fling's loose talk. It comes with the territory, and he's got a sunny attitude about such things.

"It's like, 'Who cares?' " he says. "I play it as it lays. OK, so I may not be the greatest lover in the world. Well, let's make that angle work. There's lots of different paths to the waterfall. You don't have to be Don Juan. And wasn't it Gloria Steinem who said that women have to be responsible for their own orgasms? Well, I take her at her word. I'll do my best, OK, but at a certain point you've got to, like, you know...."

©Copyright 2005 Rolling Stone

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Wedding Crashers: The Rolling Stone Review by Peter Travers
3 1/2 Stars
 
Vince Vaughn, Owen Wilson, Christopher Walken, Rachel McAdams, Isla Fisher

Directed by David Dobkin  
2005   
Romance
Rated R  

Sometimes a movie comedy just clicks. Welcome to one of those times. Wedding Crashers fires off big, fat, raucous laughs as if it had an endless supply. It doesn't. The film limps a bit in the final stretch like a wedding guest who knows how to party but doesn't know when to go home. A small price to pay for so much hot, rowdy fun.

At first glance, the plot screams crass sitcom: Owen Wilson's John Beckwith and Vince Vaughn's Jeremy Grey are divorce mediators out of Washington, D.C., who crash weddings to scam babes and bridesmaids. The champagne, the cake, the dancing are definite sex traps. All John and Jeremy need to do is pounce. Wilson and Vaughn could play this stuff in their sleep. (Hell, they have -- did you see Starsky and Hutch?) But the guys have their mojos working this time. The script, by newbies Steve Faber and Bob Fisher, is a solid blueprint. And director David Dobkin, who did Shanghai Knights with Wilson and Clay Pigeons with Vaughn, allows the boys to improv until the dialogue purrs. These dudes have a rule: They don't crash weddings like mingy cowards. They barge in, sit at the bridal table (passing as Uncle Ned's kids or Aunt Liz's brood), secure that no one will call their bluff in the face of their brash exuberance. Wilson's stoner drawl and Vaughn's snappy patter blend perfectly. They're a comedy dream team.

It also helps that Wedding Crashers is unapologetically R-rated -- bawdy as hell and unafraid of naked carnality. In one inspired quick-speed montage, John and Jeremy fall into bed one by one with wedding hotties -- Jewish, Italian, Chinese, Irish, Hindu -- in a trampoline dance of bare butts and bouncing breasts that reminds us what trippy turn-ons movies can be. That is, when they don't sell their pervy souls for a more commercial PG-13 rating. It's that anything-goes sass that crashes Crashers into the level of comic nirvana.

Love, of course, intervenes. John is besotted at first sight by a bridesmaid named Claire. Who wouldn't be? As played by Rachel McAdams -- the toxic cookie of Mean Girls and the sweetie of The Notebook, McAdams is a showstopping beauty with the talent to bend a laugh line to do her will. She has the same effect on John. There's a catch: Claire is engaged. She's also the daughter of treasury secretary and presidential wanna-be William Cleary (Christopher Walken). William's formality does nothing to dim the mad glint in Walken's eye when he invites the guys for a weekend at his beach house.

Jeremy knows that William is dangerous. While John takes it slow with Claire, Jeremy enjoys a quickie in the dunes with Gloria (Isla Fisher), the secretary's other daughter, who promptly tells Jeremy that it was her first time and that they should declare their love. "Don't ever leave me," she warns. "I'd find you." Fisher gives the role just the right notes of erotic dazzle and fatal-attraction menace. Naturally, Jeremy panics. "I got a stage-five clinger," he tells John. Both must also deal with a quail hunt, a bone-crushing game of touch football and the secretary's nympho wife (Jane Seymour).

In the film's final stage, when John and Jeremy blow their covers and John hatches a plan to win back Claire, a softness seeps in. Luckily, an unbilled Will Ferrell shows up as the guru of arrested male development who finds weddings to be old hat -- he crashes funerals.

Ferrell's appearance points to a new phenom in comedy. Wilson, Vaughn and Ferrell, along with pals Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Owen's brother Luke, have formed an unofficial acting company. They show up in one another's films, be it Anchorman, Old School or Dodgeball, without regard to the size of their roles or their billing. It's fun they're after, and in Wedding Crashers three of these new clown princes deliver the goods.

PETER TRAVERS
(Posted Jul 14, 2005)

©Copyright 2005 Rolling Stone

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