Stop That Wedding

Charlotte, veiled in tulle as delicate as a lie, glides down the aisle toward Eddie, whose grin quivers like a guilty verdict. Suddenly the chapel doors slam open: Lee, the jilted lover, storms in, tears ricocheting off the stained glass. Each expulsion only refuels his operatic desperation; he re-enters disguised as verger, flower girl, even as the bride’s own reflection in a hand-mirror. The ceremony becomes a comic danse macabre—rings catapult, vows stutter, the organ belches funeral chords. Finally a phalanx of bobbies sweeps altar, bride, groom, and obsessive interloper into a paddy wagon. Behind iron bars, Lee watches the law itself finish what ecclesiastical ritual could not: the knot tied with bureaucratic ruthlessness while he sobs into the sleeves of a borrowed jacket.