by John P. Meyer

Ah, mixed couple romances. And their predictably problematic family get-togethers. (ZZZzzz ...)

The less said about Our Family Wedding, the better. So let's make this quick:

Director Rick Famuyiwa (Brown Sugar '02, The Wood '99) has coughed up a syrupy mixed marriage relationship dramedy that is so loaded with cliché, I found myself embarrassed to be watching it.

Lucia (Ugly Betty's America Ferrera) and Marcus (Lance Gross from House of Payne) are in love and living together. In fact, their lives are great. They decide to make a trip to L.A., where both their families reside. So they can all meet and mingle. Get to know each other. Share the joy of true love found.

"Can't we all just get along?"

But that whole "living happily after ever" routine will have to wait – perhaps well into their next earthly incarnations – due to the fact that her parents are fiercely, traditionally Hispanic, while his dad is ... well ... a womanizing radio DJ. Who's African American, in a laid-back, completely unprepossessing sort of way.

Marcus' dad, Brad Boyd (Forest Whitaker), emerges from his office one sunny morning to find his illegally-parked classic Bentley coupe hooked up to a tow truck. He begs the driver to give him a break – after all, he's here now, ready to move it – but the guy's unmoved by his protests and hauls it off anyway.

SURPRISE! – the tow truck driver turns out to be Miguel Ramirez (Carlos Mencia), future father-in-law of Brad's son Marcus. The two meet up again later that day at the (predictably awkward and intended to be hilariously amusing) dinner party for the two love birds. They are (predictably) confrontational.

"That whole goat shtick was HIS idea, honest!"

(By this point, Lucia has already introduced Marcus to her grandmother, played by Lupe Ontiveros, who keels over in a dead faint on the kitchen floor when she discovers that her daughter's date is a black man.)

The film continually disappoints by playing directly into our expectations. There is not a single outcome or turn of events that we can't see coming from three counties away. And, God help me, the racial stereotyping: marimba bands, sports proficiency, "is it true what they say about black men" conversations among the womenfolk, goat humping... (O.K., that last one came from out of far left field.)

It's a shame to see so many talented performers reduced to such pedestrian material. Crash this Wedding at the risk of your own sensibilities.