FOR better or for worse, n sickness and in health, to have and to hold: even in a secular society, the comforting phrases of the marriage service are so familiar as to be instantly recognisable to most people. But why do people bother getting married in a secular society, anyway? And how much "church" is in a church wedding?
A series of documentaries which begins tomorrow on RTE I, Hallelujah, Love and Stuff (9.25 p.m.), focuses on the business of holy matrimony, zooming in on four couples for the three-month period leading up to their big days and charting their hopes, fears and anxieties along the way.
"We wanted to evaluate marriage in Irish culture in the 1990s," says Darragh Byrne, producer and director of the series. "We wanted to show the complexity of relationships, but we didn't want to set up a class agenda - the working-class marriage, the middle-class marriage, etc - and we were determined to avoid stereotypes."
Stereotyped it ain't. The couple featured in the first programme, Grainne and Mario, split up when Grainne became pregnant, got together again when their baby was about a year old, split up again, lived together for a while and have now decided to get married. Grainne is vivacious, determined, totally at ease in front of the camera.
"Other women sometimes say to me, is that your little brother? Which is a way of putting me down. A wedding ring on my finger will make a difference," she says firmly.
Programme two puts the spotlight on Margaret, a fitness instructor, and Brian, a naval officer. He plays rugby, she rides horses. Both frown on the idea of moving in together before the wedding; both reckon they've found what they need in this relationship: "It's what any woman dreams of, I think," says Margaret. "A secure man to look after her."
Programme three follows the fortunes of widower Michael, wife-to-be Lynn and Michael's three teenage boys - "if we have a problem with him, we have somebody to talk to about it now," says his eldest son pragmatically. Programme four is devoted to Helen, a management analyst at Barclay's Bank in London, and Gerard. "What does your fiancee do?" inquires one of Helen's whizz-kid colleagues over lunch. "He's a lumber-jack, but he's working for a shopfitting firm at the moment," comes the reply, complete with dazzling smile.
The-fly-on-the-wall style of the documentaries gives Hallelujah, Love and Stuff a compelling, almost soap-opera feel. "We imposed very little on the narrative," says Darragh Byrne, "just let the stories breathe, so they could tell themselves."
But how did Graph Films find such telly-friendly couples? "We drove 7,000 miles in three-and-a-half months, and talked to 350 couples," says Adrian Lynch, associate producer of the series. "The couple in the first programme, Grainne and Mario, were actually the first people we met - they saw a flyer in a flower shop and replied to it - and although we realised at once that they were going to be very good, it was only after we'd talked to lots of other couples that we realised just how good they were.
And what exactly did they seek in their "ideal" couples? "We needed them to have an integrity, an ability to be open about their situation," says Darragh Byrne, "and in fact they were all very expressive. We spent a lot of time with the couples before we started shooting, to develop a relationship which was very trusting - by the wedding day, in each case, we were to all intents and purposes invisible. In fact, one groom came up and thanked us afterwards, saying our presence actually helped him on the day, making him less nervous about his wedding speech."
These couples were also, as Adrian Lynch points out, among the last people to get married in a no-divorce Ireland. The temptation to do a follow-up series in 10 years' time must be irresistible. "It would be interesting, wouldn't it? We didn't actually ask them, but I think they might be willing. We'll just have to wait and see."
