The Wedding Shop - TV review

I say 'premise' because that title was about as trustworthy as the meat content in a Findus beef lasagne.

I'd go back and watch the episode a third time in order to count how few minutes were actually spent in the store. But then again, off the top of my head I can think of about 20 things I'd rather do with my time right now. Chief of which is making another ready-meal based pun in an effort to flog a dead horse.

In many ways, I'm still quite puzzled by the documentary. I spent 60 minutes watching the show, and it seemed to reveal remarkably little about any of the people aside that they all appeared to be humanoid.

One of the staff members told the camera "in our diary all we've got is a name. Three hours later we probably know their life story from start to finish". Well good for you; I gave it the full hour and by the end I had to rack my brain just to recall anyone's name.

Briefly speaking – not that I have much choice in the matter – there was shop owner Abbi along with the manager Marg and assistant Jane. On hand to help the brides-to-be and generally chatter around in an amiable, if not banal manner, the staff dispensed banter and advice to the women about to get hitched.

The three customers all had varying problems to complicate their big day: Tammy was estranged from her mother whilst her father – an ageing punk, replete with a Mohican every colour of the rainbow – had been absent from much of her life.

Jo was a lapsed Jehovah's Witness who wanted to renew her wedding vows with her family present this time around. Rounding off the trio was the story of the widowed single-mother Natasha.

Natasha and her future husband Ches were easily the most interesting story of the night: a teenage romance that died off, only to be reignited years later after a chance meeting.

On the day she was due to collect her dress, time ticked by until the store closed and she still hadn't collected her gown. For precisely two minutes and 43 seconds, I found myself truly gripped.

Clearly there were some interesting stories to be told, but the film makers never delved deeper than the surface in order to keep a chirpy tone to proceedings. A decision that ultimately made everyone seem jolly, but oddly vacant like it was some off-kilter version of The Stepford Wives set in West Yorkshire.

Given the trailers for the show barely gave away more than five seconds in some abortive attempt to gloss over its existence, I can't say I was expecting it to be a profound insight into a dying institution.

Although, given same-sex marriage recently became legal, it would have been an opportune time to make a programme that courted the subject with some real depth. Instead, we got treated to the TV equivalent of confetti where the only real benefit was watching some pretty colours flick past your eyes.

Perhaps taking a cue from a number of excessively popular US shows based in bridal boutiques like Say Yes to the Dress and its spin-offs, the show felt like an extended pilot for a possible future series.

In which case, I offer the following sage advice to ITV: cancel the wedding, return the dress and move on, because it's simply not going to work out.

Robert Taylor