In a Judd Apatow production, no mention of gastrointestinal or bodily fluid concerns is overlooked . So naturally, the meat-eaters pay their price. Just after they’ve slipped into $800 dresses at a high-end boutique shop, their stomachs start rumbling, their faces redden, the sweat breaks out. Soon, two of the women are hurtling to the shop’s single bathroom, vomiting on their gowns—and each other— into a single toilet. Meanwhile, the fat, bawdy Megan (Melissa McCarthy) defecates into a sink; Wiig swallows her puke along with a breathmint; and, in the most disturbing fecal-related cinematic shot since Divine actually consumed dog shit in “Pink Flamingos,” the gown-clad bride herself (Maya Rudolph), dashing to find an unoccupied restroom, has a full-blown “accident” in the middle of a busy intersection.

Other than that, there’s not so much to say about a pretty conventional schlock horror story that might as well be made by a studio. Jennifer Connelly would play Rose Byrne as the harried mother moving into a strange new suburban house. David Strathairn or Peter Sarsgaard or heck, Patrick Wilson would play Patrick Wilson as the cursed father. A child actor from the Disney pod factory would play the boy going into a mysterious coma. The creepy noises and creepy voices would play themselves.