“I Do & I Don’t” is a crude, perverted, pessimistic, straight-to-video rom-com that makes light of cocaine abuse, assumes homosexual curiosity is normal and contains a scene in which the main character shower-snuggling his fiancée mentions that he’s peeing on her feet.

In other words, apart from one of the more unforgivably cheesy opening/ending gimmicks in recent memory, it’s awesome. Especially for being shot for $500,000 in 23 days in Baltimore, two of which were lost when the day’s film was X-rayed at an airport, and three of which lost when one of the main actors unexpectedly had to undergo a quad bypass (that’s what they call in the industry a “Double Down Day of Rest”).

But be warned — if your skills of poking fun at holy matrimony are weak, or your sense of virtue too rigid and brittle, you might punch your DVD player by the time they get to the dildo talk.

In the movie, finally being distributed this year, a younger, seemingly bland couple is drowning in wedding preparation. Cheryl’s snooty family’s demands include a ban on bagpipers, some very expensive carpaccio (which Bob, nervous, spills beer on) and an intensive bout of church-organized premarital counseling sessions with an older couple in the church. That would be Dick and Nora Stelmack, played by Matt Servitto (“The Sopranos”) and Jane Lynch (“Party Down,” until “Glee” stole her). The Stelmacks are instantly horrifying, yet perfect, a hair-piece and zebra-striped counterpart to the J. Crew business-casual naivete of the to-be-marrieds, and as bat-guano crazy as their house, a real Baltimore home that features a 20-foot-long dark floral sectional couch, taxidermy and a fridge magnet that proclaims “They don’t make Jews like Jesus anymore!”

The two couples clash repeatedly. It’s deliciously uncomfortable, as when Servitto tries to make smalltalk with Bob about Bob’s work in the demolition industry: “Oh, they are beefy men, aren’t they?” Servitto says, his voice dropping low. “Those big, beefy construction workers. I mean they are just tough guys, huh?” Suddenly, before Bob’s discomfort can register, Servitto is jovial again. “Well! Kudos to them!”

The whole thing is worth viewing for Lynch alone (though Servitto’s an excellent sidekick and the engaged students well cast foils), which is obvious from the first few seconds she glides into the room in the background, carrying a Bloody Mary in a champagne flute, her face contorted with a subtle scowl, equal parts loathing and suicidal ideation. My notes on the movie are uncharacteristically lousy; I just had to watch her performance. But she’s not propping up the whole thing.

Without the movie belaboring it, the audience does see the happiness of each relationship, the way each works. Poking your spouse in the eye with your toothbrush happens. The selfless building of a closet organizer also happens. The hushed tones of two best friends guiltily talking smack happens. And the exuberant driveway horseplay — complete with spanking and filthy talk? — maybe if you’re lucky, that happens.

Unfortunately, because it deals with the oh-so-sacred topic of marriage, it’s easy to see why many would slam the movie, huff and cross their arms and take it seriously. “I Do & I Don’t” dips its toes into the sanctimonious sea of shame from which America continues to draw its worst ideas about marriage, but what it does differently is where it takes those moments: on the ride to the church, the sobbing bride declares her wedding day the worst of her life. Her mother looks at her with the icy gaze of someone who long ago stopped hoping for happiness in her marriage. Cheryl demands to know if any of them are happy. Her mother’s response, if America is honest, slices too deep into too many relationships: “Morton, hand me my Xanax.”

Ashley O’Dell reviews movies that aren’t in theaters anymore.