Married in Britain, BBC Two, review Traditionally, January is the month when divorce rates rocket as relationships, stretched and tattered by the pressures of the festive season, finally disintegrate. Married in Britain (BBC Two), a documentary about couples from all over the world tying the knot in their adopted country, should have been a romantically defiant salvo of hope amid the cold light of winter. However, as is often the case with any discussion of immigration in this country, it too often felt like a battle to keep the lid on a half-open can of wriggling worms. There were too many things half right and half wrong about Married in Britain. It should really have been called "Married in London" as this is where the majority of the subjects had ended up. As sweet Brazilian bride-to-be Fernanda rehearsed her look for the big day, raving about the city and describing how her hair and tiara were inspired by "the English style," I half expected Boris Johnson to pop up from behind with the curling tongs, grinning from ear to ear. Later on, with her new husband, taxi driver Clovis, she would wade through the pouring rain in bare feet and her bargain dress to pose in front of the Houses of Parliament so she could send the pictures back to her mother, whom they couldn't afford to fly over. Produced by Firecracker Films, who also made My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, it felt like they were anxious to avoid that series" rather sniggery feel. So alongside the scenes of funny dancing at a Turkish wedding and a roll call of Romanian rituals that included the best man carrying a tree all day to represent the bride, and kidnapping the real one midway through the party so that the groom had to pay a ransom to get her back, the film-makers shoe-horned in cameos from nameless new citizens confirming their loyalty to the UK and eulogising over everything from our universities to our beautiful motorways, just in case we, like the drunken guests, were starting to enjoy ourselves too much at the global cultural buffet. There was barely a dissenting voice, bar an Asian man who suggested perhaps now there were too many immigrants here. Rather than bolstering the film, the relentlessly positive opinions begged more questions than they answered, undermining the heartening reality of the stories told. They should have just stuck to the weddings. More conservative and Christian than most Brits are these days, the couples all got married in traditional ceremonies with a kind of blissful simplicity that seems absent from our increasingly high-rolling native bashes. I could barely hold back the tears when reformed alcoholic Robert from Poland sang with unbridled joy on his big day as he sped down one of our beautiful motorways straight from his night shift. That's real romance.