Helen Fielding

Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

22/02/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Watching a Bridget Jones movie is like catching up with an old schoolmate – not necessarily someone you were especially close to back in the day, but with whom there’s enough shared history to make these meet-ups fun. No doubt this is particularly true for “women of a certain age” – Bridget’s age; my age – who’ve grown older with her as part of our cultural landscape.

Thankfully, Bridget (Renée Zellwegger) has finally grown wiser; I found her ditsy-fuck-up persona a wee bit irritating when I last saw her (in 2016’s Bridget Jones’s Baby). What was endearing in a woman barely into her thirties, contemplating the fact that she’s somehow suddenly supposed to be an adult, was just irksome in a pregnant forty-something with a kick-ass job. Now in her fifties, Bridget has settled into success: she’s proud of the skills that make her such an excellent TV producer, and she’s even prouder of Billy and Mabel (Casper Knopf and Mila Jankovic), her two delightful kids.

But this iteration of Bridget is a lot sadder too: she’s a widow. Her husband, Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), was killed a couple of years ago on a peace-keeping mission in the Sudan. The issue of mourning is nicely handled, staying just the right side of mawkish. We see Bridget and her kids slowly moving forward, acknowledging their grief while also trying to find joy. The new levels of emotional depth work well, but this is still essentially a rom-com, so there’s a raft of unsuitable guys for Bridget to dally with.

First up is her old flame, Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant). Bridget has him firmly in the friend-zone nowadays, and I like this development. He’s as much of a player as he ever was – his language inappropriate; his attitude to women still neanderthal – but he’s rendered (more or less) palatable thanks to his kindness to Bridget and his rueful acknowledgement of his own failings. Also, of course, Grant imbues him with a rogue-ish charm, so it’s hard to hate him as much as I might in real life.

So, if Cleaver’s not a contender for a new relationship, who is? Enter Roxster (Leo Woodall) and Mr Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor). The former is a twenty-nine-year-old PhD student, all rippling muscles and boyish smile; the latter is Billy’s uptight primary school teacher, a stickler for rules and punctuality – although he does turn out to have a decent set of abs as well. It’s no surprise that Bridget finds herself drawn to Roxster – nor that Mr W reveals a softer side, which makes her like him too. Which one will Bridget end up with? (Things might have moved on – at least Bridget doesn’t seem to hate her body any more – but the story hasn’t strayed so far from its ‘happy ending’ cliché that she might conceivably choose to be alone.)

Zellwegger is as likeable as ever, and I have tears in my eyes as I see Bridget emerging from her misery to recover some of her ebullience – dancing and laughing and being silly. It’s great to see her old friends and adversaries pop up as well: director Michael Morris and scriptwriters Helen Fielding, Dan Mazer and Abi Morgan successfully present a parade of ‘greatest hits’ shout-outs without ever making them seem shoe-horned into place. Big knickers? Check. Penguin pyjamas? Check. Falling over? Check. Check. Check. Running after a lover in the snow? Big check.

In short, I like this film a whole lot more than I’m expecting to. Bridget will never be my bestie, but I’d love to check in with her when we’re both in our sixties, and see what scrapes she’s getting up to then…

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Bridget Jones’s Baby

19/09/16

Okay, I’ll admit it: I don’t like Bridget very much. Admittedly, in 1996, when Bridget Jones’s Diary was a newly-published book, I thought it was an entertaining read. Helen Fielding has a sprightly style, and the humour is easy and accessible. The narrative of noble goal-setting and ignoble failure works really well. And so I read the sequel and then I watched both films. And I don’t think any of them are bad: they’re funny, well-made, appealing tales. It’s just… Bridget. She’s so bloody passive. And I know she’s a character, not a role-model, and I don’t expect a protagonist without flaws, but there’s so much of Bridget, she’s so ubiquitous a figure – and she really, really drives me mad.

In this latest outing, nothing’s really changed. It’s still slick and competent, still laugh-out-loud funny, still complacent with its privileged world view (where Bridget, a successful TV producer living in at least half a million pounds’ worth of property, is somehow presented as a sort-of failure, poorer than all her friends, playing Cinderella to her rich suitors). She’s forty-three now, still single, still waiting for life to happen to her – and she’s bored; the old gang can’t be relied on for company, because they’re all too busy with their kids. She tries hanging out with the younger Miranda (Sarah Solemani) instead, but soon lands herself in trouble: after two one-night stands, she finds herself pregnant. But who’s the father? Is it Jack (Patrick Dempsey), the billionaire dating guru? Or Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), the love of her life?

What follows is a sort of comedy of manners, and it’s adroitly done. Of course it is: look at the cast and crew. Renée Zellweger imbues Bridget with an understated warmth and likability, and Emma Thompson (as Dr Rawlings) is as sardonic and witty as you’d expect – she’s the best thing about this film. It’s an engaging and engrossing tale, and the payoff – if predictable – is worth the wait.

My advice? Watch it. Enjoy it. Try not to get annoyed.

4 stars

Susan Singfield