We all love a good rom-com, whether openly or in secret. Personal favourites are Love Actually and The Holiday, and at cosier times of the year I can be seen sporting my Ghostbusters onesie with a mug of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate and a box of Kleenex to hand, ready for viewing. After all, what kind of film critic would I be if I only liked the “cool” movies? With all that said though, I’ve never been a big fan of the painfully-dorkish cartoon character that is Bridget Jones. The original, Bridget Jones’s Diary, was an instant classic without argument, but its sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, perhaps not so much.
Now, in what is likely to be the final in the series (unless author Helen Fielding is already penning “Bridget Jones’s Elder Years”), Bridget celebrates her 43rd birthday, and in true Bridget-fashion, she does so all by herself (punches the air). And when her wild news anchor friend Miranda (Sarah Solemani) invites her to a festival to let her hair down, Bridget makes bed-friends with the irresistible-yet-awfully-American online dating guru Jack Qwant (Patrick Dempsey). But soon after, Bridget also reignites an old flame with now-ex Mark Darcy (Colin Firth). Enter dilemma: Bridget winds up pregnant, but knows not who the father is! Nor does she quite know how to tell either of them. Classic Bridget.
Sharon Maguire, director of the original, returns to the helm, as does the entire cast (with the sort-of exception of Hugh Grant’s hilariously-sleazy Daniel Cleaver). Sarah Solemani’s Miranda is quite simply hilarious with her lewd chit-chat between her live-on-air headline announcements, and Emma Thompson’s very frank Dr. Rawlings brings plenty of brilliantly-witty dialogue to the fold. There’s also a touching element to the film through a trilogy-montage which, while also beautifully-lifted by Ellie Goulding’s “Still Falling For You,” makes you appreciate just how long-standing the franchise is (translation: you will feel old).
While the film is far from comedy genius, it certainly wields the feel-good factor – a desperately-needed quality during the bleak turn of the season and in a year of huge disappointments. Perhaps the film’s only problem is Zellweger herself who is, for reasons unknown, just plain annoying, as is the titular character she portrays. Simply put, Bridget isn’t the nicest character you’ll meet, and if you strip away the comedy, her actions in playing two potential fathers off against one another (despite none of it being intentional) would make for equally-compelling drama. But that said, there’s some air-punchingly-respectable work-place redemption from Bridget in the third act, not to mention Zellweger’s ability to sound strangely more British than her actually-British co-stars.
A film wonderfully reminiscent of 1995’s Nine Months (which has far more Hugh Grant), and 1987’s Three Men and a Baby, and one that exceeded my (zero) expectations, Bridget Jones’s Baby is perhaps one of the finer films of the year. And even if it isn’t your cup of tea, it’s still a better love story than Twilight.
