(Finally - a romantic comedy heroine who is short, plump, and has more issues than Newsweek.)
CAST: Renee Zellwegger, Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, Jim Broadbent, Gemma Jones, Embeth Davidtz.
DIRECTOR: Sharon Maguire
WARNING: Minor SPOILERS and some wacky Singleton antics right up ahead...
Bridget Jones is something of ground-breaking character. Prior to her debut in Helen Fielding's best-selling novels (and subsequent films), most heroines of romantic comedies were willowy, thin, and would probably react with horror at the thought of eating jam right out of the jar. They were also usually fairly poised and glamorous. Bridget, on the other hand, was decidedly round-figured, goofy, and prone to saying the wrong thing at exactly the worse moment. In other words, she was completely relatable and far removed from the Gwyneth Paltrow/Ashley Judd/Julia Roberts mold that was popular at the time. And this has as much to do with how Renee Zelwegger brings the character to life on the silver screen, as it does with how Fielding wrote her on paper. But more on Ms. Zelwegger's performance later...
Our story opens on New Year's Day in the rural U.K., where our heroine, Bridget Jones (Renee Zellwegger), is scheduled to attend a dreadful annual party thrown by her parents. She has good reason to fear these events, because it usually involves: (1) her mother forcing her to wear clothes that look like a bordello's draperies, (2) eating gherkins on toothpicks and Turkey curry with lumpy gravy, (3) getting groped by predators disguised as "friends of the family", (4) and being fixed up with men who are either dangerous perverts or outright assholes. And it seems that her latest match-up is a sterling example of the latter.
He is Mark Darcy (Colin Firth). Yes, the allusion to Firth's role as Mr. Darcy in the BBC mini-series PRIDE AND PREJUDICE is intentional. You'll recall that Firth's "wet-shirt" scene in that show set off a massive collective orgasm (figuratively and - most likely - literally) among certain audiences across the world - like women, gay men, and people whose fetish is bathing fully-clothed in rivers. This scene, evidently, is supposed to be right up there with Chris Evans' steaming-torso-in-a-towel scene from FANTASTIC FOUR 2, and Russell's Crowe riding-on-a-horse-buck-naked scene from HAMMERS OVER THE ANVIL, and Russell Crowe's walking-around-a-laboratory-buck-naked scene in VIRTUOSITY and Russell Crowe's walking-around-half-naked-in-slave garb scene from GLADIATOR, and Russell Crowe's taking-his-clothes-off-to-get-ready-for-a-steaming-hot-bath scene in ROBIN HOOD, and Rusell Crowe's-- Um... Well, you get the point.
Anyhow, Bridget doesn't exactly hit it off with Mark, owing to the fact that he's: (1) wearing a godawful reindeer sweater, (2) seems to be a prick, and (3) acts like a coat rack was just shoved up his ass with gravel used as lubricant. After overhearing Mark dis her to his mother in such a way that affirms the three items previously listed, Bridget returns to London and resolves to start the New Year on the right foot - which means no more talking to pricks who wear godawful reindeer sweaters and act as if a coat rack was just shoved up their ass with gravel used as lubricant. Or any other unsuitable prospects for a healthy and solid relationship.
Needless to say, Bridget almost immediately falls off the Resolution Express when she begins an affair with "office scoundrel" Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant). Daniel is the kind of guy that every woman's brain tells her to avoid like the Black Death, but whose vagina screams for her to open up for business - right now. It's no shock that Bridget, not exactly brain-oriented, opens up for business - and Daniel is in there like a contestant in some shop-'til-you-drop TV show, buying everything in sight. Or, in this case, fucking. Then Bridget foolishly ruins what could have been a nice clandestine office affair by invoking the "L" word. And I don't mean the one that gets men all horny and ready to whip out the video camera and Jell-O vat. Yup, I'm talking about "Love." I won't scream in terror if you won't. You don't have to be psychic to know this is the start of the down-slope for the Bridget-Daniel fuckfest.
Nevertheless, Bridget and Daniel head off for a "mini-break" in the country where they: (1) run into Mark and his stuck-up bitch partner, Natasha Glenville (Embeth Davidtz); (2) go boating while quoting Keats, badly, and (3) get separated when Daniel says he has to return to London to "work." Ahem. Anyway, this forces Bridget to attend her parents' "Tarts-and-Vicars" party, a lovely British tradition where men dress up as priests and women dress up as street-walking whores. Somehow, I don't think the American PC Police would ever allow that charming practice to cross the Atlantic. In fact, it's probably part of the Declaration of Independence: "NO TARTS AND VICARS PARTIES UNDER PENALTY OF TREASON." Look it up.
Unfortunately, it appears that Bridget didn't get word that the party theme has changed back to a decidedly non-Tarts-and-Vicars gimmick. As in, people dressed normally. As in, Bridget is the only one dressed like a dirty whore. This leads to: (1) Bridget dying of humiliation, while (2) Natasha-the-stuck-up-bitch chortles with glee, and (3) Mark continues to wince about the coat rack shoved up his ass, and (4) Bridget's separated parents (Gemma Jones and Jim Broadbent) play the kind of jealousy games that wouldn't be out of place on BEVERLY HILLS 90210. To say that the party is a disaster would be like saying the Titanic's maiden voyage didn't quite go as planned.
Oh, but the worse is still to come: Bridget flees for the sanctuary of London and Daniel's flat - only to discover a pink glitter cardigan hanging by his front door. Given that Daniel has been portrayed as a (1) heterosexual male who is (2) partial to traditional male colors, and (3) the pink cardigan is not Bridget's, then (4) it must belong to another woman hiding in his flat, who he is (6) banging like a horny carpenter. In short, it turns out Daniel Cleaver very much deserves his reputation as a womanizing cad - which wasn't exactly a national secret. So, frankly, Bridget's emotional reaction to it is kind of laughable. What the fuck was she expecting? June Cleaver's husband? If that's the case, allow me to break the news that you've got the wrong Mr. Cleaver, sweetheart.
Fortunately, just as her "relationship" with Daniel is imploding, Bridget finds herself uncovering other facets to the Asshole Formerly Currently Futurely Known As Mark Darcy. During a ghastly dinner where Bridget is the only singleton in a sea of pompous married morons, Mark not only comes to her defense (albeit, indirectly) but also tells her privately that he likes her - just as she is. Bridget, for her part, can't decide if Mark is: (1) being nice to her as part of a bet, (2) been replaced a Pod Person, or (3) genuinely likes her - which, honestly, just might be the most terrifying prospect of all.
At any rate, the rest of BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY chronicles Bridget's slow discovery that Mark Darcy isn't quite the coat-rack-violated jerk he first appeared to be, and is indeed actually quite fond of her - just the way she is. Which pretty much assures her drinking pals that Mark is in love with her. Bridget, however, is a little unsure. Unfortunately, Daniel arrives back onto the scene like a bored cat busting up a pigeon crapping convention, and Bridget finds herself torn between the two men. While her brain and heart tell her to choose Mark, other points south of her belly button scream: "IF YOU CHOOSE THAT SNOOTY BARRISTER, I'M GONNA REVOLT BY SEALING MYSELF SHUT! HOW YA GONNA PEE THEN?"
In other words, a dilemma.... Hmmmmmmmm....
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I've never read the first Bridget Jones novel, and only a snippet of the second one, so it's hard to say if BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY is completely faithful to the book in plot execution and tone. But it doesn't matter, because the film is such a tart, effervescent, and fun experience that it's a win-win situation: if the book had the same feel, then the film more than does it justice; if it didn't, then the film only improved upon it. Combining wonderfully droll (and sometimes cleverly profane) British humor with an engaging cast that knows what it's doing, BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY is a joy to watch. And the primary reason is Renee Zellwegger's performance. In Zellwegger's hands, Bridget comes across as relatable, real, and very human. A charismatic combination of self-deprecating wit, goofy good cheer, and unexpected melancholy, Bridget is a much more refreshing protagonist than, say, the stick-thin and perfectly coiffed heroines of SLIDING DOORS, SOMEONE LIKE YOU, MY BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING, and any other romantic comedy you care to mention.
Many critics have cited Bridget's full figure as the primary reason for her appeal. However, I think it's more than that. I believe that Bridget's charisma also lies in the vulnerability that is always just under the surface of her smiles, yuks, and pratfalls. Like a lot of us, she has very little confidence in her ability to be attractive - and, ironically, that's what makes her so damned attractive. Renee Zellwegger perfectly captures this combo of modesty, stubborness, humor, and insecurity - and she's able to make it hilarious and endearing in a way that, say, Kate Winslet is just far too poised and composed to pull off. Also, Zellwegger adopts a near-perfect British accent that nullifies that initial uproar about her casting. Had Winslet been cast (she was a contender, I think), this would have been a very, very different film. And while I love Kate Winslet, I thank the cinematic gods that she didn't become Bridget Jones.
As far as the support Zellwegger gets from her co-stars, everyone is pitch-perfect and dead-on. Colin Firth cannily hints at the fire and softness under Mark's cool surface - and when he completely thaws in his "I like you just as you are" scene with Bridget, it will touch even the most hardened cynic's heart. He and Zellwegger have a warm rapport that make them believable as a couple. As the "bad boy" who leads Bridget astray more than once, Hugh Grant is atypically and refreshingly sardonic. There's never any real question (even if you haven't read the book) of who Bridget will end up with, but Grant infuses his role with just enough tenderness and nuance that you wonder from time to time if Bridget will choose him. The result is a solid love triangle where both potential mates are feasible choices: Mark can show Bridget a real relationship, while Daniel can show Bridget a real adventure - if she chooses to forget the "L" word. It all depends on what she's looking for.
The rest of the supporting cast is aces - with the standouts being Gemma Jones and Jim Broadbent as Bridget's parents whose troubled love story matches their daughter's, Embeth Davidtz as the icy Natasha, and the actor and actresses who play Bridget's drinking pals (can't remember their names right now, but they're talented.)
Bottom line: BRIDGET JONES'S DIARY is that rare romantic comedy that is not only entertaining but also intellectually and emotionally rewarding in equal measure. The Brits just seem to do romantic comedies better than Americans. Then again, this is a country that dreamt up the "Tarts-and-Vicars" concept. Go figure....
