Bridget Jones’s Baby [Review by Haus]

The shrieking three year old perched behind you in Bridget Jones’s Diary — which came out pre-9/11 — will vote this fall.

Process that for a moment. It’s been fifteen years. Putting this in terms I understand, that’s like going from Goldfinger to Moonraker; from The Phantom Menace to The Force Awakens (give or take); from Michael Keaton’s Batman to Christian Bale’s Batman Begins. You could release all eight Harry Potter movies, or — get this — all five Twilights and all thirteen Marvel Universe films to date — running the series back to back — in that same time period. In movie terms, or in any human terms, fifteen years is a long damn time. Yet here, on her crystal anniversary, Bridget Jones is back.

Having now effectively blown my time budget for this review by fact checking those timelines, let’s cut to the chase.

Bridget Jones the character is something of a cultural icon: a bumbling, lovably imperfect British singleton who’s perpetually weight-conscious, drinks too much, and yet somehow always finds herself playing eenie-meenie between eligible and lovestruck upper-crust suitors. The first film was funny and endearing; the second was a dismal hopeless failure that reduced Bridget to a vapid pratfall delivery device. Hopes for the belated third ran low.

Strangely, Bridget Jones’s Baby is actually quite good. It hews closer to first than the second, which in sequel terms makes it pretty much a unicorn. Gone is the abrasively stupid, cringeworthy nincompoop of the second film, and gone are (most) attempts to milk laughs solely from her wipeouts and gaffes. Renee Zellweger (at 47) reinhabits Bridget (now 43) — looking, as does everyone else, understandably more seasoned — yet she pleasantly seems for the first time both decently successful at work and also comfortable with her appearance. (This perhaps has something to do with the fact that she’s fit as a fiddle in this outing; presumably Zellweger didn’t want to do another weight cycle for the film.)

As her friends (omg, the actors now are 45, 46, and 50), former lover (omg, Colin Firth is now 56), and parents (omg, they — wait, no, they look exactly the same) potter about their perfect lives, poor Bridget is single again and decides to focus on her love life. This involves chasing casual hookups at a music festival and at a christening, but because this is Bridget Jones, one is a handsome and rugged rich dude and the other is her perennial swoon-packet Mark Darcy. She buys the ticket and rides the rides, pees on a stick and, goodness, has no idea which one is the father. But how to tell them? Whatever to do? Hilarity ensues.

I kept wanting to dislike this movie, since its premise is so unpromising and it’s a bit too silly for my taste. But I really didn’t. It’s quite well done, and just endearing enough to stave off the worst of the moans as accomplished rugged men with zero backstory or motivation throw themselves with grand gestures at Bridget. The acting is good, the jokes aren’t half bad, and the film has some heart — although, despite its late-to-the-party references to Twitter and blended families, it’s still steeped in nineties lovey-dovey Brit-com morality. It’s a bit nostalgic, actually. Including the flashback footage, mind you, might not have been such a good idea. Jeez, everyone’s so old. I’m so old. On we go. Where’s my cane?

Emma Thompson is stark and refreshing as Bridget’s icy doctor. Colin Firth and Patrick Dempsey do what they must, being sensitive new-age guys and poster boys of perfection for Bridget to hem and haw and bite lips over and choose between. (My intrepid colleague CMAC, with whom I saw the preview showing, says I’ve veered dangerously close to doling out a neat post-feminist critique of these empty, objectified love objects. Maybe so.)

Anyway, let’s keep this short. If you can fog a mirror and remember the second installment, you probably think this will be utter trash. It’s not. If you liked the first, go on and see this. Then buy some under-eye cream and go to bed early, because golly do we all need it.

Haus Verdict: Miraculously not awful, actually quite fun. A nostalgic visit to familiar characters still — improbably — doing what they do. 

Bridget Jones’s Baby opens Friday September 16.

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