Charlie Heller (Rami Malek) is a self-confessed CIA nerd and puzzle fan. A systems analyst and decoder who can unpick a photo to determine the location of the subject, access cameras across the world and save the life of a field agent via technology, he’s nevertheless a homebody who has never travelled overseas and is tinkering with a cessna plane in his barn but may never fly it.
John Wilson/20th Century Studios
When his wife (Rachel Brosnahan) jets off to London for a conference all that changes as she is taken hostage and killed by terrorists. Beset by grief, rage and retribution, Charlie tires of waiting for the CIA top brass to do anything about tracking down the killers and sets off to unravel their identities and exact revenge himself. And in doing so uncovers a conspiracy at the heart of the agency…
John Wilson/20th Century StudiosJohn Wilson/20th Century Studios
Developed by Malek with his producer’s hat on from Robert Littell’s bestseller, The Amateur plays with the idea of what would happen if a regular joe who couldn’t shoot or fight went out into the world of espionage. Rather than having the action competence of Bond or Bourne, Charlie sweats his way through security checks and devises nerdy, inventive ways of teaching bad guys a lesson. That fish-out-of-water element is the central charm of the film, with Malek convincing as a man who can improvise de-pressurised swimming pools (try to resist the trailer to save this set piece for the screen), but is out of his depth.
John Wilson/20th Century Studios
Though the film rests on the expressive Malek bringing audiences along for the ride he’s helped in his quest by Laurence Fishburne glowering as a handler on his trail, Caitríona Balfe as a spy widow who uses chickens and laptops with equal aplomb, and Michael Stuhlbarg making the big bad a morally nuanced catch. Jon Bernthal also turns up for coffee and cake (literally). A quieter espionage outing than 007 but one that still provides globetrotting, foot chases and explosions amid the tech tinkering with GPS, CCTV and pressure gauges.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs by JOHN WILSON/20TH CENTURY STUDIOS The Amateur is out now
The question of whether a mythical horse beast with a forehead protuberance shifts its mortal coil is answered fast in this debut satire from writer-director, Alex Scharfman. Within minutes of uptight attorney Elliot (Paul Rudd) and his emo teen daughter Ridley (Jenna Ortega) touching down in the Canadian wilderness, they have mowed down the titular equine in their hire car as they fractiously drive to the remote home of his obscenely rich, terminally-ill boss (Richard E. Grant), Odell Leopold.
Balazs Goldi/Monoceros Media LLC
A make or break weekend for Elliot who wants to earn the trust of the pharma-wealthy Leopold family in order to make big bucks as their proxy lawyer, he insists on continuing with the trip by shoving the unfortunate road kill in the trunk and begging his reeling daughter to act normal. She’s obviously not going to toe the line because she wears smudged eyeliner and declares that ‘philanthropy is just reputational laundering’. But when the unicorn’s horn and blood prove to have transformative healing powers, a moral and physical battle commences – not least because the beast’s magical clan want revenge…
Balazs Goldi/Monoceros Media LLCBalazs Goldi/Monoceros Media LLC
Though the themes are familiar and broad (wealthy people are awful, big pharma is ruthless, healthcare is ringfenced for the rich), the cast elevate proceedings with committed performances. Grant is reliably gonzo as a wildlife-hunting British toff with a safari-chic sartorial bent, Téa Leoni serves odious wealthy wife that fans of Parker Posey’s White Lotus turn will relish, while Will Poulter essays ‘moneyed doofus’ with aplomb, an entitled twit with delusions of grandeur who thinks short shorts and hot tubs are the answer to everything.
While they do the gags, Rudd and Ortega explore the emotion amid the carnage as ferocious, pointy-headed ponies savage staff – hoof-popping skulls, disemboweling with fangs and goring with horns. As the savagery amps up and night turns to dawn, Death Of A Unicorn becomes a meditation on death and grief as Ridley and Elliot work through their trauma from losing their mother/wife to cancer. And there’s an 11th hour moment that plays as truly dark and beautiful, shifting gear momentarily from an extended Black Mirror episode to something trotting on the edge of profound. At the centre though, Ortega shines – as lead and producer – the human heart in a cruel world.
Balazs Goldi/Monoceros Media LLC
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs by BALAZS GOLDI/MONOCEROS MEDIA LLC Death of a Unicorn is out now
The titular lady is a black-clad veiled figure who appears calmly sitting in her Victoriana outfit on the perimeter of a family farm on a sun-dappled day. That in itself may not be disquieting but it’s the start of a haunting film that deftly explores grief, motherhood, guilt and the interior darkness we all carry for much of its brisk run time.
The woman (Okwui Okpokwasili) appears one day that seems suffocating for Ramona (Danielle Deadwyler). The widowed mother of a teenage boy (Peyton Jackson) and little girl (Estella Kahiha), Ramona is a woman who awakes and asks the universe to give her strength. Why? Because her husband has died in a car accident that also seriously injured her, she’s struggling to pay the bills on the farmhouse they bought as a fixer-upper, she feels trapped in a life she didn’t want for herself and just getting out of bed is a feat – physically and emotionally. On this particular day the family discover that the electricity has been cut off, leaving them without juice to charge their phones or keep the food in the fridge fresh. Popping pills and struggling with mental health, Ramona is attempting to keep her rage at bay with her kids when the dark figure manifests on the lawn, sitting motionless and watching the house. Her period clothing and poise suggest an otherworldliness, her blood-covered hands and murmuring of ‘today’s the day’ evoke a fear in the family. Who is she and what does she want? As the trio lock themselves in the house and the shadows of the day length, the answer becomes apparent as the woman moves closer…
Daniel Delgado Jr./Universal Pictures
To say more is to venture into spoilers but Jaume Collet-Serra ratchets up tension and unease with creepy cinematography, a couple of jump scares and a reoccurring mirror motif. As the locus of the woman’s visit comes into focus, the story beats soften. And while the idea of the twist at the centre of the film offers opportunity to examine suicide ideation, depression, mourning, the pressure on women to carry a family and even generational trauma (the house is in Georgia), the final third is as fuzzy as Deadwyler’s mom. The pleasure then is in watching an actor who has wowed recently in The Piano Lesson and I Saw The TV Glow fill out the blanks of this role with unapologetic ferocity and tangible pain. Ramona isn’t always likable, but she is always relatable and Deadwyler sells a final act arc with incredible sensitivity.
A psychological horror that will likely intrigue and exasperate in equal measure. And serves as a reminder to always charge your phone…
Daniel Delgado Jr./Universal Pictures
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs by DANIEL DELGADO JR./UNIVERSAL PICTURES The Woman in the Yard is in cinemas now
Robert de Niro playing two mob bosses in a film scripted by Nicholas Pileggi of Goodfellas fame in a decades-spanning true tale of NY turf wars? Ba-da-bing! Barry Levinson’s elegant biopic ticks all the boxes for audiences craving a little Scorsese-adjacent drama filled with sharp suits, mobster mumblings and period detail.
Leaning into his own acting legacy, de Niro plays Big Apple godfather, Frank Costello – a suave, temperate leader who’s happily married to Bobbie (Debra Messing) and has risen from an immigrant teen frequenting the Alto Knights social club, through prohibition to become the so-called ‘prime minister’ of syndicated crime. He also plays his rival, Vito Genovese, an erratic, violent kingpin who wants a slice of the pie and will leave a trail of bodies to get it. The two men are differentiated by modified Noo Yawk accents and CGI noses; Costello in the mode of de Niro in Goodfellas, Genovese taking a leaf out of the Joe Pesci school of hair-trigger rage monsters. When Vito books a hit on Frank (carried out by an almost unrecognisable Cosmo Jarvis committing fully to the bit as a heavy putz) in 1957, Frank narrates the fallout and build-up to this particular moment. That takes in the introduction of drugs, congressional hearings and RFK’s mafia purge.
Jennifer Rose Clasen/Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.Jennifer Rose Clasen/Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
Levinson loads his film with archival footage, luxe production design and costumes, plus plenty of wise guy conversations in the vein of Goodfellas’ ‘how am I funny?’ moment. (Mob goons chat about Mormon history in the back of a car, Vito whines about the disrespect of an ex-husband and the appraisal of a failed hit is almost pastiche). There’s a humorous streak that runs through proceedings from the kick of seeing De Niro walking lap dogs in mink coats to a disastrous mafia barbeque. And there’s spirited women who hold their own in the Mafioso flexing; Messing and her plentiful jewels manage to create a warm and believable partnership and homelife, while Katherine Narducci is hugely entertaining as Vito’s vivacious broad of a wife.
Jennifer Rose Clasen/Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
But the main event is seeing De Niro face off with De Niro, and Levinson provides a number of scenes where Vito and Frank converse, biting at each other in candy stores and prison cells. It’s testament to the actor’s skills that the CGI trickery convinces and the two men feel both real and separate. While it doesn’t break the mold in mob tales, it’s not too shabby either. Capiche?
Jennifer Rose Clasen/Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs by JENNIFER ROSE CLASEN/WARNER BROS. ENTERTAINMENT INC. The Alto Knights is out in cinemas now
George and Kathryn Woodhouse ((Michael Fassbender and Cate Blanchett) are married British spies – intentionally childless, cool as cucumbers, impeccable dressers and would kill for each other. They live in a glamorous townhouse in London and conduct covert ‘black bag’ operations that take them away from each other on secret assignments. He is fastidious in grooming, cooking and methodology; she reverberates with intelligence and sensuality. But when George is tasked with finding a rat in the organisation and given a list of five possible suspects that includes his wife, both their loyalties – martial, national and professional – are tested. With a week to find the traitor in a group that includes a psychiatrist (Naomi Harris), a tech whiz (Marisa Abela), a suave overachiever (Regé-Jean Page) and a lax agent (Tom Burke), George needs to be as sharp as his Dunhill-tailored suits…
Claudette Barius/Focus Features
Steven Soderbergh’s brisk and smart thriller (written by David Koepp) enjoys riffing on our cultural awareness of spies in movies while still laying out a twisty bread crumb trail of clues to a satisfying reveal. It’s surely no coincidence that two former Bond stars feature in the cast – Miss Moneypenny Harris as a company shrink and 007 himself, Pierce Brosnan, as an ‘M’-adjacent agency boss who enjoys eating sushi while the fish is still gasping its last. The lensing and costuming evoke spy movies of the ’70s (prepare to covet the clothing), while scenes involving polygraphs deliciously skewer movie tropes while also teaching us a sphincter-clenching move to beat the lie detector. Drone strikes, hard drives, satellite surveillance and firearms are used, as are drugs to kill and to loosen tongues. But the most dangerous weaponry discharged is the ability to keep one’s head and use the brain within it.
Claudette Barius/Focus FeaturesClaudette Barius/Focus Features
To that end, though it’s fun to watch all the players as they circle each other (particularly a peevish Brosnan), the main event is Fassbender and Blanchett, ice and fire, as they toy with their team in the pursuit of marital stress-testing. Is Kathryn the mole? Would it even matter if she was? Does George actually watch her wherever she goes? And does she like it? With their one-on-one scenes played out in the bedroom (while dressing, undressing, preparing for bed or sex) Fassbender and Blanchett pull off a Mrs & Mrs Smith frisson that, given the open ending, could leave room for further films. And while we wait for the next Bond, why not? When it’s done with this much cheeky style…
Words by JANE CROWTHER Photographs by CLAUDETTE BARIUS/FOCUS FEATURES BLACK BAG is in cinemas now
Mickey (Robert Pattinson) is a disposable worker, an expendable. Not just theoretically as so many of us feel while slogging in unfulfiling jobs at the knife’s edge of a dwindling industry or for corporations who insist we are replaceable. But literally. Self-described as a ‘meat-cicle’, Mickey gives his DNA to a tech corporation sending people to space in pursuit of new planets to mine in order that he can expire and be 3D printed back out repeatedly. Need a bod to explore dangerous territory? Be a guinea pig for ruinous vaccines? Be cannon fodder? Call for Mickey. And when he dies from pox, freezing, internal bleeding, fire – just print out the next version.
Warner Bros. PicturesWarner Bros. Pictures
Running from debt and misery on earth, Mickey’s happy to trade Xeroxing himself for a trip to a possibly better life, or lives. But once on a space ship with a despotic, narcissistic politician/CEO (Mark Ruffalo) and his sauce-cooking wife (Toni Collette), he discovers love with Nasha (Naomi Ackie) and that being the lowest lifeforce on the crew is a bummer. Each time he regenerates he remembers his previous lives (and deaths) which builds up to an existential crisis. And when Mickey 18 is printed out when Mickey 17 isn’t expired, all hell breaks loose…
Warner Bros. Pictures
Bong Joon-Ho’s follow up to awards darling, Parasite, boasts the same anarchic mischief – and then some. Sharing more tonal and bonkers DNA with Okja than his Oscar-scooping film, Mickey 17 is frequently funny, odd and disquieting. And it works both as a daft comedy as well as a pertinent anti-capitalist, pro-environmental battle cry against colonialism and blindly following self-serving leaders who operate on social channels (Ruffalo’s boss communicates via a TV show and his supporters wear red baseball hats). It’s a film that gives Nasha a healthy sex drive without repercussion, makes audiences care about weird ice monsters that look like the lovechild of a hairy buffalo and a woodlouse, and allows Pattinson to go for broke with a characterisation that leans hard into his preference for playing oddballs. With his Marmite idiolect, nervy body language and low-energy demeanour, Mickey is a hoot – even when he’s flopping out of a printing machine, forgotten by operators, and slopping onto the floor like wet dough.
Warner Bros. Pictures
Pattinson’s physical comedy and doleful eyes are matched by Ackie’s verve and Ruffalo’s toothy cartoon fascism in a big budget (and big running time) movie that asks audiences to look at corporate greed, current politics, personal integrity and at what price we seek happiness. It’s the sort of Saturday night blockbuster that will divide audiences and might make you consider handing in your notice on Monday morning. And warns to always, always read the paperwork carefully.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures Mickey 17 is in cinemas now
We wait ages for a film about older women challenging the patriarchal box they’ve been put in and then a slew come along at once. Where The Substance raged at societal stands of beauty and Babygirl rallied women to own their own orgasm (glass of milk or not), The Last Showgirl explores the liminal moment that women age out, lose relevance in a world driven by youth, beauty, novelty.
Roadside Attractions
Much has been made of Pamela Anderson’s ‘comeback’ as lead, playing Shelly, a sequin-clad cabaret girl whose dreams were made by becoming a star in a Las Vegas cabaret show that boasts rhinestones, feathers and boobs. Now 57, Shelly still clings to the magic she sees in her role while Vegas changes around her. The show she’s taken so much validation from is set to close (edged out by a cleaner vibe for Sin City) and as she struggles to reconnect with her daughter (Billie Lourd) she goes through a grieving process – not only for the end of a Vegas era but the close of a chapter of her life.
As she auditions for other shows and lies about her age under the glare of a bored producer (Anderson’s dated routine seems almost quaint and is strangely moving), Shelly talks through the new future that might face her with her friends; former hoofer turned casino cocktail waitress, Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis), gentle giant stage manager Eddie (Dave Bautista) and fellow dancers Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Ann (Brenda Song). While the two younger showgirls might continue in the business, it’s clear that Shelly’s next steps lie either in a change in direction or in following Annette into the humiliation of wearing sexy uniforms for gambling punters who don’t want to look at her in them.
Roadside AttractionsRoadside Attractions
While Anderson is a delight as Shelly – soft, gentle, beguilingly delusional – she almost loses the film to Curtis. Both women have dancing sequences that stick in the memory long after the slight, well-worn narrative has faded; Anderson a final bow of self-respecting shimmying in a spotlight that aches with yearning for the past, and Curtis, in a rageful wig-out on the casino floor. With her mahogany tan, pearl lipstick and cheap costume, Curtis puts a world of experience into her furious gyrating that the script does not afford her.
As a dreamy salute to the women who danced for Vegas, The Last Showgirl works thanks to its engaging and empathic performances. And serves as an opening act to tease what Anderson might surprise with next…
Roadside Attractions
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Roadside Attractions The Last Showgirl is in cinemas now
Photographs by Greg Williams Words by Jane Crowther
The temperatures were freezing for this year’s EE Bafta Awards at the Royal Festival Hall on London’s Southbank, but relationships were warm backstage where Greg Williams captured the festivities.
The mood was celebratory as guests flooded from the Tattinger champagne receptions on all levels of the RFH into the auditorium and found their seats – as well as their colleagues and category competition. Pamela Anderson and Demi Moore hugged and chatted front of stage while Timothée Chalamet (who’d skipped the red carpet) caught up with newlyweds Soairse Ronan and Jack Lowdon. Chalamet’s girlfriend, Kyle Jenner, talked at length with his A Complete Unknown co-star, Monica Barbaro, while Cythia Erivo and Ariane Grande whispered to each other as they held hands.
This year’s ceremony was presided over by David Tennant, who opened the show with a spirited rendition of The Proclaimers’ ‘I’m gonna be (500 Miles)’ and joked that the runner up of the Timothée Chalamet lookalike contest was sitting on the front row with his Jenner lookalike date.
Backstage, the atmosphere was convivial as Edward Berger’s Conclave took home four awards (best picture, outstanding British film, adapted screenplay and editing) and Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist won the quartet of best director, leading actor, cinematography and score. They were expected triumphs along with best supporting actress, an emotional Zoë Saldana for Emilia Perez, and supporting actor in an absent Kieran Culkin for A Real Pain.
Jack Lowden and Soairse RonanAdrian Brody and Pamela AndersonCynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande
Saldana was still tearful as she came off stage after her win – her second trip to the podium after presenting Outstanding debut with Selena Gomez to Kneecap writer-director Rich Peppiatt who joked he was in a ‘lovely sandwich’ as the actresses escorted him down the backstage steps for photographs. Aardman’s Wallace And Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl also picked up two awards that seemed uncontested in the categories of best animation and children and family film. Directors Nick Park and Merlin Crossingham juggled their clay models with their BAFTA as they exited the stage.
Ralph Fiennes and Isabella RosselliniWarick Davis and Mark HamillZoë SaldañaDavid Jonsson
Surprises came with the best actor category which pundits had thought might have gone to Ralph Fiennes on home turf but was awarded to The Brutalist’s Adrian Brody. He joked that he was ‘signing his life away’ as he signed papers allowing him to take his BAFTA mask home, before he returned to stand by a monitor to watch who won best actress. Demi Moore has had an unbeatable run during awards season for her work in The Substance, but BAFTA voted for Anora breakout – and Hollywood Authentic’s current cover star – Mikey Madison. When she arrived backstage, Brody high-fived her and the two chatted as they waited for Best Picture to be announced. Both actors’ films were nominated and both nodded and applauded when that gong went to Conclave. As the Conclave team arrived backstage, Madison congratulated them before pausing to huddle in a corner to call her delighted parents in LA.
Celia Imrie and Naomi AckieLeo WoodallChiwetel EjioforJaques Audiard
There was a Harry Potter and Star Wars reunion when Warwick Davis received his BAFTA fellowship from Potter veteran, Tom Felton. ‘You deserve it so thoroughly,’ Felton told Warwick, who played Filius Flitwick to his Malfoy, as the two hugged and exchanged news. Waiting in the wings to present best picture, Mark Hamill joined the duo – congratulating his Star Wars co-star on his achievement and kneeling for photos.
Once the ceremony was over, the catch-ups and selfies began downstairs over dinner where oversized themed lampshades loomed over a supper of vegan caviar, roast chicken and popcorn-strawberry cheesecake. Zoe Saldana and Warwick Davis chatted with their BAFTAs in hand, Kylie Jenner slipped on a jacket to talk to tablemates on the A Complete Unknown table while Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo took Wicked group snaps.
Adrian Brody
Despite a tragic fire at Chiltern Firehouse disrupting plans at the last minute, the Netflix after-party remained the post-awards place to be – moving with 48-hours notice to The Twenty-Two in Mayfair. Downstairs, Zoë Saldana and her husband hung out with Anna Kendrick as well as Demi Moore and her daughter, Scout. Jared Leto rubbed shoulders with Sophie Wilde, Colman Domingo and Ncuti Gatwa in the buzzy red lounge. Upstairs, Malachi Kirby caught up with his A Thousand Blows co-star Francis Lovehall while Orlando Bloom danced and Camilla Cabello moved among the revellers…
Mikey Madison
WINNERS:
Best Film – Conclave
Outstanding British Film – Conclave
Best Director – Brady Corbet(The Brutalist)
Outstanding Debut By By British Writer, Director Or Producer – Kneecap
Film Not In The English Language – Emilia Pérez
Best Documentary – Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story
Best Animated Film – Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl
Best Original Screenplay – A Real Pain
Best Adapted Screenplay – Conclave
Best Leading Actress – Mikey Madison(Anona)
Best Leading Actor – Adrien Brody (The Brutalist)
Best Supporting Actress – Zoe Saldaña(Emilia Pérez)
Best Supporting Actor – Kieran Culkin (A Real Pain)
Best Casting – Anora
Best Cinematography – The Brutalist
Best Editing – Conclave
Best Costume – Wicked
Best Original Score – The Brutalist (Daniel Blumberg)
Best Production Design – Wicked
Best Sound – Dune: Part Two
Best Visual Effects – Dune: Part Two
Best British Short Film – Rock, Paper, Scissors
EE Rising Star – David Jonsson
Photographs by Greg Williams Words by Jane Crowther
Yes, it released last week, but chances are – amid the Captain America and Bridget Jones fanfare – you missed this Antipodean gem that lures with wide-eyed protagonists and sucker-punches with genuine feels. Though it looks on paper like a cutesy animation, this stop-motion labour of love is not designed purely for half term nippers (it’s a 15 certificate in the UK). The memoir at its core (based on writer-director Adam Elliot’s own childhood) is from Grace (Sarah Snook), who recalls her seventies upbringing as a snail-mad Aussie kid when she was orphaned and fostered, torn away from her adored brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee). While Grace lives with louche swingers, Gilbert lives with creepy evangelists – will the duo ever be reunited?
Madman Entertainment
As Grace tells her story to Sylvia, a pet snail, she covers heartbreaking experiences while in care that take in alcoholism, sexual abuse, bullying and cripping loneliness. Sounds grim? It could be without Elliot’s light touch – finding humour, moments of loveliness and claymation boobs (yep, did we mention it’s a 15?) amid the darkness. ‘Childhood was life’s best season,’ says Grace, ‘it never lasts, but everyone deserves one.’
Madman EntertainmentMadman Entertainment
A central light for Grace is her best friend, a quirky OAP called Pinky (voiced by Jackie Weaver) who smells of ginger and picks up the pieces that the self-absorbed foster parents don’t when they head off to a Swedish nudist colony. She’s a ray of sunshine – both in Grace’s life and in Weaver’s cheeky, delightful vocal work. Eric Bana also turns up in a small role that makes a mark. Tragi-comic but also profound, Memoir Of A Snail is bursting with character and meaning. The ugly-lovely clay creatures that people it may be experiencing unique hardship but the themes of self-acceptance and fortitude are universal. As is the idea that we are all like snails: carrying around our baggage beneath a shell of our own making, and unable to re-track on the route we have already travelled. Bleak but beautiful, it’s an ode to all the ways humans are messy and broken. There’s a reason Nick Cave cameos…
Madman Entertainment
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Madman Entertainment Memoir of a Snail is out now
It’s been 24 years since the world was introduced to the celluloid Miss Jones, an endearing hot mess (Renée Zellweger) who vacillated between two posh boys – one snooty (Colin Firth), one caddish (Hugh Grant) – as she negotiated adulting, big knickers and glasses of Chardonnay. And as is now standard for all beloved movies, Bridget has had some less successful sequels, a period of absence and now gets a real-time revisit. Like Ghostbusters, Top Gun: Maverick and Gladiator II, this legacy sequel reunites the original cast (despite Grant’s character being killed off in the previous film) and invites audiences to check in with their favourite characters at a later stage in their lives.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
As she noted in her first outing: It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces. Though Bridget happily married Mark Darcy, she’s now a single, widowed parent to two small children, four years into a crippling grief process having lost Mark (Firth touchingly appears as wish fulfilment). Her delightful Hampstead Heath house is all over the place, she’s still rubbish at cooking (burnt pasta instead of blue soup) and she pitches up at the practice of her gynecologist (Emma Thompson) with any type of ailment. But she’s muddling through with the help of friends including still-concupiscent Daniel Cleaver (‘I was dead for a bit,’ Grant shrugs) and the memories of Darcy. When concerned ‘smug marrieds’ suggest she get back into the dating game, Bridget stumbles across two possible loves: younger park ranger, the improbably-named Roxster (Leo Woodall), and ‘whistle-obsessed fascist’ teacher, Mr Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor).
Like the Darcy/Cleaver love-triangle that percalates through previous movies, audiences are asked to choose for Bridget here: the doe-eyed boy who jumps into swimming pools to rescue dogs but may be emotionally immature? Or the attractively brusque teacher who understands her withdrawn son but is reserved himself? Throw in some callbacks (Bridget’s red pyjamas and her Netflix sign-in, a trip to Borough Market, Darcy’s Christmas jumper) and trademark humiliating moments (Bridget buying condoms, announcing how much sex she’s had to an audience, falling over) and it’s like no time has passed at all. But where this version of Bridget really works is leaning into unapologetic sentiment and exploring sorrow in a genuinely affecting way. Zellweger’s Bridget has always been a touchstone for women in terms of struggling to have it all, but now she’s not just juggling suitors, silly little skirts and sex. Her tussling with menopause, feelings of maternal failure and ageing hit differently, more profoundly. Combining that with Grant’s specific brand of sweet/spicy (still getting the biggest laughs with his sardonic disdain but also disarmingly vulnerable and supportive) and a tangible ache for the husband and father that is missing from the picture – and Mad About The Boy manages to equal the original film, with more emotional punch.
Universal Pictures/StudioCanal
Zellweger is still as reassuringly daffy and adorable as Bridget but layers in a relatable world weariness of a mourning woman just trying to get through a day, which works a charm in later scenes when she makes a decision about a man she might not have made in film one. Her suitors are less well-sketched – Roxster a contender for his looks in a wet t-shirt, Mr Wallaker merely by being age-appropriate – but Woodall and Ejiofor manage to breathe enough life into their roles. Meanwhile national treasures Thompson and Grant threaten to pocket the picture with brief scenes discussing lips and poetry readings respectively. Must put in diary. V. Good.
Words by JANE CROWTHER Pictures courtesy of Universal Pictures/StudioCanal Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy is in UK cinemas now
