Words by JANE CROWTHER
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.
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 Or the attractively brusque teacher who understands her withdrawn son but is reserved himself?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.
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
