3.5 stars. Rated R, for frequent profanity and sexual candor, and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang
There’s much to enjoy about Bridget Jones’s Baby, starting with the
welcome return of both Britain’s favorite “singleton,” and the irrepressible
Renée Zellweger, who continues to portray her with such ditzy panache.
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| Two very concerned guys — Mark (Colin Firth, left) and Jack (Patrick Dempsey) — a very pregnant Bridget (Renée Zellweger) about to pop, and a revolving door: a guaranteed recipe for falling-down hilarity. |
We’ve not seen Bridget on the big
screen since 2004’s Bridget Jones: The
Edge of Reason — a disappointing film based on, let’s face it, creator
Helen Fielding’s weakest novel — and we’ve not glimpsed Zellweger since her
self-imposed exile in 2010, after a string of flops in quite rapid succession.
It’s nice to visit both again,
particularly since this new film gets back to basics, with Bridget’s original
director Sharon Maguire once more calling the shots. (Maguire opted out of the
aforementioned first sequel. Wise move.)
Zellweger quickly wins our hearts
in this film’s opening scene, as a doleful Bridget celebrates her 43rd birthday
in her flat, alone, with only a cupcake, a single candle and some questionable
music for company. It’s a heartbreaking moment certain to be recognized by
anybody forced to mark a holiday or milestone event, while caught between
constant companions.
Fortunately, the melancholy tone
turns droll when Bridget defiantly clicks to another track and then pulls a Tom
Cruise — his air guitar solo, to Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock and Roll,” at the
beginning of Risky Business — by
bopping about to House of Pain’s “Jump Around.”
It must be noted that the
cinematic Bridget now inhabits a parallel reality quite distinct from that of
her literary counterpart; this must make Fielding’s life interesting, given
that she also co-scripted this third big-screen outing, alongside Dan Mazer and
Emma Thompson. Mazer is an unexpected choice, given that his other writing
credits are mostly for Sacha Baron Cohen burlesques; his touch perhaps explains
some of Bridget’s dumber physical pratfalls here. (Falling face-first into a
mud puddle? Seriously? Isn’t that,
like, 30 years out of fashion?)
Thompson, on the other hand, is
well known for her wit and writing prowess, both of which are well suited to
Fielding’s tone and Bridget’s sensibilities. Thompson also has a significant
supporting role in this frequently arch rom-com, and — surprise — she gets all
the best lines. Wait for the corker concerning guys and pubs.
