Bridget Jones’s Baby
Cert: 15A. In cinemas from Friday.
Hard to imagine it’s 12 years since we last saw Helen Fielding’s flappable everygirl in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. Renee Zellweger, who’d just nabbed an Oscar for Cold Mountain the year before, has been quiet of late, with, sadly, more talk of her appearance than her acting chops taking up any column inches.
It’s thus nice to report that it’s like she has never left, here slipping back into the role of the hapless singleton like a wellworn glove. Now 43, Bridget is spending her birthday alone in her flat to the soundtrack of All By Myself and passing commuter trains. Things did not work out quite so well with Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) but work as a TV news producer seems to be on the up, despite the arrival of a fingersnapping boss (Kate O’Flynn).
She is whisked off to a music festival by pushy pal Miranda (Sarah Solemani) where she ends up getting the leg over with “shiny new American” Jack (“McDreamy” himself, Patrick Dempsey) who is rich, buff, handsome and dashing. Soon after, she crosses paths with recently divorced Mr Darcy and falls into the hay with him. When it transpires she is pregnant, a question mark over who is the father draws the two chalk-andcheese suitors together for the kind of gentlemanly rutting that British rom-coms love to serve up to squealing female audiences.
This and other things make Bridget Jones’s Baby a highly effective film for those looking for a fluffy and funny girls night out. Director Sharon Maguire returns from the all-conquering 2001 original and over a brisk couple of hours locates a good balance of girly buffoonery, a few great oneliners and “what really matters” morals. Emma Thompson (who also co-wrote) is in fine form as the prim gynaecologist.