BRIDGET JONES’S BABY

It’ s been too long on this cruel Earth without Bridget Jones. So many nights alone, drinking wine and singing along to All By

Myself in pyjamas. So many big pairs of knickers to suck in your tummy. So many bowls of solo blue string soup.

But lament no more, because Bridge is finally back this year in the much-anticipated Bridget

Jones’s Baby. It’s like welcoming old friends back into your life after many years—so much has changed, but after two minutes it’s like they never left. I’ m realising, as I write this, that I may have an unhealthy attachment to Bridget Jones.

Picking up the story over a decade after the events of Bridget Jones 2: Edge of Reason, we meet Bridge tina reiteration of her iconic lonely pyjama- clad birthday scene. She’s now 43 and looks refreshingly like a real 43- year-old, rather than these ethereal 40- year-old imps born ina magical cave who have never had sunlight touch their skin nor smiled with their eyes (looking at you, Sandra Bullock and Sofia Vergara). Jones has messy hair, she looks tired, and she wears a daggy cardigan most of the time. She’s still completely in competent— her powerful news-producing job aside—and remains every part the every woman we fell in love with.

Stuck in a recognisable sad and single predicament, Bridget is whisked away to a music festival by a colleague to enjoy several drinks and a one- night stand with media mogul Jack Qwant, played by Patrick “McDreamy” Dempsey. He’s a welcome injection of corny American pep among the wry British sighs, and makes for a fitting replacement for Hugh Grant’ s absent Daniel Cleaver. If Jack Qwant isa labrador puppy, then Colin Firth’ s Mr Darcy is a grumpy turtle awoken from a nap, but that doesn’t change the fact that ol’ w et-shirt has still got it.

Mr Darcy is back on the scene by way of

mutual friends, and naturally Bridget succumbs to his angry, tu rt le-y ways. Several weeks after their night of passion she finds out that she is pregnant. With the help of her delightful nurse in the warm, furrowed brow of Emma Thompson, she navigates her pregnancy while juggling two potential fathers, neither of whom knows the truth. It’s the type of conundrum that would certainly warrant an “oh, Bridget” and a loving eye roll—and, of course, you believe its plausibility for every second.

Bridget Jones’s Baby is absolutely laden with great jokes, pr at falls and even better music. It’ s nice, in what feels like a deeply cynical, satire-driven age to get a comedy that’ s comfortable just making wordplay jokes about how calling camping “glamping” is just like calling Hitler “Gladolf” or, now with two dads, the baby could be considered a “gayby”.

Perhaps t he most perfect gag comes when Bridget fails to recognise Ed Sheer an at a bar, demonstrating both how out-of-touch she is but also a nod to how the franchise transcends the dripping romance of t he Sheeran- soundtracked rom-com era. That is, until Thinking Out Loud begins, not a moment too soon.

Without giving away the ending, I loved every single second of Bridget Jones’s Baby and even cried heartily twice. The soundtrack is packed with exquisite pop hits, the characters like long, lost friends. It’s joyous, hilarious and sincere without ever stepping into the tempting garden of cheesiness or ironic self-awareness. Instead, we are invited to take the film just the way it is. Just like her ridiculously cute baby, it was absolutely worth t he wait.