Bridget Jones (Renée Zellweger) has this unfortunate habit of finding the perfect man and then bolting for dear life. (Enter one’s comment regarding the state of one’s relationship status – chuckle – sigh – brood). However, at 43, she seems open to the revelation that single life isn’t the worst thing in the world – so long as the neighbours know how long of an absence is normal before checking her flat for a body. But seriously, gay friends and neon spin classes are all anyone really needs in life. Or are they?
Good things come in waves, and in Bridget Jones’ case, “good things” are charming men with hair blessed by the gods. In one particularly social week, Bridget hooks up with a breathtakingly sexy stranger named Jack (Patrick Dempsey) at a sloshy music festival and, six days later, her impressively suave ex-whatever, Mark (Colin Firth), at a Christening. As it turns out, 43 is Bridget’s golden childbearing age, and one of these encounters has a… lasting effect. But which one night stand is the father? Two perfect men fight over a lovably imperfect mother-to-be in this final chapter: Bridget Jones’ Baby.
Years ago, Bridget rang in her 30th birthday with copious amounts of wine and stacks of self-help books. Then she betrayed every single lady she’d reached out to by settling into a relationship. How. Dare. She. Now Bridget is back, but instead of putting on that tiny skirt to attract attention, two men, of their own volition, go above and beyond to be the baby daddy of the year. The tables have turned.
To fit this modern world, Bridget Jones has ditched the diary (made famous in Bridget Jones’ Diary) and replaced it with various electronic devices. Lots of electronic devices. From iPhone to Macbook to some kind of cross between a palm pilot and a children’s iPad, Bridget has embraced the Apple orchard. The tone feels more or less the same, however, since her running narration wasn’t tossed out with the pens. In fact, there’s a general sense that Bridget narrates even more than usual, sometimes texting her thoughts to us on screen. It’s a bit too much when we as an audience are just trying to stay presentable in the beautiful face of Prince Jack Charming and Sir Mark of Dashing.
All that to say, I and everyone in the theatre around me laughed. Ferociously. I laughed so hard I ended up doubled over and folded up in my seat like a toddler too light to hold down the flippy part. It was embarrassing. But not as embarrassing as Bridget’s everyday life. Lord but that woman speaks to me.
No flirting, no jealous anger, no wrapping your ex’s house in toilet paper only to realise it was his parents’ and you feel terrible because they’re actually lovely people – none of that. Just good old fashioned Lamaze class with lesbians. Bridget Jones’ Baby is simply hilarious. Hilarious for helping every woman who feels like a shrivelled whale remember that she is a majestic goddess who should embrace the next chapter of life with gusto. Bridget Jones’ Baby makes every seamless Hollywood moment messy and awkward – just like real life! Friends are necessary evils, charismatic men are really just as awkward as you are, and the new boss who learned the alphabet on an iPad could actually learn a thing or two from your “seasoned” experience. Bridget Jones’ Baby is just as funny as the first two installments, and is uplifting therapy for anyone crossing into (or who remembers crossing into) that shady age called “your 40s”. 8/10.