'BYE 'BYE, BRIDGET JONES...? BY SANDRA HARRIS.

 

‘BYE ‘BYE, BRIDGET JONES…?

BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

It’s always sad when something good ends. It’s even sadder when it’s something like the Bridget Jones’s Diary series of films, based on the books by British author, Helen Fielding. The film series kicked off in the year 2000 with the wonderful BRIDGET JONES’S DIARY, starring the American (odd choice?) actress Renee Zellweger as British thirty-something, Bridget Jones.

Bridget’s fed up of being single, of drinking, smoking and eating too much and being less than perfect overall. She buys a new diary to document her attempt to attain perfection and a zen-like state of calm contentedness in everything.

The problem is that Bridget is endearingly funny, one hundred percent human and as far from perfect as you can get, which is why people love her. She’s a lovable mess, rather than a prim and proper Little Miss Perfect type, which would be unbearable. No-one likes a po-faced saint, lol. Her adventures as she goes in search of her ideal life/weight/man/job are hilarious.

They range over the course of four films, the middle two being BRIDGET JONES: THE EDGE OF REASON (2004) and BRIDGET JONES’S BABY (2016). Now, the (supposedly) very last Bridget Jones movie ever is in cinemas everywhere. It’s called BRIDGET JONES: MAD ABOUT THE BOY, and, as Bridget herself might say, it’s really very bloody good, the perfect end, if it is the end, to a glorious, nostalgia-laden part of our cinematic lives.

Why do I keep doubting that it’s the end? Well, only because the guy who sold me my bag of Revels in the cinema said that they- the film-makers- won’t give up on their cash cow so easily, but I don’t know. There was a strong feeling of finality about the whole film, of tying up loose ends and saying goodbye to beloved old characters.

I cried as much as I laughed watching it, honest to God. Also, they finished with a montage of the best bits from the first three films, and they don’t do montages until something’s really over, like when you go on Love Island and then, when you get dumped, they show you a montage of your best bits. 

Although, why they’d include a shot of you ugly-crying over a chinless wonder called Daz you’ve only known four days amongst your so-called ‘best bits,’ God alone knows. So, yes, I think it’s over, and that’s soooooo effing sad. Fuckity fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuuck, as Bridget herself might say.

Anyway, being thirty-five years old is now only a distant memory for Bridget. She’s four years into being a widow, after the accidental death in the Sudan of her human rights lawyer husband, Mark Darcy. Played by Colin Firth, Mark has been the love of Bridget’s life since the first film, and his loss has absolutely devastated her.

She still has their two children, Billy and Mabel, and her crazy gang of gossipy, sex-mad sweary madcap friends, Jude, Shaz and Tom. Her pals have been with her since the first film too and it’s lovely to see them again in all their hectic glory.

Bridget finds single parenting tough, though, especially as she’s still grieving for Mark, and being a stay-at-home mum is doing her head in as she’s more used to working. Also, in an alarming turn of events, her virginity is growing back through a sinister, little-talked-about process called ‘labial adhesion.’ Now, I’m not a gynaecologist- unlike Emma Thompson as Dr. Rawlings in this very film!- but that sounds like a real thing to me, and like it could be dangerous if left untreated.

Her friends convince her it’s time to go back to her old job in daytime television production, which she duly does. They also set her up with a Tinder account- without her permish- but she doesn’t really need it because two men are about to come into her life for two very different reasons. One is a toyboy- played by Leo Woodall- to restore the sex and the laughter she’s been sorely missing. The other- Chiwetel Ejiofor- might just be more of a keeper, like Mark Darcy…

Hugh Grant reprises his role as Daniel Cleaver here, Bridget’s pervy, sex-mad ex-boyfriend who still hasn’t settled down and made any ‘kin,’ with the exception of one male sprog he never sees from an old girlfriend. 

He’s starting to feel a bit tragic, still chasing dollybirds and models young enough to be his daughter at his age. He’s sixty-four in real life, Hugh Grant, by the way, as is Colin Firth. Daniel’s still great pals with Bridget, the closest thing he has to ‘kin,’ and even babysits for her when she needs him to.

Colin Firth is here only as a ghost, or a memory in the end montages. Dear old Gemma Jones, who plays Bridget’s mum Pamela, is still alive and in a nursing home with her best friend, Una, played by Celia Imrie. Can you imagine the gossip and high jinks they’d be getting up to, there among the wheelchairs and the haemorrhoid cushions…?

Lovely cuddly old Jim Broadbent is back as Bridget’s dad Colin, but he’s dead now, which is very sad. Bridget was always a Daddy’s girl, so she misses poor old Colin terribly. The last thing he said to her was, ‘for God’s sake, Bridget, live!’ Will Bridget take his advice?

It’s really sad to know that, even if they did make another film in five or ten years’ time where Bridget’s a granny or something, the chances are that some of the very old guard might actually have passed away by then, or even some of the not-so-old guard, who knows? People die, and it’s very sad.

Well, goodbye, then, Bridget, if it really is goodbye. I think I’ll remember you as you are now, at your very best; flawed, chaotic, sweary, human and very, very identifiable-with, if you get me. You’ve got your kids, your friends, your memories, and the hope of even more romance, excitement, fulfilment and love to come. Because (sob) you’re perfect, Bridget Jones… just as you are…