Review: Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

Long running fictional characters can grow old, or not. Presumably Mission: Impossible's Ethan Hunt is getting older, it just has absolutely no relevance to his life. Bridget Jones has taken the opposite path, awkwardly passing numerous milestones since she hit the big screen in 2001. Back then she was a quirky take on a young woman living in a world where being under 35 was a complex and nuanced mix of challenges and opportunities. Now in her world young people either look after your kids or shag you.

Aging with your fanbase locks them in: it also locks you into tackling certain issues that inevitably come up, which is to say this is the Bridget Jones movie about death. This mortality, somewhat surprisingly, works to the film's advantage, providing useful contrast to the numerous entertaining moments where Jones (Renee Zellweger) does something awkward then awkwardly realises someone she would like to impress just saw her.

The big death, of course, is Mark Darcy (Colin Firth), who it is revealed in the first few minutes died four years ago, being exploded as part of his work as a human rights lawyer. It is time, all her friends agree, for her to move on. But how? And where? And will the big pants be required?

Pretty much everyone you remember from the previous films makes a return here - the dead characters are either wordless ghosts or get a final scene in flashback - but the script makes the onslaught of familiar characters seem natural, as Jones first checks in with pretty much everyone before her first love interest, the youthful aspiring garbologist Roxster (Leo Woodall) pulls her down out of a tree. Awkward!

Meanwhile, the local school her children attend has a new science teacher, the whistle-blowing Mr Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor). Will he get much of a look in around the jokes about having to bring snacks for school functions and dealing with other snobby "perfect" mums?  Wait and see.

Jones also returns to work as a TV producer, bringing in a few new characters (Jones gets a nanny!) and some old ones - and of course, more opportunity for embarrassment. In the whirlwind of friends that makes up her life (and having such a packed social life despite being a single mum to two kids is just one of the more fantastical elements here) only unrepentant sleaze Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant) gets anything like a character arc. And deservedly so, as he remains a delight.

The jokes are uneven but enough land to make it work. It's also a bit sad in parts, though at this stage of life anything less would be a let-down. Having Jones back looking for love is just enough of a spine to keep this from being a pointless greatest hits tour; having the grim specter of death lingering over a number of the scenes (the kids haven't yet moved on) is just enough weight to keep this from drifting away.

Put another way, the film has a high mortality rate (there's more than one scene where a much-loved character comes face to face with their mortality in a hospital), while Jones does pretty well when it comes to sexy and/or romantic clinches. Maybe they should have titled this one Bridget Jones: Body Count.

- Anthony Morris