“Writing is something you do alone. It’s a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story but don’t want to make eye contact while telling it.”
What? It’s based on Jane Austen, OK? That makes it practically literary.
Just to be clear, today I’m reviewing the film adaptation of Helen Fielding’s novel Bridget Jones’ Diary, starring Renee Zellweger, who is too Miss Potter-ish by half to remind me of the original Bridget, Jim Broadbent, who shall forever be known as Timothy Cavendish from Cloud Atlas in my brain, and Hugh Grant, who has been in everything. Oh, and Colin Firth as Mr Darcy, Moaning Myrtle from Harry Potter, and Miranda Hart’s posh friend Tilly. Basically, Bridget Jones’ Diary is the place where lost film characters end up.
Some context may be useful here. Bridget Jones’ Diary is a very loose modern adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, but with more swearing. Bridget Jones is a thirty-something singleton trying to find The One with the dubious help of her mostly drunken friends and overbearing mother. It’s funny, oh yes, and ever so slightly heartwarming, but it’s also one of those films that keeps thinking it’s going to end and then deciding not to. The denouement is always slightly further away than you’re expecting. (This was not, as far as I remember, an issue that affected Pride and Prejudice in any way.)
However, that’s a small complaint when you realise that Bridget Jones’ Diary is part of that really rather small genre, the genuinely funny British rom-com. Not too predictable (unless, of course, you’ve read Pride and Prejudice), not too syrupy, and some nice nods to Jane Austen. Excellent brain-fluff for a Thursday evening. (The book’s good, too.)