Bridget Jones sequel v.v. unfunny

review by matthew webber

The commercial and critical success of the first Bridget Jones movie shouldn’t have come as such a surprise. Not only did Renee Zellweger give a star-making performance as the plucky heroine, but the movie showed the same genuine sympathy toward the character as did Helen Fielding’s book. Bridget wasn’t really fat, or ugly, or awkward, or any of those other things people more absorbed with themselves might have called her. Rather, she was nervous, self-deprecating, and charming. Always saying and wearing the wrong things, Bridget was like most of us when we’re trying to impress someone or even when we’re just looking into a mirror. She was an everywoman to whom even men could relate. She was likable.

A lack of sympathy for Bridget is precisely why the sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, fails. Edge of Reason suffers from sequel-itis in that it trades the subtler, more good-natured humor of the first film for cheaper, crasser, and supposedly more hilarious laughs. In the first movie, Bridget mostly mocked herself, but here it’s her co-workers who call her childish names and make fun of her figure, which they do with a frequency unseen since junior high.

The references to her butt are perhaps the most disturbing; it wouldn’t have been as grotesque as the other characters said it was if it hadn’t been fallen upon and covered in rainwater, ill-fitting clothing, mud, and manure throughout much of the film. In one particularly unfunny scene, a video replay shows Bridget’s mud-splattered, so-called “wobbly bits” falling into the camera again and again and again.

In Edge of Reason, Bridget’s reporting assignments take her from this initial parachuting story all the way to a women’s correctional facility in Thailand, if you can actually find that plausible. The whole time, yes, I felt sorry for Bridget, but it was more like pity than empathy. Bridget was still likable, but the liking felt guilty and forced.

I hated the filmmakers for being as immature as the characters. In their haste to belittle a beloved character in the name of comedy, they turned this film into British Pie or There’s Something About Bridget. A simple Bridget Jones II that accepted the heart of the first film – Bridget’s own big heart – would have been less painful.

Zellweger can’t be blamed for this disappointing sequel, unless it’s for not using her Oscar-winning clout to demand that the movie not talk down to its audience. Like her first portrayal of Bridget, and like each of her recent Oscar-nominated roles, Zellweger is cute but formidable, gamely portraying what was written in the script. Colin Firth, in his reprisal of the man Bridget should be with, seems as nice but exasperated as he should be. Hugh Grant continues the career revitalization that started in the first Bridget Jones playing the wolf in designer clothing whom Bridget loves to hate.

Sadly, these performances aren’t enough to counteract the unflattering lighting and insulting remarks cast in Bridget’s direction. Once in a blue streak, one of these zingers actually zings, but I’m still waiting for the comeback the filmmakers didn’t allow Bridget to have.

Issue 29, December 2004