Yes, very much. Just as you are. As one movie, absent of sequel or purported third film.
Well, it’s that time again. The time when The Daily Mail (yeah, I know) starts fannying about with quotes in an effort to generate a third Bridget Jones film. This time, Paul Feig is being rumored to take the helm.
I love Bridesmaids. I adore it. I laughed harder than I’ve laughed at a movie in years, and I am so grateful for what it did for female comedies (hopefully—I’d sure like to see the proof soon). But Bridget Jones may already be too far down the rabbit hole of idiocy, and making her Kristen Wiig-ly would not help it. Bridesmaids and Bridget are apples and oranges and I don’t want apple juice mixing with my extra pulp.
What’s the new film supposed to be about, you ask? Well, apparently, it will take the Sex and the City approach and make a new film for each of the most important stages of a woman’s life (you are girlfriend, then wife and then mother and never anything, ANYTHING else, lest you intend to spinster your life away).
Helen Fielding, who created the Bridget Jones’s Diary column in a national newspaper, has written a script for Bridget Jones 3 that features her heroine hoping to become pregnant. But which bloke will be the daddy? Love-rat Daniel Cleaver, played by [Hugh] Grant, or Mark Darcy, the man who loves her just the way she is, played by [Colin] Firth.
Okay, on what ass planet would Daniel be the father? Really? I know that Bridget went from reasonably intelligent, if not a touch blinded by desire, in the original film to a blumbering dipshit in the sequel, one who everyone thinks is fat now despite only she thinking so the first time around and everyone else finding her quite attractive. But a movie where she is actually dumb enough to potentially even consider birthing a little Cleaver? That’s not a Bridget I want to see. That is a further degradation of a great romantic comedy character into the realm of every other modern romantic comedy female characters, which is to say, fucking stupid. Really fucking stupid.
For those who fall into the “all romantic comedies are cinematic abortions” camp, first, you’re kind of a generalizing dick. Second, yes, many romantic comedies are just that, and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason was an absolute abortion, and, unless someone wants to make me a version of only Colin Firth scenes, I’d really rather forget it entirely. But the original? The original was sweet and fun with characters who actually portray some semblance of reality. And when one of those comes along, it’s special. Because it doesn’t happen often at all.
I don’t want Edge of Reason to continue its tale and watch Bridget Jones officially become a shrieking sitcom character. A good romantic comedy is a rare and precious thing. They should protect it like the prized artifact it is, not shill shitty recreations at hobby stores and novelty shops, replete with scenes featuring our heroine leading Thai prison inmates in a round of “Like a Wirgin.” And, yes, those who didn’t see it, that really happened, and, no, there was no typo in “wirgin.”
She’s already spoiled. Don’t sprinkle her with capers and put her back on a platter to serve her like an fancy new canape.
And if the sequel and third film have both been an incredibly involved conspiracy to get Renee Zellweger to eat every once in awhile because the skinny is rapidly eating her face into becoming a giant butthole? Well, then I support that, but there’s just got to be a better way.