BRIDGET JONES'S BABY (2016)
A film review by David N. Butterworth
Copyright 2016 David N. Butterworth

** (out of ****)

"Bridget Jones" 1: whimsical, sensational, turkey curry night--actual words taken from my actual review of the filmed version of Helen Fielding's bestseller. "Bridget Jones" 2: execrable--that's the *entire* review. So
what hope, then, for "Bridget Jones" 3?
Well, "Bridget Jones's Baby" is not a good movie. It's banal and embarrassing and cliched beyond words, trite and awkward and perplexing, populated by performers who should have taken one look at the script and insisted "enough already!" (although Emma Thompson, who plays Bridget's
acerbic gynecologist, co-wrote the thing so that complicates matters). And don't get me started on its soundtrack. But...
Sharon Maguire's film is not mean-spirited and nobody dies (well,
except Hugh Grant's character, who "went down in the bush" nudge nudge) and
the whole thing holds together reasonably well. Maguire helmed the
original film, but not its disastrous sequel, so she's back to try to
breathe new life into the franchise.
As Bridget, Renee (Zellweger) does go face down in the muck at Glastonbury--that's always worth a chuckle. That's where the 43-year-old
SPILF (her coinage; the SP stands for spinster) shags Jack (Patrick
Dempsey) in a yurt, accompanied (on guitar, not in person) by the carrot-topped, Hobbit-styled musician Ed Sheeran. Jack's a billionaire
dating expert although Bridget doesn't know it at the time. Ah, but she
also has spontaneous relations with her one true love Mr. Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) around the same time with a past-its-sell-by-date, dolphin-free prophylactic. See title. Speaking of that title, they insisted on
continuing the Chicago Style form of punctuation which might be a difficult sell for some people. Even so, I suppose that's something.
Personally my mouth was agape as early as the opening credits, over
which Ms. Zellweger lip synchs to House of Pain's "Jump Around," recalling
way fonder memories of the late Robin Williams dancing to that same song
atop a table in Mrs. Doubtfire. Back then the song felt fresh and it was
funny to see a Pacific Heights grandma blasting out East Coast hip-hop.
Fresh and funny do not describe this "'Baby."

--
David N. Butterworth
rec.arts.movies.reviews
butterworthdavidn@gmail.com

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: fsxNet Usenet Gateway (21:1/5)