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It becomes clear almost immediately that Bridget Jones's Diary is going to be a chick version of High Fidelity, complete with narration from its main character, not to mention the fact that both films were based on popular British Gen-X novels (although Fidelity's Rob Gordon never had self-esteem problems quite as bad as Ms. Jones). Behind the slick veneer of the narration, this is a fairly conventional and entirely predictable story - pretty much the same story, in fact, as the recently maligned Someone Like You, which was also based on a popular book. Diary probably worked much better as a novel, as it doesn't translate nearly as well as Fidelity.
Renée Zellweger (Nurse Betty) plays the titular Bridget Jones, a single, 32-year-old, London publishing house employee who is afraid of either turning into Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction or being eaten by a pack of hungry dogs after dying a sad, lonely death in her flat. Diary takes place over one year, between Christmases, and begins with her mother's (Gemma Jones, The Winslow Boy) annual holiday party/Bridget fix-up festival. This year, Mom's potential future son-in-law is a smarmy barrister named Mark Darcy (Colin Firth, Shakespeare in Love). Even though Darcy is an old friend of the family who has known Bridget for most of his life, sparks don't fly, and the two go their separate ways.
In the meantime (and like Zellweger's first big film), Bridget keeps lusting after her boss, Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant, Small Time Crooks), and, after trading some suggestive e-mail, the two begin a torrid affair until, exactly at the halfway mark, the wheels fall off. Despite watching her father's (Jim Broadbent, Topsy-Turvy) relationship with Mom crash and burn, Bridget has to pull herself together, and, among other things, find a new job and a new man before her biological clock explodes (cue Aretha Franklin's "Respect"). And all the while she keeps the audience updated on her weight and consumption of both alcohol and cigarettes, which are all things Bridget keeps track of in her diary.
This isn't as accessible as The Full Monty or Four Weddings and a Funeral (which shares Diary's producers Tim Bevan and Eric Fellner), but the one thing that Diary has that those Best Picture nominees didn't is Zellweger. She looks incredible and her performance is even better (leaving me to ask "Julia who?" just two weeks after the Oscars). Fans of Helen Fielding's novel (especially the British ones) raised holy hell when the skinny Texan was cast as Bridget, but after gaining a well-publicized 20 pounds and working undercover (and completely unnoticed) as a real British office drone, they should all be amazed at her performance. Zellweger nails it, delivering what should be one of the year's best performances. From her impeccable accent (which almost puts Gwyneth's to shame) to her uncanny knack for physical comedy, Zellweger is so likeable and fun to watch, it doesn't matter what happens in the film.
Grant, who plays his second sleazebag in a row, is also very good, as well as wiry and chiseled. Firth does well, and well he should do, as it's actually the second time he's played this part. In Fielding's book, Bridget falls madly in love with the real-life Firth after watching him in Pride and Prejudice (where he played a character named Mr. Darcy), so his casting is a bit of an inside joke for the novel's readers.
Diary is the feature-film directorial debut of documentary filmmaker Sharon Maguire (no relation to Jerry) and was adapted from Fielding's book by Andrew Davies and Notting Hill's Richard Curtis. The film probably sets a record for the number of times the word "fuckwit" is used (a good thing) and its closing credits are sweet and memorable (so stick around)
1:32 - R for language and some strong sexuality
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