The Devil is Miss Jones

Rating: Null/10 (11 May 2001)

It's funny the way these British Richard Curtis comedies come out: dead in the shower of Late April, every other year. First it was Four Weddings (the biggest grossing British film in the, then it was Notting Hill (the next biggest UK grosse)r, and now it's Bridget Jones's Diary the next biggest grossing film in the UK. Then next year it'll be Hugh Grant in `Floppy Hair, Floppy D**k Donkey S**t': the next biggest UK grossing film
Bridget Jones is in her thirties. She's all on her own in much the same way William Thacker was in Notting Hill: everyone's trying to get her a date. But instead of falling for an American movie megastar, she is faced with a yucky-looking Colin Firth. But then, whilst working at her journalist job, she starts to fall for her boss, Hugh Grant. I'd like to be able to tell you the name of their characters, but you see, I can't remember them. I only remember Renee's character's name because it is eponymous. So, who's she going to end up with? Both of these men have their own quirks and vices: of course, one of them is a sad mummy's boy and the other is a charismatic a**hole. Such is the choice of everyday English men today. So, whilst hypothesising, drinking more wine, eating Tesco's Alpen cereal and generally making a right a**e out of herself (both with her friends and people she should be impressing) she dilly dallies around thinking she's made the right choice when, of course, she hasn't  then she cries about it, makes a half-witty gesture, screws up some more and cries a bit more (usually in that order) until finally she ends up with someone some ninety minutes later.
But being fair Bridget Jones's Diary does have its merits. It's reasonably funny in places and the acting is generally very good. The direction by the practically unheard of MacGuire (a woman directing a box office smash? First for the record books!) is good, but a little flaccid in places. The film starts off with text on the screen describing how much Bridget weighs, smokes and drinks - something which I hope would have continued. There's also a nice `f******k' subtitle in one scene when she discovers she may have `f**ked up'. I thought those were nice touches. However, those touches and the direction of the film gets sloppy about half way through. Like its namesake, you can practically read the story of Bridget like a diary: girls like this have to end up with the right guy and be happy, otherwise nothing is achieved.
So, on to Renee herself. She makes an adequate English woman: her accent is fine and if you didn't know she was American then, A: you'd be fooled and, B: no-one in America would have bothered seeing this. Renee, in terms of superstardom, doesn't  and probably won't ever have  the bums-on-seats-guarantee of Julia Roberts or Andie MacDowell. Why? Because she's not got the drop dead gorgeous look to her, unfortunately. But that's not necessarily a bad thing, really: I think Renee was an inspired choice bearing in mind that an American had to have played her: a B list star is usually better than an A list in terms of quality. But why oh why couldn't we get an English woman playing Bridget? Keeping to the true text of the book, I would have rather Sally Phillips played Bridget Jones: we already know she's a terrific comedienne and actress (I'm Alan Partridge, Smack The Pony) and I firmly believe that Zelwegger and Phillips would've been better off swapping roles. Just a thought.
Luckily, to stop the English public from running out of the cinema, the film is BLITZED with cameos an stretched-cameos (not quite constituting bit parts) from literally dozens of well known British actors and comedians. We've got Salman Rushdie as a book enthusiast, Jeffrey Archer makes an appearance as a crowd member, Lynne from `I'm Alan Partidge' plays Bridget's co-worker, Sally Phillips pops her head in now and then, David Cann from `Jam' pops up as a cameraman, `Drop the Dead Donkey's Robert Duncan shows his face as a TV director and Jim Broadbent plays Bridget's father  to name a few. Even Honor Blackman is in it for about 3 seconds. It's a shame really because for the most part all of the above are grossly underused and are giving very little to play with. With the possible exception of Rushdie and Archer, I would've liked to have seen these fine British actors in the film more.
As it is, Bridget Jones's Diary is a big sloppy, mush-riddled mess. None of the characters have any space to develop. But the excruciatingly fatal mistake in the film is totally exposed: none of us give a flying monkey about Bridget. Sure, she's had it tough, she's a bit ditzy and likes to think everything will work out. Well, sorry to be a party pooper  but EVERYONE is like that. So, essentially, is Bridget Jones' a chick flick? Yes. None of the men who watch this, like her co-boss, will want to know her unless she gets satisfies her `Fitzherberts' and gets those jubblies out. As such, Renee is decked out in very, very risque costume for most of the time anyway: at one point she wears a bunny outfit and, lastly, the final scene just has her in knickers. Splendid. Bridget Jones is like a porn film with two alterations: the actors are great and there's no sex. And I'm afraid women will just find this Jones exercise a waste of time  especially when you arrive at the last five minutes.
Now I'm hearing that they're planning a sequel? Trust me, one is plenty. The only way you'd get away with a sequel was if you named it `Bridget Jones Gets Killed in the Temple of Doom'.
4/10