Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason

2003 was Oscar time for our little Renee. 2004 is paycheck time. Lee and I both saw Bridget Jones’s Diary, and neither of us can remember a thing about it except a vague feeling that we had a good time. I don’t say that as a putdown; I like being entertained by well-done fluff as much as the next guy. Maybe more than the next guy, as I often enjoy those movies put down as “chick flicks.” But this one … what a load of crap. It reminded me of the worst of those Doris Day/Rock Hudson titilaters of the ‘50s and ‘60s, only worse. All the music is done by somebody else, familiar tunes that could have come up when someone punched a particular emotion into a computer program. Same with the script. All the situations are awesomely standard and predictable. All the slapstick is depressing and foolish. How many times can you get a laugh out of Bridget humiliating herself? Not even once, in this movie.
And I’m vaguely alarmed at Renee’s weight. Gaining weight for a movie role seems to me a dubious proposition, and I have been told that ballooning up and then dieting down is not a good idea, even if you’re not doing it on purpose. So Renee bulks up for Bridget Jones, gets ripped for Roxie Hart, and then lards it on again for Bridget II. What’s next for Ms. Zellwegger? Karen Carpenter?