Just Like a Woman

Bridget Jones’s Diary
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Sasha Stone
Mirror film critic 

   “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” the new film directed by Sharon Maguire, based on the wildly popular Helen Fielding novel, is more than just a film about single women in their thirties who mope around about how they’ll never find love. It’s about, finally, learning to live with, and perhaps even to celebrate our flaws.
   This is no easy task, mind you. Upon leaving the theater I was struck by the amount of evil messages there are out there on the cover of magazines alone — first, there are a couple with a newly thinned Renee Zellweger, the star of “Bridget Jones’s Diary” who famously gained 25 pounds by eating pizza and not moving a muscle (this would be filed right behind “White House Intern” as world’s greatest job for a single girl), then there is one headline that reads “Oprah’s Secret Binge Eating,” and another on “the bikini diet.” One doesn’t become a Bridget Jones out of nowhere. 
   The film, which is a great departure from the book but manages to retain its essence, is about a young woman who finds herself drinking, smoking and eating alone, listening to “All By Myself” (a scene that finally topples the funeral scene in “To Die For”) one New Year’s Eve and resolves to keep a diary to help explain Bridget Jones. We are treated to bits of the diary through voice-over (Zellweger, a Texan, nails the British accent), which is never overused and absolutely essential.
   There are two men in Bridget’s life — the gentleman (gorgeous Colin Firth) and the cad (equally gorgeous Hugh Grant). The former insults Bridget at a party and wears an unforgivable sweater with a reindeer on it, the latter, well, we single gals know that story by heart: the sexy ones are never all that nice. Great in bed, but not nice. Did I mention great in bed? Perhaps they mistake their penis for a heart since that’s where the blood goes most of the time? I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. Nonetheless, it’s hard to imagine anyone resisting the charms of Grant, particularly when playing this character (note to self: consult Divine Brown for career advice).
   Equally irresistible, as it turns out, is the priggish Darcy (Firth), whose beauty and charm sneak up on you, just as they do on Bridget, mid-way through the film (Feeling a little Jane Austin-ish, anyone?). At that point, Grant could be lit up like a Christmas tree and he would fade into the background. All it takes is one little sentence: “I like you just the way you are.” (I know, I heard the Billy Joel song, too). Still waters don’t just run deep; they boil beneath the surface.
   Being liked for who she is, despite her flaws, is something that ends up appealing to Bridget. After all, she and many like her have spent their adult lives trying to fit into some kind of hopeless ideal of the perfect woman, or the perfect wife. For those of us who just fall short every time we think we’ve found a man who accept us, flaws and all, this is the stuff that dreams should be made on but aren’t. Why? Because, truth be told, it isn’t them; it’s us. We’re the ones who don’t find men like that because we’re not attracted to men like that. (One is reminded of the scene in “Stardust Memories” where a scientist performs an elaborate procedure to put the brain of a nice girl into the body of a bad girl, and vice-versa, then falls in love with the nice girl who has the bad girl’s brain: it’s not how they look it’s how they act.)
   There are a lot of things to hate about “Bridget Jones’s Diary.” The soundtrack, for one, which tries to be humorous but just gets in the way. The predictability of the plot, for another — there are few surprises. But it wins you over for one reason: Renee Zellweger. She has defied all expectations with her career in general — proving herself to be versatile character actress when she originally seemed destined to rise and fall with “Jerry Maguire.” She is so surprisingly good here it’s hard to imagine she hasn’t been getting better parts all this time. Casting Zellweger and having her gain weight (in the real world this is called “average,” in Hollywood it’s called “fat”), as opposed to casting an already “heavy” actress gives audiences a chance to have their cake and eat it too, so to speak. They’re not really falling for a “fat girl,” they’re falling for an actress who put on weight then lost it. But it also is a trial run for casting a normal looking woman as the love interest in a mainstream Hollywood film, something many of us have been asking for forever.
   Finally, the film sends you out of the theatre wondering why you ever wanted to be anyone but yourself, whether a Darcy waltzes into your life or not.