Poor Bridget Jones. She was the extremely likeable girl next door who never quite got anything right, especially when it came to love, and seemed destined to spend her last days surrounded by cats, sipping white wine while joining in with Eric Carmen singing All By Myself. All the while, still hoping that things will turn out alright.
It's been 15 years since the hugely enjoyable Bridget Jones' Diary first appeared in the cinema and, although it took three years to generate a sequel, the truly awful Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, the gap between film numbers two and three is only surprising when you consider that they bothered to make it at all after that disastrously unfunny follow-up.
Wise move number one was having Emma Thompson involved, as she co-wrote the screenplay with Helen Fielding, the author of the original diaries, and Sacha Baron Cohen collaborator Dan Mazer. The second-best move was bringing in former Grey's Anatomy star Patrick Dempsey. More of him in a moment.
As we rejoin her, Bridget Jones is 43, hopelessly single, still sipping white wine and listening to Eric Carmen. It's not all bad though: she likes House of Pain too, works as a TV producer on a current affairs show and - would you believe it? - she's lost weight.
Still bruised from also losing the love of her life, Mark D'arcy (once again played by Colin Firth), she's urged to have some fun and ends up at Glastonbury, having a one-nighter with an American called Jack (Patrick Dempsey).
Just days later, she's sharing more than god-parenting duties with D'arcy at a christening and before you can gulp down a large glass of chardonnay, Brigid's discovering that she's pregnant. But who's the father?
Suddenly, a so-so so far comedy takes off as the plot gains a purpose. It also gains a game gynaecologist in the shape of Emma Thompson, who plays along with Brigid as she tries to determine whether her pregnancy is down to Mark or Jack.
Fans of the original will really enjoy this film, but even Bridget Jones virgins should get a few laughs out of the middle-aged mirth-making.
John Byrne
