The best kind of visit with an old friend is one that feels like, no matter how much time has passed, you still really, truly know each other. And while I know that, technically speaking, Bridget Jones is not a real person, she is real to me. So it was quite meaningful to catch up with her in the utterly lovely new film Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy.
The fourth entry in the Renée Zellweger-led rom-com franchise takes place eight year after the events of Bridget Jones’ Baby, the monumental update in the saga of the charmingly, relatably, hapless-in-love British romantic in which, as the title suggests, Bridget Jones has a baby.
In fact, in Mad About the Boy, Bridget has two children, who she is struggling to raise alone following the death of her husband, Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy. (This is only a spoiler if you have not watched, like, 10 seconds of the film’s trailer, read the logline, seen the movie poster, or invested two brain cells if trying to find out what the film is about.) Suffice it to say, it’s a heck of a time to reunite with our ol’ pal Bridge. And, it turns out, we needed her as much as she needed us.
Mad About the Boy is now available to stream on Peacock, should you be someone staring down the barrel of a Valentine’s night alone with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, a bottle of wine, and a jumbo-sized box of Kleenex. (Certainly, I’m not talking about myself and my plans here. No sir. No ma’am.)
Once again based on a book by Helen Fielding, whose series the entire franchise is adapted from, it’s a film that acknowledges that sadness and joy lead us through life hand-in-hand. The never-ending maelstrom of chaos and uncertainty may be overwhelming, but there’s lessons to be learned and hope to be found if you can stand still long enough to soak in the rays of sunshine that do, always, peek through.
Bridget’s insecurities have evolved beyond her weight, flirting skills, and vices like smoking. (To be clear, I’m not dismissing those anxieties, which are very real and potentially crushing—and why this whole franchise is such a smash with people who feel seen by her.) Several years after Mr. Darcy was killed in Sudan—he was, remember, a humanitarian lawyer—Bridget has moved to a stage of grief that resembles worry as much as it does mourning: Is she, alone, enough of a parent for her two kids? Will they be OK?
A parade of familiar faces show up, each one an absolute delight to see again: Her trio of best friends (Sally Phillips, Shirley Henderson, and James Callis); her mom (Gemma Jones); her TV host co-workers (Sarah Solemani and Josette Simon); and even her gynecologist, who now functions as more of a therapist, played by Emma Thompson. They’re all empathetic towards Bridget’s pain and loss, of course, but they’re also desperate for her to move on. Specifically, they think she should start dating and having sex again, lest—as multiple warn—her vagina fuses together.
Her former cad lover, who is now an adorably doting “uncle” to her children, Hugh Grant’s Daniel, is surprisingly the wisest. He understands loss, and he certainly understands horniness. He also knows Bridget deeply, and is able to reassure her that she will always be enough for her children, that—even if there are some roadblocks along the way—they are going to be OK, and that she may even be a better mother for them if she lets herself look after her own happiness, too. And just maybe that means having a good shag.
What follows is Bridget’s adventures—and, often, misadventures—as she opens herself up to romance again at this point in her life. A hilarious meet-cute has her fall in the arms, literally, of a younger man, Roxster—a character name chosen presumably because it sounds like “rock star,” which The White Lotus hunk Leo Woodhall who plays him certainly resembles.
Their courtship is steamy, hilariously so; a sequence where Roxster is forced to rip off his soaking-wet shirt at a party is already a frontrunner for best movie scene of the year. Then it becomes tender, and, with that, very complicated.
Also in the mix is Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Mr. Wallaker, Bridget’s son’s science teacher, whose initial oil-and-water chemistry with Bridget soon matures into an appealing combination. Both suitors get their swoon-inducing moments, both physically (whoo-ee, are these men ripped) and, most importantly in the world of Bridget Jones, emotionally.
Sure, this is a movie about Bridget finding love again, but it’s also about her falling back in love with life, after a crushing loss that could have crippled that potential however. How sad would that have been—and yet, how relatable for all of us?
I love that this series never reduced Bridget to pure optimism or delusion. That’s now how life works. Bad things happen, and we know they will. She’s often a mess, yet it only sometimes bothers her. She understands that resilience is hard, but it is healing, too.
It’s exasperating how many franchises, sequels, and reboots there are, but somehow Bridget Jones feels different. This is a character-based franchise. There feels like a purpose each time we check back in with her; certainly, we’ve grown along with her, which is something the series blissfully understands.
Maybe the Bridget Jones rom-com land is its own “universe,” akin to how Marvel, DC, Harry Potter, Star Wars, and the like have theirs. But it understands the thing that matters most in the universe, or at least in its universe: the person, the human…my friend. Again, I know she’s not real. But let me have this one, at least for now.
This is a preview of our pop culture newsletter The Daily Beast’s Obsessed, written by editor Kevin Fallon. To receive the full newsletter in your inbox each week, sign up for it here.
