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Novel's charm reduced by half on-screen
By MARGO HAMMOND
© St. Petersburg Times, published April 12, 2001
 Helen Fielding's best-selling novel Bridget Jones's Diary was successful on two counts: Its narrator is disarmingly likable, and its plot is hilariously farcical.
The movie version of Bridget gets it only half right.
Surprisingly, the half that works on celluloid is Bridget herself. Surprising, because the big question that has hovered over this film has been whether the American actor Renee Zellweger, cast in the role of the decidedly British diarist, would be able to do our Bridget justice.
Not to worry. Zellweger not only turns in a virtuoso performance of the 30-something "singleton," who is looking for love in all the wrong places, but her British accent is so good, it should make Meryl Streep weep with envy.
Bridget's main love interests also make the leap from page to screen successfully. Casting Hugh Grant, usually wasted on good guy roles, as Bridget's randy boss, Daniel, was a stroke of genius. Grant, with his trademark boyish charm, makes the perfect cad. As for Colin Firth (remember him as the brooding Mr. Darcy in the BBC version of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice?), his portrayal of Fielding's brooding Mark Darcy -- geek, shy guy or Mr. Right? -- is deliciously enigmatic.
Trouble is, this trio is trapped in a disappointingly predictable romantic comedy while the joy of Bridget Jones's Diary was that it was pure, unpredictable farce.
Sure, there's still the Turkey Curry Buffet, the Tarts and Vicars Party, Bridget's disastrous birthday dinner and the spectacle of our heroine consuming vast amounts of calories, units of alcohol and cigarettes despite her resolutions to the contrary. Sure, there are glimpses of Fielding's sharply drawn characters who simultaneously torment and support Bridget throughout the novel, from her snotty colleague Perpetua to her trio of loyal, single friends.
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A dear 'Diary'
Renee Zellweger will make you smile with her flawed heroine, Bridget Jones. |
Too often, however, Fielding's farcical plot is gutted of its more ironic twists. Both in the novel and the film, while Bridget is doing everything to find a boyfriend, her mother is jettisoning her father for a Lothario. In the novel, Mom's boyfriend turns out to be a crook, but she stubbornly sticks with him anyway. In the film, she dumps the guy and returns to Bridget's dad.
Where Fielding plumbs the genuine humor and absurdity of relationships, the film eagerly pushes for romance. While the novel constantly upsets Bridget's search for inner poise (waiting until the final pages to even suggest a glimmer of hope in finding true love), the movie sets its sights early on in turning Bridge into a Smug Married.
Too bad. Like Ally McBeal, Bridget's American alter ego, Bridget is far more endearing when she is anything but smug and when love is just beyond her reach.
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